Gail Whitiker - Courting Miss Vallois

Oberon’s gaze shortened and refocused. ‘Doing?’

‘The wager. I told you I wanted no part of it, yet you went ahead and put my name to it regardless.’

‘Ah, yes, that. Yes, I did set it up because several of the lads thought it would be a great lark. All of them are in the market for a new mistress and when Mortimer wagered a month at his father’s hunting lodge in Yorkshire that he would be the first to succeed, Cramby staked a thousand pounds against him, saying Mortimer had more money than sense.’

‘There’s a lot of that going around,’ Robert muttered. ‘But I won’t have it, Oberon. Take my name off the bet and out of the book. My reputation doesn’t need any further blackening by you.’

‘Can’t do it, old boy. We all put our hand to it, you see. I personally signed for you,’ Oberon confided. ‘And when you consider what the winner stands to gain, it really makes no sense to call it off. Now, about the French girl. Who is she and how does she come to be here tonight?’

Biting back a scathing retort, Robert said, ‘I know nothing more about her than I did at the inn. Except that her name is Miss Vallois and she is here with Lord and Lady Longworth.’

‘You mean she’s staying with them?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Interesting.’ Oberon’s eyes assumed a speculative gleam. ‘She must be well born to be moving in their circle. I wonder if the fair Lavinia has taken it upon herself to launch the girl into society.’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Then I’ll find out for myself. Introduce us.’

‘No.’

The blunt answer brought Oberon’s head around. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I said no. If the young lady is being presented to society, she is not some light-skirt for you to trifle with.’

‘My dear Robert, did it not occur to you I might have other things in mind for the delectable Miss Vallois?’

‘It did not.’ Robert smiled without warmth. ‘I know your reputation, Oberon, and a leopard doesn’t change his spots.’

The other man’s expression cooled. ‘Tread lightly, my friend. ‘Tis a fine line between familiarity and contempt, and many a friendship has been lost over a careless misstep. I ask only to be introduced to the young lady. What possible harm can come of that?’

They were coming. The man who didn’t like her—and the one who did in ways of which no mother would ever approve. Sophie took a deep breath and slowly opened her fan. What a pity Lavinia had chosen that very moment to go off and speak with friends.

‘Miss Vallois,’ Mr Silverton said, stopping in front of her. ‘Pray forgive the intrusion, but my friend has asked to be made known to you.’

Sophie glanced up into his handsome face, aware of the strength in those chiselled features, and saw again the cool disinterest she had come to associate with Robert Silverton. But she also saw something else. A reserve that seemed to echo her own uncertainty. ‘As you wish, Mr Silverton.’

‘Miss Sophie Vallois, may I present Mr Montague Oberon.’

‘Miss Vallois, what a pleasure this is,’ Mr Oberon said. ‘I did not think I would be fortunate enough to see you again.’

‘It is something of a surprise,’ Sophie acknowledged, not liking the way his eyes lingered on the low décolleté of her gown. She purposely raised her fan to block his view. ‘So you and Mr Silverton are friends as well as travelling companions.’

‘Oh, yes. Very good friends.’ Mr Oberon raised guileless blue eyes to hers. ‘As you saw that night at the inn, Silverton is everything a gentleman should be. Thoughtful, unselfish, steady as a rock. Sadly, all the things I am not.’

Startled by his candour, Sophie said, ‘Then what qualities do you possess?’

‘Wealth, humour and impeccable taste when it comes to female beauty … which is why you caught my eye the other evening. The gods themselves could not have sent a more divine creature to move amongst us. But I am well aware I owe you an apology. My behaviour was, to say the least, reprehensible. Due, no doubt, to the tedium of travel and the insufferable manners of that wretched innkeeper. Please say you will forgive me or I shall never rest easy again.’

The effusive apology surprised Sophie as much as amused her, and though she believed his words to be little more than pretty flattery, the fact he had offered an apology allowed her to look upon him with a touch more charity. ‘I accept your apology.’

‘I am relieved beyond words.’

‘Ah, good evening, Mr Oberon,’ Lavinia said, finally returning. ‘How nice to see you again.’

‘The pleasure must always be mine, Lady Longworth.’ Mr Oberon’s smile moved smoothly into place. ‘I vow you grow more lovely with every passing day.’

‘And I vow you grow more fulsome with your compliments. Have you met Miss Vallois?’

‘Indeed. Silverton was kind enough to introduce us. Am I to understand the lady will be spending the Season here in London with you?’

‘You are.’

‘Then perhaps I might call upon you in the near future to exchange pleasantries in a less crowded venue.’

Lavinia inclined her head. ‘You are, of course, welcome to call. But now I must steal Sophie away. Lord and Lady Beale are anxious to meet her. Sophie?’

Grateful for the opportunity to escape, Sophie dropped a quick curtsy. ‘Mr Oberon.’ Then, raising her chin, and goaded by some mischievous impulse she would no doubt regret later, she looked at the gentleman standing quietly beside him and said, ‘Please tell your sister that my brother and I look forward to joining you tomorrow afternoon, Mr Silverton. If the invitation is still open.’

His expression didn’t change, but Sophie heard the quiet edge of mockery in his voice. ‘It is, and I shall be pleased to tell her of your acceptance.’

Sophie smiled as she tucked her arm in Lavinia’s. ‘Good evening, gentlemen.’

‘Ladies.’ Oberon barely waited until they were out of hearing before exclaiming, ‘Until tomorrow? What was that all about?’

‘Jane has invited Miss Vallois and her brother to come driving with us,’ Robert said distantly.

‘And she agreed?’

‘Why would she not? By your own words, I am thoughtful, considerate and steady as a rock.’

‘I was only trying to flatter you.’

‘By making me sound like the trusted family dog?’

‘Nothing of the sort. I simply wanted her to know that you and I are very different.’

‘I believe she worked that one out on her own,’ Robert drawled, but Oberon wasn’t listening. He was following Sophie’s progress across the room like a hungry lion following a sprightly gazelle.

‘By God, she’s exquisite,’ he murmured. ‘Those eyes. That hair. And that complexion! As pink as rose petals and as smooth as alabaster. Imagine her lying naked in your bed, Silver. Imagine the softness of her skin as you run your hand slowly over her throat, and then lower.’ He briefly closed his eyes and made a sound deep in his throat. Seconds later, his eyes snapped open. ‘I must know who she is. Where does she come from, and why is she here?’

‘I have no idea,’ Robert said. ‘Is it not enough that she is a good friend of Lord and Lady Longworth’s?’

‘No. The French are as stuffy as the English when it comes to matters of class. And a well-brought-up French girl would have no need of a London Season.’

The same thought had occurred to Robert, but he had no intention of giving Oberon the satisfaction of agreeing with him. ‘If you don’t think she’s well born, why trouble yourself to make enquiries?’

‘Because I would hate to miss the opportunity of getting to know her if her birth is all it should be,’ Oberon said. ‘Look at her, man! When did you last see beauty like that? Observe the elegance of her carriage, the unconscious grace with which she carries herself. Who knows? She may well be the daughter of a French count.’