A Scandalous Vow (Scandalous Series Book 7) Page 8

  “I didn’t mean to intrude,” Marc replied. And he wouldn’t have barged into the parlor if Emma hadn’t pulled him along with her.

  “Not at all,” Caroline assured him. “I see you’ve met Fluff.” She seemed to swallow a laugh. “You don’t have to hold him if you don’t want to.”

  “Thank God.” Marc blew out a breath as he bent over and dropped the cat to the floor, who promptly scampered out into the hallway.

  “Fluff!” Emma cried, rushing out of the parlor after her cat. “Come back, boy.”

  The room was still deathly silent as Marc glanced around the parlor. So he nodded in the general direction of the others. “My ladies. Peasemore,” he grumbled the man’s name.

  “Lord Haversham,” Lady Juliet began coolly, lifting to her feet. Of course, she said most things coolly. “It has been an age.”

  And she’d prefer it to be another age before she saw him again, if her dismissive expression was any indication. He wasn’t certain how his old friend Luke Beckford ever thawed the lady’s icy demeanor. But as the pair now had a son and a daughter, he apparently did from time to time. Or had at least twice. Personally, Marc would be afraid of coming away from the encounter with frostbit nether regions; but, he supposed, to each his own.

  “Actually,” Peasemore began, glancing down at his pocket watch, “I just realized the time. I am due somewhere else, if you’ll all excuse me.”

  “Oh!” Caroline said, “I’ll see you out.”

  “Not necessary,” the jackass assured her as he started for the doorway. “I’ll see you this evening.”

  What the devil was Caroline doing with Peasemore that evening? Marc moved aside, happy to let the man pass, though his mind was awhirl from the earl’s last comment. Bloody Peasemore had been around entirely too often for Marc’s comfort. And now he was seeing Caroline that evening?

  “Oh! Sebastian,” Felicity Carraway started after him. “A word first, if you don’t mind.”

  And as Caroline, with Felicity at her side, said their goodbyes and whispered something to the earl, Lady Juliet caught Marc’s eye, and she started right for him.

  “How is my old friend Beckford?” he asked, thinking the woman’s husband might be the safest topic of conversation.

  “Does that mean you haven’t seen him?” she said, her dark brown eyes narrowing slightly.

  What the devil was that supposed to mean? Had Luke wised up and abandoned the frosty chit? Did she think he’d taken up refuge at Haversham House or something along those lines? “Should I have?”

  “He said he was going to call on you this afternoon.”

  Ah! Just a social call, then. They must have passed each other on the street somewhere. “Well, do send him my regards.”

  Lady Juliet’s gaze flashed back toward Caroline and she whispered, “I don’t believe she’s seen the gossip columns today.”

  Neither had Marc. Reading the rags wasn’t usually part of his day.

  “At least she hasn’t mentioned them, and I think she would have.”

  “Is there something to be seen in them?” he asked, though there must be something in the day’s columns or Lady Juliet wouldn’t have mentioned them.

  The lady’s dark brown eyes narrowed on Marc once more. “Let’s just say your excursion at Astley’s last night did not escape Society’s notice.”

  Was that all? Worse had been printed about him in the past.

  Lady Juliet, however, seemed to be of a different mind. She heaved a sigh. “If you do anything to hurt Caroline, they’ll never find all the pieces of you to put back together again.”

  Marc’s brow lifted in surprise. He’d been threatened by a number of people throughout his life, but never by someone like her in a place such as this. The normalcy of a Mayfair parlor filled with genteel people and a tea service off to the side juxtaposed with a menacing threat from such a sweet sounding voice. It was all very surreal. “I beg your pardon?”

  She shrugged slightly. “Paraphrasing, I’m sure. But that’s what Luke meant to say when he saw you.”

  It didn’t sound remotely like something Luke would say, his tart-tongued wife, however… “You may tell your husband that you delivered his message. And then you can assure him that the very last thing I would ever do is hurt Caroline.”

  She seemed to assess him for the truthfulness of that statement, and she could assess him all she liked. Protecting Caroline, keeping her safe, was Marc’s top priority. Lady Juliet wouldn’t find otherwise, not in his countenance or anywhere else.

  “Did I hear my name?” Caroline asked, coming over to stand beside Marc now that the damned earl had taken his leave.

  Caroline’s lilac scent swirled about him at her nearness, and Marc couldn’t help but breathe her in. “Well, you know,” he drawled, “you are my favorite topic of conversation. Did I hear you say you were meeting Peasemore this evening?”

  “Jealous?” she echoed his usual sentiment to her.

  “Insanely,” he replied and didn’t even bother to hide his smile.

  Caroline laughed as she shook her head. “Well, I’m sure you could simply ask Alex for my weekly schedule, if you’d like all the details.”

  Dear God, she was delightful. The twinkle in her eye, the lilt in her voice. Just being near her lightened his heart. “My dear, on my honor, I did not ask Alex about your whereabouts last night.”

  “Your honor?”

  He bit back a smile. He was not, after all, known for his honor. “Well, it’s true nonetheless. Alex did happen to mention in passing that he’d be seeing you, but I did not ask.”

  “Ah!” She grinned. “So the truth comes out.”

  He winked at her. “You have to know the proper questions to ask, my dear.”

  “I think even if I knew the proper questions, you’d answer them in a way to leave me in the dark.”

  Well, that was one of his specialties. “You’re no better. Are you going to make me bribe Simmons for the information? Or will you take pity on me and tell me where you’ll be tonight?” With that damned Peasemore. But he left that last bit out, because he truly was insanely jealous. And he’d really rather she not know that.

  “Cordie’s ball,” she returned. “I daresay that might be an event you were actually invited to.”

  Marc had no idea if he’d been invited or not. He paid very little attention to invitations he received and rarely attended any social functions. But he also knew that neither Cordie nor Clayworth would toss him from their home, invitation or no invitation. And an event without children did sound promising. In fact, he was liking the sound of that more and more. “Should I follow you to Clayworth’s, will you save me a dance?” Or every last one of them, if that wouldn’t get tongues wagging all over Town. Not that it would even matter at this point if they were already in the gossip rags.

  “I can’t image you dancing a reel,” she said, her warm eyes captivating him like nothing else.

  “Me neither,” he agreed. “Best make it a waltz. I do quite nicely at those.”

  A delicate cough from a few feet away reminded them both that there were others in the room. Marc had quite forgotten Juliet and Felicity were still in the parlor, and if the slight blush on Caroline’s cheeks was any indication, she’d forgotten them as well.

  “Now that we are friends,” Caroline said, starting back toward her seat, “should I expect you to call often?”

  Every damned day of her life. However long it took… “As often as you’ll receive me.” He followed her further into the room and stopped before the seat Peasemore had abandoned. “But you didn’t answer my question. Should I decide to brave society tonight and attend a proper function, will you save me a waltz?”

  “Do friends, only friends, waltz?” she asked, with that endearing twinkle back in her eyes.

  Friends. What a bloody awful word. “The very best ones do,” he assured her. What he wouldn’t do to scoop her up in his arms and carry her straight to her bedchambers and be the furthest
thing from her friend. But they did have an audience. So Marc turned his gaze onto Felicity Carraway. “And I will expect you to keep your husband away from me. One more punch thrown my way and he won’t like the outcome.”

  Felicity shook her head slightly. “I’ll make certain he’s on his best behavior.” And then she laughed. “Something I never thought I’d have to say about Fin.”

  Sebastian Alder, the Earl of Peasemore, paused outside the parlor and cringed. What rotten luck he had. What were the bloody odds his cousin’s wife would have been at Staveley House when he arrived? Felicity was certainly throwing a wrench into his plans. How could he garner Lady Staveley’s trust with his new cousin perpetually in the way? He hadn’t, after all, absconded with that damn cat for nothing. The dratted thing was supposed to buy him entrance into her home and grant him the status of trusted confidant in the process. But now, between the three ladies in that parlor, they were plotting to help him find a real bride? Damn it all. The last thing in the world he wanted was a real bride. Not now, in any event.

  Of course, his grandmother had threatened to cut off his allowance, but the old dragon would never really do so. Sebastian had plenty of good years before he’d have to settle for the boring life that awaited him somewhere down the road. And by then, he’d have several adventures to think back on fondly. Something that would have given his humdrum existence more meaning.

  And in the present, he had a job to do. One he’d hoped he’d accomplished with that damned journal the other night. But there was nothing in the blasted thing except the musings of a brilliant, but rather dry, mind.

  Sebastian quietly started down the corridor toward the Staveley study to replace the pointless book he’d pilfered during his previous midnight jaunt through Staveley House. Replace that book and look for another, something that would be easier to do during the light of day, but with a townhouse full of his relations and Haversham who was continually in his way…

  One would think that infiltrating a group of double agents in Napoleonic France would be less challenging.

  He found the study open and quietly slipped inside. He opened the desk drawer where he’d found the journal, retrieved the leather book from his jacket and replaced it. Then he opened the next drawer and then the next, rifling through the loose papers--correspondence from the late viscount’s sister, some from his solicitor, and one from the Earl of Masten, but nothing that remotely resembled the deciphered or partially-deciphered code he was searching for.

  Sebastian felt around the edges of each drawer, hoping to find some evidence of a false bottom. He tapped the legs and underside of the desk, listening for a hollow space where one might hide matters of national security. And he perused the few books on the shelf in the far side of the room. All to no avail.

  After the other night and now today, he was relatively certain there was nothing to be found in the study. So where else would Staveley keep something of value? His bedchamber, perhaps? It was unlikely Sebastian would get an invitation to that particular room, not as long as Lady Staveley was searching for a real bride for him. And not with that damned Haversham hanging about. Misanthropic villain that he was.

  Sebastian returned to the corridor and took a few steps before…

  “May I help you with something, sir?” a man asked from behind him.

  Blast and damn. Sebastian glanced back over his shoulder to find the Staveley butler eyeing him suspiciously. “Just leaving, thank you.”

  Chapter 10

  Caroline should be thinking about assisting Lord Peasemore. She should be sorting out which girl would be his best match. She should be plotting the best course forward. But all she could think about was the twinkle in Marc’s light blue eyes, the promise of dancing in his arms, and imagining how that would feel. Would it be as heady as it felt in her dreams? She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and grinned like an idiot. She was very clearly losing her mind, but her heart was lighter than it had been in forever, and being in his presence made her feel alive, perhaps more so than she ever had.

  After kissing her daughters goodnight and tucking them into bed, Caroline traveled the short distance to Clayworth House. She glanced out at the sea of carriages, and anticipation tiptoed up her spine at the mere thought of seeing Marc again.

  Heavens. Had she been this foolish at fifteen? Was that why Robert had married her off to David without a moment’s hesitation? Had he been terrified she’d throw her lot in with the wrong sort and never recover from some scandal? She probably would have done so. Though probably not with Marc. She only remembered seeing him once that season, across the park with some woman no one would mistake for a lady. He’d been strikingly handsome then, that dark hair and those light eyes, though not nearly as well filled out as he was now; but he had such a dangerous reputation, even then, what with that awful kidnapping of the Burke girl. Caroline had been too terrified to even look his direction. Not Marc. No. She probably would have ended up falling for someone equally depraved, however. Thurlstone or Gresham—any number of Luke’s friends who all seemed to be of the same ilk. But Robert had arranged for her to marry the mild-mannered and very harmless David Benton instead.

  Caroline heaved a sigh and rested her cheek against the cool glass of the carriage window. David was such a lovely man. So kind, so caring. Devoted. Loyal. Steady. Not that she’d thought any of that appealing at the time. She’d been so furious with Robert, as David was hardly the stuff of which girlish dreams were made. What girl dreamt of steady, after all? But, in the end, David had been exactly what, or rather whom, she’d needed. The calm to her tempest, all of their years. And she had loved him. He’d been so good to her, to their children. How could she not?

  What would he think if he could see her now? Was he shaking his head and sighing as he was wont to do? Or was his nose stuck in some heavenly book in some far corner of some ethereal library, having completely forgotten he should be looking after her, even now?

  Her carriage finally reached the front of Clayworth House and a footman opened the door, offering her his hand. She thanked her coachman and made her way up the front stoop and into the townhouse. It was already a crush, people filling parlors and salons, even the corridor as she navigated her way to the ballroom.

  She scanned the room quickly, hoping for some sign of Marc, to no avail. Her heart twisted a bit at that, which was foolish. He was her friend, nothing else. She’d been very clear about that with him. But she wasn’t so clear about that with herself, apparently.

  Caroline did notice Juliet, across the room next to Luke, gesturing for her to join them. So she pressed her way through the crowd and once there, she grinned up at her older brother.

  She pushed up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I am so glad to see you,” she said, meaning it with all her heart. Luke had been such a strength for her those first few awful months. She wasn’t sure what she would have done without him. He’d made all the arrangements for Staveley, and he’d traveled with her and the children back to Westmorland. He’d made sure she hadn’t stopped living herself.

  “Trying to flatter me when I know for a fact you were penning a letter to Robert, of all people, asking for advice?” He winked at her before his usual devil-may-care expression settled on his face. “You do wound me.”

  “Indeed?” She couldn’t help but laugh. “When was the last time you were responsible for a sixteen-year-old girl?”

  “When was the last time Robert was?” he countered. “He had you married off at fifteen. You’ve survived that year with Rachel, I’m certain you can survive sixteen as well.”

  Except that for all of Rachel’s fifteenth year, the lot of them were in mourning in Benton Park. Her daughter had been too devastated to act out or rebel. But Caroline didn’t feel like saying that. She didn’t want to think about the last year, not tonight, not if she didn’t have to. “I think perhaps you think I’m more capable than I am.”

  Her brother did laugh then. “More capable? Sweetheart,
there’s nothing you can’t do. You’ve proven that to me and all of London for more than a dozen years. I challenge you to find one person in this room who isn’t in awe of you.”

  Caroline squeezed Luke’s hand. “I do adore you.”

  “The feeling, my dear little sister, is mutual.”

  The smile Juliet cast her warmed Caroline’s heart. She was so lucky to have them both.

  “Now,” Luke continued, “I understand tonight we are playing matchmaker for Peasemore and some chit. Tell me I have a role to play.”

  A role to play? A laugh escaped Caroline. “We are not doing anything, Lucas. Juliet and I are playing matchmaker. And you are doing something else.”

  Her brother playfully rolled his eyes. “Gentlemen are just as capable of making matches, I’m sure.”

  “Gentlemen are usually the ones running from matches,” his wife said, glancing out at the sea of people on the dance floor.

  “I only ran a little,” Luke complained. “And I saw the error in my ways, didn’t I?”

  “You are ridiculous,” Juliet accused good-naturedly. “Now go mingle with someone, I want to speak to Caroline alone.”

  “You were with her all day,” Luke returned. “Besides, I don’t know anyone here.”

  His wife laughed. “Yes, you need an entirely better class of friends, Luke. Do go make some.”

  He grumbled slightly, but the adoration in his eyes as he pressed a kiss to Juliet’s brow belied his complaints. As soon as Luke left their side, Caroline linked her arm with her sister-in-law’s and glanced across the ballroom where Juliet’s gaze was firmly fixed. There, surrounded by quite a number of girls, was their quarry, the Earl of Peasemore.

  “I hardly think he needs any help from us, at all,” Juliet said quietly.

  No, he truly didn’t. But... “Perhaps he doesn’t trust his own judgment?”

  Her sister-in-law scoffed at that. “The man is one of the most arrogant I’ve ever encountered, which is saying something. And I am quite certain he believes his own judgment to be the very best in the world. So I highly doubt that’s it at all.”