The Devil and the Viscount, page 7
“Taking Mrs. Snodgrass to the Ramptons’ soiree.”
Meade gave a snort of laughter. “I see what you’re up to. Lady Rampton would never invite someone of such bad ton. You’re daring her to throw Mrs. Snoddy out. And I must admit, I’d love to see her ladyship’s face when you turn up with Mrs. S. on your arm! You’re evil, Rolls.”
“I like Mrs. S.”
His friends exchanged glances.
Montague took out a flask and passed it to Rollo. “Does this mean you’ve made up your mind to marry her?”
“Thinking about it,” Rollo said bleakly. He took a swig from the flask and passed it to Meade.
“She’d certainly solve all your financial worries in one fell swoop,” Meade allowed. “Not sure she’s the kind to hand over the reins, as it were.”
“True,” Rollo agreed. “There would be some mean settlements in place to stop me plowing through her entire fortune. Not unreasonable if the debts are gone and the money’s spent on the estate.”
“But would it be?” Montague asked. “She might prove to be the same obstacle as your father—God rest him.”
“I don’t think it would be an issue.” Rollo accepted the flask once more, but since it was empty, he passed it back to Montague. “And frankly, if it’s a question of her or putting up with the fawning and screeching of Miss Smythe, I’d pick Mrs. Snoddy any day of the week. At least she makes me laugh.”
With the words, another laughing face swam into his mind. But he would not think of Gina Wallace. Not until after tomorrow, when she would have more idea if they had conceived a child. He had already discovered where she was, and it was a bit of luck that he knew Fitz, her chaperone’s nephew.
It was certainly amusing to escort Mrs. Snodgrass to Lady Rampton’s, although when he called for her, he was almost disappointed she had toned down her outrageous color combinations. Instead, she wore an ornate gown of fashionable Pomona silk, with a matching turban. Diamonds dripped from her neck and ears, wrists, and fingers. In her own way, she looked rather magnificent, but Lady Rampton would still be outraged.
“Sure you want to put yourself through this?” Rollo asked. “Happy to take you to the theatre instead, or anywhere else you’d like to go.”
“Lady Rampton’s will do nicely. Unless your lordship is getting cold feet?”
Rollo grinned. “Not I, Mrs. S. Shall we go?”
Chapter Seven
Fitz had been reluctantly dragooned into escorting his aunt and Gina to Lady Rampton’s soiree. “Not my usual thing,” he had pleaded. “And Lady Rampton scares me to death.”
“Nonsense,” his aunt said briskly. “It is good to widen your horizons occasionally, and as for Lady Rampton, she’s just a bit high in the instep. She has no reason to look down her nose at you.”
“I know that, but whenever she does look at me, I’m sure she knows about that jam I stole from the kitchen and ate in bed with a spoon.”
Gina laughed. “How old were you?”
“Five,” he admitted.
Unsurprisingly, his aunt dismissed this as nonsense, and he duly accompanied them to the salons of Sedgemoor House. They were welcomed at the door by Lady Rampton—a very regal matron, who appeared older than her years—accompanied by her husband and her father-in-law, the Marquess of Sedgemoor.
Her ladyship, on being introduced to Gina, condescended to a gracious smile. “How pretty you are, my dear.”
“Thank you, my lady,” was all Gina could think of to reply, though her ladyship’s attention was now on Fitz, bowing over her hand.
“Made it,” he murmured a moment later, following his aunt and Gina into the room. “Let’s find a seat for you and a glass of… Good Lord! What the devil are they doing here?” He grinned as two young men ambled over to them. They were maybe a couple of years older than Fitz but bore the same air of discomfort as he in such surroundings. “Aunt, are you acquainted with Mr. Meade and Mr. Montague? Friends of mine! Gentlemen, my aunt, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. And this is her protegee, Miss Wallace.”
Both gentlemen bowed correctly and pronounced themselves charmed. Mr. Meade offered to fetch wine or lemonade for the ladies, which Mrs. Fitzwilliam graciously accepted.
Gina looked about her. A throng of fashionable people were scattered about a large room, where a very fine pianoforte had been given pride of place. Some were milling in and out of a doorway at the far end.
“I wouldn’t go there,” Mr. Montague confided, seeing the direction of her gaze. “Some quiz in lace is reciting poetry.”
Gina smiled sympathetically, though Mrs. Fitzwilliam said, “Are you sure you are at the right party, Mr. Montague? Music, poetry, and the arts are the whole point of such evenings.”
Fitz grinned at his friend’s hunted expression. “Why did you come?”
“To own the truth, just because—”
“Ladies,” interrupted an older voice that made Gina’s heart sink with a thud. However, she managed to keep the smile on her lips as she turned to offer her hand to Lord Longton, who bowed over it. “I am more than usually thrilled to see you since you have preserved me from a discussion about Horace. I confess to barely remembering a word of the fellow when I left Oxford, so truly, what can I contribute now?”
“Then what you made join such a discussion, my lord?” Gina asked with genuine curiosity.
“I knew the fellow who is prosing on. And I arrived early, so it was a choice between that and the poetry.”
Fitz and Mr. Montague nodded sympathetically.
“Why do you all come to such gatherings?” Gina blurted.
“For the music, Miss Wallace,” his lordship said blandly, taking the glass Mr. Meade was about to present to her, and offering it to her himself. “I hear the pianist is quite out of the ordinary. And, of course, I hoped for the felicity of your presence. Where may I escort you? In the other room, there is a small exhibition of portraits by young Mr. Dornan which might interest you. Although you will have to put up with the poetry in the far corner.”
At that moment, a ripple of disturbance swept around the room. Talk died away as all eyes turned toward the salon door, where Lady Rampton was greeting her newest guests. The air seemed to fly from Gina’s lungs. This time, her heart did not sink, but lurched once with a thud she feared was audible, and then beat a quick, merciless tattoo.
Rollo, Viscount Darblay, had entered the room.
In truth, he swaggered in with familiar, careless elegance, as though quite unaware of the stir he caused, largely because of the lady on his arm. Mrs. Snodgrass, splendid in layers and flounces of Pomona silk and diamonds.
“That’s why,” Mr. Montague whispered to Fitz, and both he and Mr. Meade detached themselves. Meade went immediately forward to greet the couple, while Montague collected wine. And thus was Mrs. Snodgrass saved from being ignored and isolated as soon as she stepped into the room.
Behind them, Lady Rampton was trying to look as though she were not appalled and entirely unable to deal with the situation.
“What a complete hand he is,” Fitz said with a grin.
And he was. But somehow Gina could not quite appreciate it. She could not admire and laugh at his bold impudence, for the fact that he had brought her surely meant that Mrs. Snodgrass had indeed been his “Mrs. Take-me-as-you-find-me, long-in-the-tooth” marriage option, and that he had made his decision. He would marry Mrs. Snodgrass.
Why could she not smile and wish him well? She stood beside the man she would marry for reasons quite as calculating. Yet she already missed Rollo with intense sweet sadness that she was trying to use to bolster her strength. But never had she imagined that his marriage would hit her with such a blow that she reeled from the sheer hurt.
And then, as his gaze swept around the room, it landed on hers and held.
From close by came outraged whispers of the gossips, like the annoying buzz of flies. “My dear, what is he about to bring such a creature here?”
“Well, the Darblays are quite rolled up you know. Nothing else for it but to marry money. Poor fellow.”
“But need she quite so…vulgar?”
“Goes with the money, my dear, but goodness, poor Lady Darblay. Can you imagine?”
Her gaze trapped by Rollo’s, Gina watched his reckless smile grow fixed. He took one, probably involuntary step toward her, and with that Mrs. Snodgrass sailed forward, too, obliging Rollo to accompany her.
“Quick, hide!” Mrs. Fitzwilliam hissed.
In other circumstances, Gina would have found that exquisitely funny, for short of bolting, there was nowhere to hide. And Mrs. Fitzwilliam was not capable of that degree of rudeness.
Rollo, of course, carried it off with nonchalant grace. “Good evening, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. My lord. Fitz. Allow me to present Mrs. Snodgrass. Ma’am, Mrs. Fitzwilliam.”
Mrs. Fitzwilliam inclined her head as graciously as she could, and Mrs. Snodgrass’s eyes moved on to Gina and smiled.
“Why, we have met, have we not?”
“You have?” Mrs. Fitzwilliam said faintly.
“At the opera,” Mrs. Snodgrass said, “when I was so clumsy as to drop everything.”
“A mere accident, ma’am.” Since Gina was afraid her chaperone simply would not introduce them, she held out her hand. “Gina Wallace.”
“My protegee, Miss Wallace,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam said faintly. “Lord Darblay, my dear.”
Rollo bowed again, though she did not dare offer her hand, and he didn’t appear to expect it, since he turned almost immediately to introduce Mrs. Snodgrass to Lord Longton. Who looked thoroughly amused by the whole thing, although he greeted the lady affably before turning to Gina. “Shall we go and look at these paintings, then?”
“Of course.” She took his proffered arm, and with a quick smile for the company in general, walked across the room with him.
Her knees felt none too steady, and she thought he might have felt the faint trembling of her fingers on his arm, for he said not unkindly, “This must all be new and a bit overwhelming for you.”
“I am used to knowing everyone at parties,” she managed.
“Did you know Mrs. Snodgrass?”
“Not until she dropped her reticule at the opera, and even then, not by name. Why? Do you imagine all we folk in trade must be acquainted?” She spoke in jest and without thought, then glanced at him surreptitiously to see if he minded.
He was regarding her more closely than usual. “Was that a set-down, Miss Wallace?”
“Of course not,” she said hastily.
He nodded graciously to acquaintances as they made their stately way into the next room. “You need not mention your father is in trade,” he murmured. “Though everyone will know, no one will mention it if you do not. You may rest assured that I would not have offered for you had I not admired your ladylike behavior.”
“Was that a compliment?” she asked before she could help it.
He smiled amiably. “I believe it was. Ah, here are the portraits. Who do you recognize among them?”
*
Rollo was furious because she walked away without even looking at him.
Her presence had taken him completely by surprise, for, stupidly, it had never entered his head he might run into her here. Affairs like this were by their nature smaller and more confined than, for example, grand balls. His plan had been to call on her tomorrow, with the aid of Fitz. At least Fitz was here, a helpful reminder of why Gina’s chaperone had looked familiar to him at Renwick’s.
It was small comfort that she had been as surprised by him—or by his escorting Mrs. Snodgrass. There was no way to tell, and it didn’t damned well matter, for she would marry the old goat her father had bought for her, and Rollo would sell himself to Mrs. Snoddy.
Until he had seen Gina again, he had thought he could do it, too, for Mrs. Snodgrass was at least jolly and clever, an outspoken woman of character, and in her own distinctive way, not unattractive. But Gina…
Gina would marry Longton. And now that he had seen them together, he felt sick.
“Is he some relation to her?” Mrs. Snodgrass asked as they strolled almost in the wake of Gina and Longton.
Rollo tried to hide his savagery. “Family friend, I believe.” He swallowed, adding casually, “You met her at the opera?”
“Not exactly met. I’d walked along the corridor to take the air—just by myself, you understand, or there seemed no point—only then the interval took me by surprise, and hordes of people seemed to be charging at me. I was already dizzy enough. I stumbled and dropped my reticule, and all those so-called gentlemen would have walked right past. At least one did. Then that young lady left her escort and picked everything up for me. I blessed her, for if I’d had to do it, I’d have fallen over, and all those fine gentlemen would have walked over me instead.”
So, she wasn’t quite as thick-skinned as she pretended. That distracted him for a moment from Gina’s innate kindness. As did the import of her words.
“You should not be that overcome, ma’am. Have you seen a physician?”
“Why would I want a quack to tell me what I already know? I’m too fat.”
He could have denied it. He could have flattered her with platitudes that she would neither believe nor thank him for. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
Her eyes widened and blinked. Then she laughed, a pure, hearty sound that drew several disapproving gazes. She tucked his arm closer. “You might just be good for me, Darblay. You just might.”
He should have been pleased to be making such headway in his suit, but in truth, he could not think of anything or anyone until he had spoken to Gina. And that did not prove easy. She was constantly protected by either Longton or Mrs. Fitzwilliam, hemmed in by those listening to poetry or admiring the pianist who was Lady Rampton’s main attraction of the evening. Besides which, having brought Mrs. Snodgrass here, he felt compelled not to abandon her to either the wolves or isolation.
He had hoped to sit beside Gina, or at least behind her, during the pianoforte recital, but Lord Calton beat him to it, and he could hardly talk over him.
In the end, his moment came unexpectedly, after Mrs. Snodgrass had excused herself to him. While he prowled toward the supper room, he caught sight of Gina alone, hurrying across the hall toward the salon. He slipped out and strolled toward the stairs. Then, as if he had just caught sight of her, he changed direction to intercept her.
She saw him coming and paused. A faint, shy smile flickered across her face, although she still seemed poised for flight.
Rollo bowed. “Miss Wallace. Allow me to escort you back to Mrs. Fitzwilliam.”
“Thank you,” she said nervously, though she took his arm.
Even that light, gloved touch brought intimate memory flooding back. This is insufferable!
He walked only a few steps and paused between the salon door and that to the supper room, where they could not be seen, before whisking her behind the Grecian style pillar.
“How are you?” he demanded, more brusquely than he had intended, but she didn’t appear to mind.
“Well. As I see, are you.”
He searched her eyes. “Then there were no consequences to our…meeting?”
“Oh, no. No one heard me return. They were all still fast asleep.”
“Gina!” he said in frustration, and at last she understood for she flushed to the roots of her hair.
“Oh. That. No. No consequences.”
He was conscious of a stupid, oddly sharp stab of disappointment. There was no reason to marry her. No reason why he shouldn’t marry the wealthy widow, or Gina, Lord Longton.
“Thank you for asking me,” she said low. “It means much to me.”
Not enough. “Will you really marry him?”
“You know I must.” She swallowed. “I rather like your Mrs. Snodgrass.”
“Yes, so do I,” he admitted. Then he scowled. “Do you like Longton?”
“Perhaps I am beginning to,” she said cautiously. She was peering up at him, a faint frown of anxiety marring her brow. “Rollo, we are still friends?”
Voices sounded close by, women heading for the stairs. Rollo eased Gina around the pillar.
“If I can bear it,” he muttered. Before he could stop himself, he snatched her hand up, peeled back her glove, and pressed his lips to her wrist. Her elusive, flowered scent, the taste of her skin, filled his senses. And beneath his mouth, her pulse galloped.
“Rollo?” she whispered, but he could not linger. Despite her gasp, he dragged her hand back to his arm and walked her smartly toward the supper room door.
Conflicting relief, loss, and desire bombarded him, but he restored her to her chaperone with no more than a careless bow before he strode off in search of the brandy.
*
“For your own sake, don’t be encouraging Rollo Darblay,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam said severely in the carriage going home. “Lord Longton won’t like it, and neither will I. Nor your father.”
“Rolls is not so bad.” Fitz clearly felt compelled to defend his friend. “Bit of a loose screw, but he doesn’t pursue respectable girls.”
“Godfrey,” his aunt scolded.
“Sorry, Aunt.” He subsided against the opposite cushions.
“But I thought on the whole that went rather well.” Mrs. Fitzwilliam beamed at Gina. “Lord Longton was most attentive, which staves off the other fortune hunters, and you were clearly accepted and well-liked. Just the thing to secure you partners for tomorrow’s ball.”
Gina smiled, trying to be grateful. She suspected she only wanted to dance with Lord Darblay, whose kiss still burned beneath her glove. And that would not do at all.
Chapter Eight
It was very odd, but Gina greeted the new morning with excitement, something that hadn’t happened for a long time. Apart from one morning in Renwick’s Hotel, but she wouldn’t think of that. Instead, she thought about encountering Rollo again. After all, they had made their agreement. They would not be lovers, but they would be friends. And Rollo’s friendship both supported and cheered her.
