The Devil and the Viscount, page 9
“Lord, is she here, too? Mrs. Carrington has thrown her net wide.”
“Hope says you escorted her to Lady Rampton’s soiree last night.”
Rollo grinned. “It was worth it. In any case, she’s worth several Lady Ramptons. And I’m not talking about money.”
Wenning looked interested but continued to play. After a few moments, he murmured, “You don’t need to do it, you know. I can loan you enough to pay your debts and make a start on the land.”
Once, Rollo would have grabbed it with both hands and laughed. Now, he smiled a little ruefully at the cards. “My family has taken more than enough from you.”
“But I have Grace,” Wenning replied. “The rest is nothing. And seriously, Rollo, it would be no hardship.”
“Thanks,” Rollo muttered. He met Wenning’s gaze. “Seems I’m trapped between one dishonor or another. But I will think about your offer.” Which was more than he had done the first time it was made.
Since Meade and Fitz wandered over shortly afterward, confidences were postponed.
Chapter Nine
Strolling around the ballroom on Lord Longton’s arm, Gina was discovering that her betrothed possessed his share of contradictions. She was loathe to call them hypocrisies.
When she remarked, most casually, on the beauty of the girl waltzing with Lord Calton—the same girl who had previously been clutching Rollo’s arm during the previous dance—he pronounced. “She’s pretty enough, I grant you, but she smells of the shop. Her mother’s trying to palm her off on a title when neither of them have any business at a ton party.”
From which Gina gathered the girl’s family were in trade and looked for a noble husband for her. Much the same case as Gina, in fact, though Longton seemed oblivious.
When a lady came out of the card room, crossing their path, and Gina asked politely if he cared for cards, he replied, “Indeed, I am very fond of cards and dice, though they are hardly a proper diversion for ladies.”
Gina did not bother to ask why. She was trying not to stare at Rollo Darblay, who sat at a piquet table with a distinguished gentleman.
Lord Longton, it seemed, had high standards where other people were concerned, so she couldn’t help wondering what he would think when they came upon Mrs. Snodgrass again. With a hint of defiance, Gina paused to speak to her and introduced Lord Longton in case he chose not to remember their meeting at Lady Rampton’s.
To Gina’s surprise, his lordship was perfectly gracious. From the ensuing conversation, Gina gathered that Mrs. Snodgrass had two sons away at school. Longton, the father of two daughters, commiserated on the difficulty of being a sole parent.
Mrs. Snodgrass nodded. “You talk like a sensible man,” she allowed in apparent surprise.
Gina, afraid to look at his lordship in case his haughtiness set her off into fits of giggles, was highly relieved to be interrupted by Mr. Montague, asking if he might have the pleasure of the ensuing dance.
Gina was happy to accept, not least because she knew him to be a friend of Rollo’s. But he proved to be an extremely good-natured young man, happy to chatter on any subject whenever the dance brought them together. Afterward, he conducted her back to Mrs. Fitzwilliam, who introduced her to another young man who immediately asked her to dance.
At least I am not a wallflower, she thought with some surprise. Presumably, word of her fortune had got out and outweighed her lowly birth in more eyes than Lord Longton’s. She would have enjoyed herself more had she not been sure that Rollo was avoiding her. So, when the dance ended and her partner offered to escort her back to Mrs. Fitzwilliam, she was glad to run into Catherine Dove, who immediately slipped her arm through hers.
“Thank you,” Gina said to her partner. “But I believe I will just walk with Miss Dove for a few moments first. Is there fresh air?” she added to Catherine as her escort walked away disconsolate.
“Of course. There’s a little terrace out here.”
“You don’t miss much, do you?” Gina said with amusement as Catherine guided her straight to an open French door.
“Well, when one is young and engaged, it can be difficult to be alone with one’s betrothed.”
I wouldn’t know. I am older than you and have no desire to be alone with my betrothed. The thought was exquisitely sad, so she turned her mind instead to the pleasure of the fresh air and the gentle breeze instead.
“When will you be married?” she asked idly.
“Not until the autumn. Our parents decided on a longer engagement because we are both young and our attachment was quite sudden.”
Gina smiled. “You are content.”
“And happy. Archie is wonderful.”
“I shall tell him you said so,” came a male voice, and a tall, distinguished man emerged from the shadows onto the lit part of the terrace. He might have been the man she had seen playing cards with Rollo.
“My lord!” Catherine exclaimed, allowing the stranger to bend and kiss her cheek. “I did not know you were here! Is Cousin Grace with you?”
“She is at home with her mother and Hope. I’m really just keeping out of their way. I’d ask how you are, but you are clearly blooming. Won’t you present me to your friend?”
“Gina, this is my cousin, Lord Wenning,” Catherine said obediently. “Cousin, my friend Miss Wallace.”
Lord Wenning bowed over Gina’s proffered hand. This was Rollo’s brother-in-law, she realized, and she had heard his name before. He was a diplomat, whose successful missions had been lauded in the newspapers. And yet she doubted he was as much as thirty years old.
“Enchanted,” he murmured, bowing over her hand.
“Playing chaperone, my lord?” inquired yet another newcomer. Mr. Holles joined them on the otherwise empty terrace, a sardonic curl to his lips.
“Seeking a moment’s respite from the festivities within,” Wenning responded. “As it appears, are you.”
“Of course,” Mr. Holles said stiffly, although it was quite clear to everyone by then that he and Catherine Dove had an assignation.
Lord Wenning’s lips twitched. “Don’t mind me. I shall merely sit here and make conversation with Miss Wallace, secure in the certainty that I will hear or see nothing to upset my—er…nerves.”
Catherine stuck her nose in the air, not entirely in jest, Gina thought, and took her betrothed’s arm to perambulate the length of the terrace.
“Dear me,” Lord Wenning said, assisting Gina onto the bench, “I appear to be presiding over an assignation. I hope I am not interrupting another.”
Gina met his gaze. “No. Not if you mean me.”
“Forgive me. Since we are only just acquainted, I have no idea whether or not you are also betrothed or even married.”
“No,” Gina replied, although honesty compelled her to admit, “Not formally, but there is an understanding.”
“Ah. One of those. May I know the lucky gentleman?”
“It is not my place to say.”
His eyebrows flew up. “Really?”
She withstood his gaze, but he only smiled and drew her attention to the beauty of the sky, and from there, light, unthreatening conversation flowed. He was both witty and engaging, so she had no idea when Catherine and Mr. Holles returned to the ballroom.
A waltz was playing, which probably explained it.
“Thank you for your company,” Gina said rising quickly. “I should return to Mrs. Fitzwilliam who will be wondering where I have got to.”
Wenning rose at once, making no effort to detain her. “May I escort you to her?” His gaze drifted over her head. “On the other hand, perhaps there is no need.”
Gina whirled around to see Rollo striding toward them, glowering. “Wenning, what the devil do you mean by—”
“Nothing, dear boy. Nothing at all.” Wenning smiled amiably and bowed to Gina. “Unless you object, I’ll leave Darblay to escort you inside.”
As he sauntered away to the ballroom, Rollo scowled after him. “What the deuce did he want?”
“I think he came to keep an eye on Miss Dove and Mr. Holles. And took pity on me as the gooseberry.”
“If he overstepped—”
“He didn’t,” Gina interrupted, although it did strike her that Lord Wenning might have had other reasons of his own for spending time with her.
With an apparent effort, Rollo banished his frown. “Will you dance with me?”
“You’re in mourning. You must have told innumerable people you aren’t dancing this evening. They will talk if you now dance with me.”
Rollo sighed. “True enough and…” He broke off and smiled, seizing her by the hand. “Not if they don’t see you.” He drew her only half-protesting to the far side of the terrace and down the side of the house. A splash of moonlight illuminated a long, narrow kitchen garden, and another small terrace.
Rollo spun her into his arms and began to waltz. She laughed, because it reminded her of their illicit dances at Maida Gardens and because the music, while fainter here than at the front, was still compelling.
And Rollo’s arms were bliss. No one else felt so wonderful or smelled so enticing. And he held her too close. The movement of his hips and thighs against her body spread a sweet, heavy heat that was all too familiar. All of her remembered all of him. She wanted to lay her head on his broad chest.
“I know it isn’t what we agreed,” he murmured into her hair. “But I think about you all the time. I can’t help it.”
She closed her eyes. “Don’t, Rollo,” she said shakily. “You will marry Mrs. Snodgrass, or someone else, and save your family and your people. I will marry Lord Longton and make my father proud.”
“I know. I know. But do you ever think of me?”
All the time. She raised her head, meaning to flee ignominiously from this temptation, but his face swooped down, and his mouth took hers. A sob broke from her, because she wanted this so much, and it was wrong. But even at the height of their passion in the hotel, he had never kissed her like this, with such blatant hunger.
She had to clutch him before her knees gave way. His kiss, the movements of his body, no longer dancing but desiring, arousing, battered her senses. She could only welcome him, opening wide to his onslaught and kissing him back with equal ferocity. He slid a knee between her legs, and she let out a soft moan of pleasure and need, pressing against him.
Just as she thought he would devour her utterly, he gentled the kiss, seducing her instead with heart-breaking tenderness. “Forgive me,” he whispered against her lips. “I think I am half-mad, but I would never hurt you.”
“I’m not hurt.” To prove it, she kissed his lips once more. “But Rollo, we cannot do this, nothing like this ever again.”
The tragedy nearly broke her heart and had him crushing her mouth desperately beneath his once more. So, she kissed him back, one very last time. And that was when a silent figure rushed out of nowhere and slammed into her, sending her flying against the stone wall of the house.
Stunned and disoriented, she saw the beautiful girl in pink that she had noticed in the ballroom. In the moonlight, the girl hurled herself against Rollo, locking both arms around his neck. If Gina had not been so bewildered, the pain twisting through her would no doubt have been sharper.
And then, blessedly irritable, came Rollo’s voice. “Get off me!”
“She won’t have you, she won’t! She’s from the north! And you are my viscount!” The girl was in a total, childish tantrum.
“Pull yourself together,” Gina said sharply. “I have seen babies with more manners. His lordship is not a toy to squabble over.”
Whether Gina’s words would have made any difference, she never discovered. Certainly, the girl paused long enough to stare at her over Rollo’s shoulder, but by then two men had arrived, grasping an arm each and hauled her off Rollo.
“Wenning’s holding up her mother,” Mr. Montague said. “It’s a trap to pretend you compromised her. Get the lady inside, and Meade and I will chaperone each other.”
Rollo was dusting off his shoulders as he approached Gina. “Are you hurt?” he asked, low.
“No, just startled…”
“Come, then.” He placed her hand in his arm and waited only long enough to say to the furious beauty. “If I were you, I would faint. And neither of them has a title.”
“Goodness,” Gina said y as they walked smartly to the corner of the main terrace. “Does this kind of thing happen to you often?”
“Never,” Rollo said grimly. “Until word spread that I’m hanging out for a rich wife. One of your pins on the right is loosened.”
Gina found it with her fingers, captured the errant lock of hair, and shoved the pin back in. A few people had now gathered on the terrace, no doubt as the ballroom grew warmer. From among them, came Lord Wenning, towed along by a middle-aged, blue-gowned lady in a tearing hurry.
“Ah, Darblay,” Lord Wenning drawled. “Ma’am.” He bowed to Gina. “This lady has lost her daughter. Perhaps you have seen her.”
“Miss Smythe?” Rollo lied blatantly. “No, not since earlier in the evening.”
“Hmm, is this the young lady, perhaps?” Wenning inquired.
Gina risked a glance and glimpsed Miss Smythe, the back of her hand to her forehead, being solicitously conducted toward her mother by Mr. Meade and Mr. Montague.
“I suppose it’s funny,” Rollo said without a great deal of humor as they walked back inside the ballroom.
“No,” Gina said slowly. “No, it isn’t. It’s intolerable.”
His frown was back as he glanced down at her, along with concern that warmed her heart. But they were in a ballroom full of people, the vast majority of whom had nothing better to do than gossip. She thought he swore under his breath, then he muttered, “I have to take you back to your aunt or there will be talk. You still have choices, Gina.”
She rubbed her forehead above the eyes. “I need to think.”
“We can’t talk here,” he muttered. “Tomorrow afternoon. I’ll get Hope and Catherine to take you walking in the park again.”
And then she was back with Mrs. Fitzwilliam, who didn’t look best pleased to see her in Rollo’s company, though she was perfectly polite. Rollo didn’t stay but strode back toward the card room.
*
The card room emptied considerably as the supper dance formed. Rollo, who had found his friends in possession of a brandy bottle, was relieved. The extra space meant he could sprawl with his glass among his gaming friends. In a few minutes. Meade and Montague came in, winked reassuringly at Rollo, and joined Fitz and Lord Dominic Gorse at the table.
Rollo flexed his shoulders, trying to concentrate on the cards rather than on Gina.
It wasn’t easy, since he was only watching, not playing, and since her scent was still in his nostrils, her taste on his lips, the feel of her soft, yielding body pressed passionately to his…
But even the physical arousal was a distraction from what mattered.
“It is intolerable.” She was about to give herself in marriage, put herself completely into the power of a man she did not, could not like. Watching her with him, he had known that, known it was wrong, wishing he could do something. But now she had actually said the words, acknowledging this whole situation was intolerable for both of them.
“Faint heart never won fair lady.”
Wenning is right. I need to do something, Even if she never speaks to me again, I can’t let her throw her whole life away with this ridiculous marriage.
“My Lord Darblay!”
It still felt odd to be addressed so. Lord Darblay was his father. But the urgency of the voice made him look him up at the speaker anyway. A clearly furious young man, holding himself rigid, glared at Rollo.
“That’s me,” Rollo acknowledged with a silent salute to his late parent.
“You may not recall, my lord, but we met at Mrs. Smythe’s on Wednesday afternoon.”
“Ah, thought you looked familiar,” Rollo said cheerfully, and not quite truthfully. “Pull up a chair.”
“What I have to say, my lord, would be better said in private,” the young man said stiffly.
“Better lower your voice, then,” Rollo advised, glancing around at the scattering of people in the room, several of whom were glancing in their direction. He hooked a chair leg with his foot and dragged it to the table. “Sit and tell me what I can do for you.”
The young man sat, looking slightly bewildered, though his shoulders quickly straightened again and his scowl reformed. “You can meet me, sir!”
He spoke in low but furious tones, and Rollo’s friends all stopped playing to look and listen.
“Meet you where?” Rollo asked for devilment. “White’s? Your gaff or mine? Depends what you want to do, I suppose.”
The young man spoke through his teeth. “I want, sir, to punish you for your ill-treatment of a lady!”
Miss Smythe. Even for her, this was quick work. “Don’t be silly,” Rollo said. “Have a drink and tell me quietly—very quietly and without naming names for God’s sake—what you think I’ve done.”
“You have dishonored a young and very beautiful lady,” the man hissed as Dominic Gorse pushed a glass into his hand.
“Pretty sure I didn’t,” Rollo said.
“Depends on your definition of dishonored,” Meade said unhelpfully. “And lady, come to that. Was this a long time ago?”
The young man frowned at him. “No, it was not! Less than an hour ago.”
“No,” Meade said with certainty. “Got the wrong man.”
“I was not,” the young man said dangerously, “talking to you but to his lordship.”
“Look,” Rollo interrupted. “You’ve got the wrong end of the stick. Come and see me tomorrow because we can’t talk about it here.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” the young man declared, setting his untouched glass firmly on the table. “I am calling you out, sir.”
“Don’t be daft. I’m not fighting with you.”
“Should have come a few years ago,” Meade said nostalgically. “Always in a fight, then.”
