Deb Marlowe - Regency Rebels - Scandalous Lord, Rebellious Miss / An Improper Aristocrat

Her uncle. A man for whom she had given up all feeling, confused or otherwise. Would that she could do the same for Lord Dayle. ‘I’m not afraid of him, either, but neither do I wish to rush a confrontation.’

‘There will be no confrontation, of that I can assure you. Just a polite, long-overdue meeting.’ Dismissing the subject, she forged ahead. ‘We’ve been so busy lately with plans for the house that we have quite neglected our social obligations, and this will be just the thing to liven you up a bit. And in any case you must come tonight and see Lady E’s Egyptian room. It is quite famous, and you will not want to miss it.’

‘Oh, very well …’ Sophie paused. ‘Did you wish me to bring my notebook? Are you thinking of something similar for the Sevenoaks house?’

‘Heavens, no! She has taken Mr Hope’s ideas and run wild. It is a dreadfully vulgar display.’

Sophie thought longingly of her own bed and her previous plans for the night: a quiet meal in her room, a nice long soak, the pages of portraits she would like to draw of Lord Dayle before she shredded each one and consigned it to the fire. Then she thought of him dancing with the faultlessly lineaged Miss Ashford, or perhaps taking her for a stroll in the garden, where he would kiss her eminently respectable lips.

‘In that case, how can I resist?’

Miss Ashford, Charles thought as he led the lady out for their set, was everything he was looking for in a bride. She did everything proper and said everything prudent. She even danced in an upright manner, perfectly erect and composed, with no expression, of enjoyment or otherwise, on her face.

Why, then, was he trying so hard to discover some chink in her flawless façade? He had spent the evening trying to uncover something—addiction to fashion, a sweet tooth, a secret obsession for nude statuary, anything.

He had failed. The lady seemed to be everything reputable and nothing else. No flaw, no interests or passions or pursuits. And no warmth for him, either. She accepted his attentions with calm dignity and with no sign of reciprocal regard or even disfavour. He felt as if he was courting a pillar. Lord, it was a depressing thought.

Their set finished, he led her back across the ballroom, exchanged all the correct pleasantries with her equally bland mama, and took his leave, trying not to yawn.

A slap on the back from his brother brought him awake.

‘Evening, Charles,’ Jack said, ‘you look like a man who could do with a drink.’ He signalled the footman and when they both had a glass of champagne, said, ‘Just thought you might want to celebrate a bit—your name hasn’t been in the papers for a week, but it has shown up in the betting book at White’s.’ He swept his glass across, indicating the crowded ballroom. ‘They’re betting which of these dull-as-ditchwater debs will have the chance to tame you.’ He drank deep again.

Charles grinned, feeling more than a little satisfaction. Things were finally progressing according to his own plans. He still had much political ground to make up, and, ridiculous though it might be, his social success would help him cover it quickly.

‘I am happy to report that Miss Ashford is the filly out in front,’ said Jack. ‘Wouldn’t be surprised if your attention to her tonight makes it into the respectable social columns tomorrow.’

Charles’s good humor deflated a little. He glanced over at Miss Ashford, who stood in unsmiling, serious conversation with some matron or other. This marriage-of-convenience business was a bitter brew to swallow. But swallow it he would, and be thankful for it, he thought. The bitterness he undoubtedly deserved, and some stubborn, wilful part of him welcomed the challenge.

‘Good.’ That same stubborn part of him yearned to find the person responsible for stirring up this hornet’s nest of scandal broth. ‘Unfortunately I haven’t had the same luck finding the editor of the Augur. ’

‘Someone’s tipped him off,’ said Jack.

‘It is a convenient time for the man to have developed a far-flung sick relative. I doubt I’ll get anywhere with him if he’s anything like the one at the Oracle. He makes Lord Avery’s talk of a peasant revolution look quite sane. Hates the nobility, took a satanic glee in rubbing my nose in my own misdeeds.’

‘He certainly did his research.’ Jack grinned. ‘Honestly, Charles, even I did not know that you were the one who painted old King Alfred’s statue such a heavenly shade of blue. There’s a certain justice in it that you must pass the old boy every day on the way in to the Lords.’

Charles firmly suppressed his answering smile. ‘Somebody’s feeding them information, and being bloody clever about it. My man hasn’t found a scrap of a clue.’

‘So what shall we do now?’

‘I meant to ask you to take over the search for the missing editor.’ He clapped his brother on the shoulder. ‘Sorry, old man, I know it means time away from your research.’

‘It’s no matter, I find I quite enjoy this sleuthing. It’s not so different from scholarly research, except for the venue. And I never had to buy so many rounds in the university library.’

‘I appreciate it, Jack. In the meantime I have taken a lesson from this tricky cove and decided to fight him with his own weapons.’

‘Do tell!’

‘One of my footmen has been “bribed” by the press.’

Jack laughed. ‘Damn me if you aren’t brighter than you look, big brother. Brilliant idea. Now you can leak the information you wish to hit the streets.’

Charles smiled. ‘Before long there will be an entirely different view of the “Wicked Lord Dayle” circulating.’

‘I’d drink to it, but my glass is empty. Ah, well. Perhaps I will dance, since I am all rigged out and actually made it to one of these intellect-forsaken functions.’ He surveyed the room, then nodded his head and raised a brow. ‘And there is just the creature to make me willing to dredge up the memories of those nightmarish dancing lessons—Mother’s protégée. Take a look, Charles, she cleans up excellently well.’

Charles did not turn. He had spent the evening purposefully trying not to notice Sophie. And yet he knew how incredible she looked in her exquisitely embroidered ivory gown. He knew how the scarlet of her overdress contrasted so richly and set off the lustrous sheen of her ebony tresses, and he could probably calculate to the smallest measurement just how much of her smoothly glowing skin was displayed.

He did not look, for every time he did he found himself mocked by his own thoughts. He would prevail, would sacrifice anything to ensure his success.

He’d had no idea just how much he would be asked to sacrifice.

Jack was leaning in closer. ‘Tell me, what do you think of that whole situation? There’s been a bit of gossip there as well. None of it malicious, so far, just curious, what with the estranged uncle and the unflagging interest in design.’ He nodded again towards the corner where their mother stood with Sophie and a group of friends. ‘Although I did hear a few catty whispers from the younger set, something about the girl having trouble with society at home.’

Charles unclenched his teeth. ‘I think that her presence makes Mother happy, and for that we owe her much.’

‘Without a doubt. I haven’t seen Mother so animated since … well, in a long time. But I confess, at first I thought that Mother was matchmaking.’

This time Charles could not stop the grin that came at his brother’s words. ‘It occurred to me as well. In fact, I scrubbed up the courage to confront her, thinking to forestall any hopes in that direction, only to be unequivocally warned off.’

‘I was read the same lecture.’ Jack rolled his eyes and imitated his mother’s stern tone. ‘“The dear girl has suffered enough at society’s hands. I mean to ease her way, not subject her to the wayward attentions of a man too busy with his nose in a book to treat her properly.”’