Candice Hern (39 page)

In his youth Jack had never himself aspired to such a reputation. It was only after his disastrous betrothal to the beautiful Suzanne had soured him on all so-called respectable women that he had taken his uncle as mentor in hedonism. Their attachment had caused some concern with Jack's family; but as a younger son less attention was paid to him than to his brothers, and so after a while, no one much cared.

If they cared now—now that he was the marquess—it was of no concern to Jack. Uncle Edward would always be welcome in Jack's home. More welcome than many other relatives, in fact.

He had invited Uncle Edward this evening with the intention that he should distract, in his inimitable way, the formidable Mrs. Bannister, while Jack began his seduction of Mary in earnest. When he had first called on his uncle at his town house last week, that gentleman had been most enthusiastic in his agreement to go along with Jack's scheme.

"It has been some time since I have faced such a challenge," Uncle Edward had said upon hearing of his own role in the evening's plans. His interest had been piqued at once by Jack's description of the unflappable and dour Mrs. Bannister. His face had broken into a mischievous grin. "I trust my skills are up to the task."

"I have no doubts on that score, Uncle."

"You flatter me, boy. And so, tell me of this young woman— Mary, is it?—who has so captured your attention. A beauty, is she?"

"Not exactly," Jack had aid with a sheepish grin. "She is not at all my usual type, in fact."

"Respectable, you mean?"

Jack laughed. "Yes, she is that. But different in other ways as well. Perhaps I should explain."

Jack had then related to his uncle all the ugly details of his financial situation and his need for a rich bride.

"I beg your pardon for having to say this, my boy," his uncle had said, shaking his head in disbelief, "but your esteemed father was a prize idiot. How could he have let things go so far? Does my sister know? Is that what has caused her decline this past year? Good Lord, if the man were not already dead, I believe I would kill him."

"Mother has not been herself since the accident," Jack said in a tight voice. "I have not been able to speak with her about these matters. Her heart has been broken, Uncle. It is grief that continues to afflict her, not financial difficulties. You know how devoted she was to Father. Losing him was enough of a blow. But to lose James and Frederick, too. And little Jason, her only grandson. I do not think she will ever be the same. I would be a cad to even consider adding to her suffering."

Uncle Edward had paced the length of his study several times, running his hands through his thick hair in an agitated manner. "I wish I could help you, my boy," he said at last, "but my own resources are—"

"Thank you, Uncle," Jack interrupted, "but I think my plan with Mary is my best—nay, my only—alternative."

And so Uncle Edward had agreed to help out by distracting Mrs. Bannister, which he seemed to be doing very well at the moment, judging from that lady's flushed countenance. As he watched, Jack was suddenly struck by how attractive Mrs. Bannister looked this evening. He had never really paid her much attention. Of course, he had sized her up at their first meeting as a woman still handsome for her age—he guessed she was in her mid-forties—with good bones, clear skin, and bright green eyes. But her perpetual scowl had detracted from any real beauty, and her obvious disapproval had caused Jack to dismiss her entirely. But she was not scowling this evening. Under his uncle's spell her expression had softened, and she was actually smiling. She looked quite lovely, in fact.

Jack smiled, thinking what a joy it was to watch Uncle Edward in action. The old
roué
could still out-charm the best of them. Jack doubted even his own formidable skills could have defrosted Mrs. Bannister quite so easily.

Assured that his uncle had matters well in hand, Jack was able to turn his full attention to Mary. He tucked her tiny hand in the crook of his arm as he led her out to the lobby area during the interval. Upon their return he guided her into her chair without relinquishing her hand. As the music began once again, he gently forced open a pearl button at the base of her glove and drew tiny circles on the exposed skin of her wrist—a tactic that never failed to titillate other women.

Mary seemed not to notice.

Twice during the next act, when Mary turned to him with a smile of appreciation for the music, he had brought her hand to his lips.

She had giggled.

Several times he leaned close and whispered suggestive comments in her ear, once even allowing his lips to brush her neck.

She had burst out laughing.

In fact, Mary laughed so much during the last act that many eyes were drawn to their box. Jack was puzzled. Although Mary had, from the beginning, laughed away his attempts at flirtation, he was much more assiduous in his attentions this evening and had expected a different response. He had certainly never experienced such difficulties with other women.

She was obviously not taking him seriously.

He watched her profile while she stared spellbound at the stage as the opera reached its finale. She was practically oblivious of his presence.

Well, my dear
, he thought with a resigned sigh,
it seems I shall have to take a more direct approach.

Chapter 7

Mary sat at her beloved pianoforte and absently picked out a tune while listening to her companion discuss the rout they had attended the previous evening. For reasons that escaped Mary, Olivia had apparently found the evening highly entertaining. Mary had been bored.

"Did Sir Henry tell you about his recent travels to the West Indies?" Olivia asked, comfortably ensconced on the brocade-covered sofa near one of the two large windows overlooking the street below. Her workbag was carelessly tossed at her side. She did not look up from her embroidery. "He is considering purchasing a sugar plantation there. Would it not be lovely to travel to such exotic locations?"

Mary gave a deep sigh. Sir Henry Lambton had clearly piqued Olivia's interest. She had mentioned him no less than a dozen times this morning. A middle-aged widower with two young daughters, the man was obviously on the lookout for a new wife. Mary sincerely hoped Olivia was not getting any ideas.

She stopped playing and looked across at her friend, who was bent over her embroidery hoop. "Olivia, you are not setting your cap for Sir Henry, are you?"

Olivia looked up with a startled expression. "Me?"

"For if you are, I take leave to tell you that you could do so much better for yourself, my dear. Sir Henry is a dead bore."

Olivia gave a disparaging little sniff and returned her attention to her needlework. "He seemed a nice enough gentleman. But I assure you, I am
not
setting my cap for him. I only thought that perhaps you—"

"I am glad to hear it," Mary interrupted. "If I thought you were seriously considering marrying again, I could recommend several other gentlemen who would be much more interesting than Sir Henry." She paused as a wicked thought crossed her mind. "Only look at how attentive Mr. Maitland has been." She had to smile at the furious look her companion directed at her embroidery. "Now
there's
an interesting man for you, Olivia."

"Mary,
please.
"

She studied her friend closely as she stabbed viciously at the stretched silk. "Olivia! You are blushing!"

"Hush, Mary. You are being ridiculous."

"Am I?"

Olivia shot Mary an imploring look, then bent her head over the embroidery hoop as she continued to ply her needle. Suddenly she gave a startled squeak and brought a finger to her mouth. "Blast!" she muttered as she studied her pricked finger.

Mary had only been teasing, but had she in fact struck a sensitive nerve? They had only met Mr. Maitland on two occasions: at the opera two nights ago, and yesterday when he took her and Olivia for a drive in the park. Mary had liked him at once. He reminded her of Jack. During both occasions, though, he had been especially solicitous of Olivia. Mary had dismissed his behavior as no more sincere than that of his nephew. The two of them had enough charm between them to coax all the birds from all the trees in all the parks of London. Surely Olivia had not taken him seriously?

But perhaps Mary had misread his attentions. Olivia was a very attractive woman, after all. Mary had no idea what sort of conversation the two of them had shared at the opera. Jack had kept her too busy with his own silly flirtation for her to pay much attention the other couple. The few times she had glanced over at them, however, she had noticed Olivia smiling and apparently enjoying herself. Oh, dear. Could it be that … could they have …

"Olivia, is there something you have not told me?"

Olivia looked up from wiping her finger with a scrap of linen, a puzzled expression marking her brow. "I beg your pardon?"

"About you and Mr. Maitland, I mean. You seemed very cozy together at the opera, and he could scarce keep his eyes off you yesterday in the Park. Have you two formed an attachment?"

"Dear heaven!" Olivia exclaimed. Her outraged tone was somewhat offset by the blush that crept up her neck all the way to her hairline.

"What a foolish notion" She did not look at Mary, but instead busied herself with adjusting the fabric in the embroidery hoop. "The very idea! For one thing, I hardly know the man. For another, he is a rake and, like your friend Lord Pemerton, a consummate flirt. He flirts with me. That is all. There is nothing more to it than that."

As Jack flirts with me
, Mary thought wistfully.

Apparently satisfied with the new position of the painted silk, Olivia began rummaging through her workbag and finally pulled out a skein of green silk thread. She moistened the end of the silk and, turning around slightly toward the sunlight streaming in through the window behind, rethreaded her needle. She then looked up at Mary with a determined tilt to her chin. "Unlike you, my dear, a gazetted rake holds no appeal for me." She then bent back over her embroidery, plying tiny green stitches with intense deliberation. Her face, however, Mary was quick to notice, was still colored with a rosy blush.

Mary was not by nature a matchmaker. Her project to find Jack a bride was entered into on a whim, as a source of diversion. And though it looked as if she might be making progress in that quarter—Jack seemed to have shown a marked partiality for Miss Carstairs—she would not willingly attempt such a project again. It had all been too confusing, with Jack showing a preference for the least likely candidates while cavalierly dismissing the most obvious.

But the very idea of Olivia and Edward Maitland was almost enough to change her mind about matchmaking. There had been a spark of something between them, she was sure of it. There needed only a bit of kindling to ignite it.

It was almost irresistible.

"It is true," she said, turning back to the pianoforte and picking out a tune in an attempt at nonchalance, "that Mr. Maitland has a reputation as a rake. But he is older and more mature now. The wild days of his youth are surely long past."

Olivia continued to ply her needle with silent intensity.

"Nevertheless," Mary continued, "he is still quite attractive, is he not?"

"I suppose so," was the muttered reply.

"And so very charming and witty. Do you not agree, my dear?"

"If you say so," Olivia said in a voice so soft Mary had stopped playing in order to hear.

Mary was prevented from pursuing this very interesting discussion by the sound of voices in the hall. She was not normally at home to callers on Wednesdays, so she was extremely curious to know who it might be. Her eyes were trained on the double doors when they were swung open by the butler. When she spied a familiar figure behind him, she was filled with an unexpected thrill of excitement. Her face broke into a huge smile.

"His Lordship, the Marquess of Pemerton," the butler announced. "And Mr. Edward Maitland."

Mary was only vaguely aware of the sound of embroidery hoops clattering to the floor as she rose to meet her guests.

* * *

Jack smiled as his eyes caught Mary's. She had risen from the bench at the pianoforte and was moving across the small drawing room toward him with an outstretched hand.

"Jack!" she exclaimed with flattering enthusiasm. "And Mr. Maitland. How lovely."

Jack took her proffered hand and brought it to his lips, then turned it over and placed a quick kiss on her palm. Her eyes flashed with amusement. After she had turned to greet his uncle, Jack took her arm and led her back toward the pianoforte. He noticed, out of the comer of his eye, that Uncle Edward was helping Mrs. Bannister to retrieve something—sewing articles or some such thing—from the floor where they had apparently fallen and scattered.

"I hope you do not mind our dropping by like this, unannounced," Jack said. "But we were in the vicinity and, since it is not Tuesday, I thought it safe to call."

Mary gave a throaty chuckle. "You are quite safe," she said. "No other callers are expected. And you must know, Jack, that you are always welcome. Olivia and I had just about exhausted our store of amusing conversation, so your timing is quite perfect."

"You were playing?" He nodded toward the pianoforte, noting for the first time what a particularly beautiful instrument it was, with a satinwood case inlaid with rosewood in a rambling floral pattern. It must have been a very expensive piece. Jack chastised himself for not noticing it before; it was almost the only outward sign of Mary's wealth.

"Just dabbling," she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Nothing serious."

Jack had not considered Mary's music when developing his plan for the morning. But now that he thought on it, it might be just the thing to encourage the proper mood. Yes, just the thing. "Will you play for us now?" he asked, indicating that she should be seated on the pianoforte bench.

"Now?"

"Jack has told me of your skill, Lady Mary," said his quick-thinking Uncle Edward, now sharing the sofa with a blushing—
blushing?—
Mrs. Bannister. "It would be an honor to have you play for us."