A Perfect Groom (2 page)

“Look at you, so drunk you can hardly stand!” the marquess burst out. “And you reek of cheap perfume! God, but you are so very much your mother’s brat! She shamed me, the witch! She shamed my good name, as
you
shame me! And all these years I’ve had to look at you, staring back at me with
her eyes
, with
her
smile. Reminding me what she did, what she was — a whore who would spread her legs for any man who would have her. And you are no better. Your blood is tainted,” he raged, “as she was tainted. No decent woman will ever have you, boy. No decent woman will ever want you!”

Justin’s eyes glittered. In that instant, he wanted only to strike out, to strike
back
, to wound his father as his father had wounded him.

“If Mama was such a
whore
,” he stated cuttingly, “how then do you know your children are your own —”

All at once Justin broke off. He stared hard at his father.

“Sweet Christ,” he whispered, the words but a breath. “You don’t, do you?”

The marquess made no answer. The silence was suddenly stifling.

Justin’s mouth twisted. “Oh, but that’s rich! The Marquess of Thurston…abandoned by his wife, who was killed with her lover on her way to France…and forever saddled with her children. And he must ever wonder if any of them are his own! And of course you couldn’t foist us off on anyone else, could you? You had to claim us, because you just didn’t know.”

The marquess was livid. “Shut up, boy.”

Justin began to laugh. And once he’d started, he couldn’t seem to stop…

“Shut up!” roared the marquess. Malice glittered in his eyes. He took a threatening step forward.

Suddenly everything changed. The marquess made a choking sound. His eyes bulged. He clawed at his cravat…and slumped to the floor.

Justin couldn’t tear his gaze from his father’s figure, lying prone on the polished marble floor. For one horrifying instant, he couldn’t move.

Then sanity returned and he rushed to his father’s side, falling to his knees. He stretched out a tentative hand. “Father?” he whispered.

The marquess stared toward the ceiling through sightless eyes.

Justin began to shake. A horrible, sickly sensation seized hold of him. He lurched upright. And then he was running, running toward his chamber, as if the devil himself were at his heels…

The marquess was dead.
Dead
.

Justin would never tell anyone about what transpired this night between the two of them. He would keep it a secret locked deep in his being. No one would ever know that he had been present…that he had killed his father.

One

London
, 1817

The atmosphere at White’s was not particularly different from any other evening. A number of well-dressed gentlemen circled the hazard table. The air was thick with the pungent smell of brandy and cigars. His long frame stretched out in a green velvet chair, Justin Sterling idly scanned the day’s newspaper, as if he hadn’t a care in the world — and indeed he did not. His long legs crossed at the ankle, his pose was one of redolent ease.

“Upon my soul!” intruded a mocking voice. “So you’ve at last deigned to grace us with your presence again!”

Justin glanced over the top of the paper, his green eyes meeting those of his friend Gideon.

Gideon eyed the empty chair beside him. “May I sit?”

“What, you’re asking?” Justin laid aside the newspaper. Gideon was a man known for doing what he pleased, when he pleased, and where he pleased — a man after Justin’s own heart, to be sure.

“Well,” Gideon said, “given the beastly frame of mind you were in when you departed the country, I thought I’d better.”

It was true. Even his sister-in-law
Devon
had commented on his wretched mood before he’d left. Why it was so, Justin didn’t know. He didn’t lack for companionship, neither female nor familial. He had anything he could possibly want at his disposal. Indeed, what
more
could a man possibly want?

He didn’t know. That was the crux of it.

To that end, he’d decided three months earlier that a change of scenery was in order, so he’d removed himself to the Continent. To
Paris
,
Rome
,
Vienna
…he’d traveled to his heart’s content,
indulged
himself to his heart’s content.

Now he was back.

And he was no more content than before.

Justin reached for his port. “And greetings to you, too,” he murmured dryly.

“Oh, all right, then. I daresay, you are looking singularly well.” Gideon eyed the perfect fit of snug wool across his shoulders. “Must be your tailor. Weston, I presume?”

Justin inclined his head. Weston was the premier — and most expensive — tailor in the city. “You presume correctly.”

Nearby came a raucous burst of laughter.

“Two thousand pounds to the man who can take her!”

Justin glanced over just as Sir Ashton Bentley executed a wobbly bow. Justin was not surprised; Bentley’s predilection for drink somehow always managed to surpass his tolerance.

“Raise the stakes and make it worthwhile,” boomed another fellow.

The voices came from a group of men gathered just a few paces away from White’s famous bay window where Beau Brummell and his cronies usually gathered, though they were absent this night. It appeared the discussion was growing quite animated.

There was a loud guffaw. “No one’s seen her muff or likely to, lest it be on her wedding night!”

“She’ll never consent to a bedding before marriage!” hooted another. “Ask Bentley!”

“Ha! It damn well won’t take marriage, or even an offer, to make her mine. She’ll be green-gowned by the end of the season or my name isn’t Charles Brentwood!”

Another man chortled. “Her? Tumbled on the grass? Not bloody likely.”

“Two thousand says I can mow her down!” boasted Patrick McElroy, second son of a Scottish earl. “And her husband, should she ever deign to choose one from the buffoons courting her, will never know he wasn’t the first!”

“And just how will we know the deed has been done?” came the inevitable inquiry. “To lay claim to it is one thing, to succeed is quite another.”

Indeed, Justin’s mind had been pondering that very point.

“He’s right,” came the shout. “We’ll need proof!”

“A trophy!” someone cheered. “We need a trophy!”

“A lock of hair ought to do the trick! There’s not a soul in
England
with hair the color of flame!”

No doubt it was some young debutante who had captured their fancy. Trust the Scotsman McElroy to be vulgar. And
Brentwood
had no finesse when it came to the fairer sex. Justin almost felt sorry for the poor chit, whoever she was.

Justin’s gaze hadn’t left the group. “A randy lot, it would seem,” he murmured to Gideon. “But I confess to an abounding curiosity. Who is this woman with whom they’re so fascinated?”

Gideon offered a mocking smile. “Who else? The Unattainable.”

“The what?”

“Not what, but
who
. You’ve been gone too long, my friend. Since she turned down three offers of marriage in a fortnight — Bentley among them — she’s become known as The Unattainable. She’s quite famously in vogue, you know. The toast of the Season thus far.”

Justin’s gaze lifted heavenward. “Just what
London
needs. Another drab, boring, insipid debutante.”

“Not precisely a debutante. She’s almost one-and-twenty, though I don’t believe she’s ever had a formal coming-out. And she’s hardly insipid.” Gideon erupted into laughter. “Ah, but that is the last word I should use to describe The Unattainable.”

“And what word
would
you use to describe her?”

Justin lifted his glass to his lips, while Gideon pursed his lips. “Hmmm. Do you know, one simply will not do! She’s truly quite delectable, but oh, how shall I say this? She is not a woman of convention, yet she’s all the rage. She is most certainly never boring, and she’s hardly drab. I don’t believe I’ve yet to see her dressed in white. And her hair is indeed the color of flame.” He nodded toward the group. “A fitting trophy indeed.”

“She hardly sounds the usual diamond of the first water.”

“She’s not the usual debutante. But perhaps that’s the lure. She is a woman of…how shall I put this? A woman of statuesque proportions.” Gideon gave a dramatic sigh. “She has all the grace of a fish out of water. And she cannot dance to save her soul.”

A perfectly arched black brow climbed high. Justin lowered his glass to stare at Gideon incredulously. He pretended a shudder of distaste. “The chit is a giant, a bumbler, nearly on the shelf, yet she’s entertained three proposals?”

“Quite so,” Gideon affirmed lightly, “and not even a fortune to commend her.”

“My God, have all the men in Town gone mad?”

Gideon laughed softly. “Yes. Mad is what they are. Mad about
her
. Mad
for
her. I should estimate…oh, perhaps half are ensnared. Enamored. Entranced, falling at her feet and declaring themselves instantly in love with her. The other half are here at White’s” — Gideon waved a hand — “seeking to slip beneath her skirts, as you can hear.”

Ever the cynic, Justin quirked a brow. “You sound quite besotted yourself,” he observed. “Have you fallen beneath her spell, too?”

A laugh was Gideon’s only response. But almost before the sound emerged from his lips, Gideon’s eyes slid away for a fraction of a second. Justin had known him too long and too well not to see what Gideon chose to hide. Justin gazed at him, in truth no less than shocked. Gideon was hardly the sort to embarrass easily.

“Never tell me,” he drawled, “that you were among the buffoons paying court to her.”

Judging from his glower, Gideon did not take kindly to his jibe.

Justin couldn’t resist teasing. “Set you in your place, did she?”

“Don’t be so damned smug,” Gideon snapped.

Justin took a sip of port. “Why, I wouldn’t dream of it.” He contemplated the brew, his mind stirring. He was nor fond of red-haired females, and for good reason. They put him in mind of —

“You’re looking vastly annoyed, Justin. What is it?”

“If you must know, I was just thinking about a female who gave me a set-down some years ago.”

“What, you?”

Oh, but the incident playing in his mind was not one he cared to remember. She’d dealt quite a blow to his pride; granted, it had been a bit inflated at the time. Why the girl had singled him out for her mischief, he had no idea. Of course, Sebastian persisted in reminding him of the minx’s little scheme whenever he could. Child or no, he’d never quite forgotten — or forgiven! — that wild little hoyden’s attempt to demean him.

He offered a tight smile. “Suffice it to say that perhaps we’re not so dashing as we think, either of us.” He didn’t divulge that the female had been a mere child — though he had been a mere youth himself. God knew Gideon would have gloated to no end.

He steered the conversation back to the subject at hand. “She must be quite something, this chit known as The Unattainable, to send
you
sniffing about her skirts — and you the most notorious rake in Town.”

“Oh, but I do believe that honor is solely yours.” Gideon had regained his aplomb and proved himself fully up to par. “However, if you think you would fare better, perhaps you should put yourself into the running.” He nodded toward the group where The Unattainable was still being discussed — and in ever more bawdy terms.

Before Justin could answer, Bentley’s voice rang out again. “Three thousand pounds to the man who succeeds in deflowering The Unattainable!”

“Ah,” said Gideon. “The stakes are rising.”

Justin gave a shake of his head. “Good God, Bentley’s drunk. Someone should get him out of here before he goes back to the hazard table and loses the very clothes on his back.”

“Who is in?” There was a flash of hands, five in all — McElroy,
Brentwood
, Lester Drummond, William Hardaway — a lad barely out of the schoolroom! — and Gregory Fitzroy.

“ ‘Tis done,” came the shout. “Three thousand pounds to any man among the five of us who claims The Unattainable!”

There was a raucous cheer, a flash of banknotes, and a footman was sent scurrying for the betting book. Justin was hardly shocked by the subject of the wager, for when it came to the matter of wagers, nothing was sacred here at White’s — or any of the gentlemen’s clubs, for that matter. They were rakes one and all, he decided with more than a hint of self-derision, and he and Gideon perhaps the worst of the lot.