The Wickedest Lord Alive (14 page)

His mother, seemingly unaccustomed to being so thoroughly routed by her only child, opened her mouth, then closed it again. After a telling pause, she said, “I am most happy to oblige you, my dear, I am sure. We must hope that I do not take a chill in the carriage.”

“Have I not said I will take the utmost care of you, ma’am?” said Huntley.

“Capital!” said Lydgate. “It will be a merry party indeed.”

Xavier shot his cousin a scathing glance, which Lydgate, of course, ignored. Lydgate said to Aunt Sadie, “You will be more comfortable with the escort of two fine fellows like Tom and Huntley here, won’t you, ma’am?”

“Now, that
would
be jolly,” said Aunt Sadie, raising her wineglass in a toast to Mrs. Huntley. Her tone was a little on the dry side.

“Are you certain the duke won’t mind?” said Tom.

“Mind?” Lydgate scoffed. “Of course he won’t mind. It’s practically open house at Harcourt, dear fellow. Everyone is welcome.”

“A free-for-all, in fact,” said Xavier acidly. Open house for the Westruther family, not for every stray nobody Lydgate met in his travels.

What game was Lydgate playing? Next he’d invite old Mr. Taft.

Miss Beauchamp, seeming not best pleased with Tom’s invitation either, said with a great deal of emphasis, “I am sure you will not be able to tear yourself away from Little Thurston, Tom.”

“Why not?” said Tom. “In fact, I mean to spend the spring in London this year.”

She gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“And why shouldn’t I?”

“Oh, that is the outside of enough,” exclaimed Miss Beauchamp, setting down her cutlery with a clatter. “You know I make my come-out this season.”

“Yes, and you need someone to keep an eye on you,” he retorted.

“Oh, in between dallying with opera dancers and the like,” she shot back.

Flushing, Tom said, “If you can’t learn to hold your tongue, perhaps it is you who should remain in Little Thurston, Clare.”

“Children, children,” said Lydgate, beaming benignly on them both. “Let us not quarrel. If you detest each other so greatly, allow me to assure you that Harcourt is so vast, you needn’t cross one another’s paths above once a day if you don’t choose.”

That diverted Miss Beauchamp’s attention. “Gracious. Is it a palace?”

Xavier snorted. The Duke of Marlborough was the only non-royal personage permitted to call his house a palace. But Harcourt was certainly built on a grand enough scale to rival any royal abode. To match its owner’s sense of self-importance, of course.

“Wait and see,” said Lydgate, tapping the side of his nose with one finger.

“Will you be there, Lord Steyne?” asked Miss Beauchamp.

“Oh, yes,” he said with a long, cool look for Huntley. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Chapter Ten

Lord Steyne paid a call on Lizzie the following afternoon. Every time Lizzie saw him, her heart lurched with something between fear and anticipation.

He appeared as formidable and elegant as usual. Broad-shouldered and lean-hipped, his physique showed to particular advantage in tight pantaloons and a swallow-tailed coat. There was not an ounce of softness about him, unless one counted the sensual lips and that raven black hair.

Lizzie was no stranger to the hot brush of those lips, the silken texture of that hair. A traitorous longing rose inside her to experience those sensations again.

“I leave in the morning for Harcourt, Lizzie,” said Steyne.

Disappointment anchored in her stomach. So soon? Why had he not mentioned this before?

She shook herself. To crave his presence was the first step to pain and disillusionment. Unless she could somehow win his regard, she must accustom herself to being alone when she was his marchioness.

When she made no immediate response, he added, “I understand you are to travel to Harcourt in Lord Fenton’s carriage with Miss Beauchamp and her aunt. Young Tom Beauchamp is to escort you.”

He paused. “Also, Mr. Huntley and his mama will be coming to Harcourt.”

“What on earth?” said Lizzie. “Oh, no! Why did you invite them?”

“Well, Huntley is your betrothed,” said Steyne suavely. “I would not wish to part you from him so soon.”

“This is nonsense. You are doing it to torture me.”

“In fact, it wasn’t my doing,” said Steyne. “I believe Lydgate did it to torture
me
.”

She observed him thoughtfully, her head tilted to the side. “
Would
it torture you for Huntley to be there?”

A gleam lit his eye. “Miss Allbright, could it be that you are fishing for compliments?”

“Of course not,” she said a little crossly, and turned away from him to finger the fringed tassel of the chintz drapes.

“I’ve made arrangements for your baggage to go by hired coach to Harcourt,” he said, quite as if it were natural for luggage to command its own transportation.

“My…” She turned back and stared at him. “The clothes you ordered for me require their own coach?”

He shrugged. “It seemed expedient. You must dress, after all, and I took advice from my sister on the matter of how many gowns and what other folderol you would require during your stay.” Humor warmed his eyes. “Rosamund might have exaggerated a trifle, perhaps.”

Had he confided in his sister about his marriage? What would Lady Tregarth think?

“It will be quite a cavalcade,” said Lizzie.

“Nothing out of the ordinary for my family,” said Steyne. “When my cousin Cecily travels, her wardrobe requires two coaches, and that’s not the half of what she takes with her.”

Lizzie digested this. She might not be au fait with the habits of grand ladies when they stayed at country houses, but she could not help but recall the senseless extravagance of her father, with his extensive collection of riding boots, the jars of snuff that lined an entire room, the astronomical sums he spent on horseflesh and on his hounds. Not to mention at the gaming tables and the race track.

“I also took the liberty of hiring a maid for you,” said Steyne. “She will arrive a day ahead of you at Harcourt, along with your baggage. You will wish to satisfy yourself that she is skilled and congenial.”

Lizzie frowned, not best pleased at this. “Choosing a maid is a very personal decision.”

“If you do not like her, send her away and we’ll find another,” said Steyne, seeming already bored by the conversation.

Pride urged her to argue the point, but why bother? At Harcourt, she could not make do with the indifferent services of a parlor maid as she had for the past eight years. In such a grand house, borrowing a parlor maid would be unheard of. She couldn’t take Peggy with her, either, for the girl was needed here.

Stiffly, she said, “Thank you, my lord.”

He eyed her with such amused understanding that it made her burn to confound him. One day, somehow, she would manage to throw him off balance the way he did her.

“I’m sure there are any number of things you might require before you leave,” he said, reaching inside his coat. “And there will be vails for servants at the house.” He took out a fat purse and held it out to her. “I trust this will be sufficient for your needs.”

She didn’t touch the money, but stared at it as if it might bite her. “I can’t take it. I am sure Mr. Allbright would not wish me to.”

“I am your husband, Lizzie,” said Steyne, clearly holding his exasperation in check. “You are my responsibility, not Mr. Allbright’s.”

She knew this to be true, but taking the coin from him would be tantamount to accepting the situation he’d placed her in wholeheartedly. And she couldn’t do that, not yet.

“I cannot take it,” she repeated.

It was as if winter had breathed over him. His eyes filmed with ice. His lips compressed, and the up-cut aristocratic nostrils flared a little.

She’d angered him, she knew it, but she stood her ground.

There was no emotion in his voice. “Let me tell you, my girl, I have been very patient with you up until this point. Do not try my patience too far.”

Lizzie gestured to the purse. “I do not want it.” Was it principle or sheer stubborn defiance that made her repeat it? All she knew was that she was angry now, too.

“You’re accepting the gowns from me,” he pointed out. “And the maid.”

“That’s different.” Why was it different? Perhaps it wasn’t, but it felt different to her. Besides she needed him to know she was not the woman to do his bidding blindly. She would not be that kind of wife.

Lizzie kept her hands by her side, disregarding the pouch that undoubtedly contained more money than she’d seen since arriving in Little Thurston. “I have sufficient funds for my immediate wants. Thank you.”

“You are the first woman ever to tell me that.”

She sniffed. “Given the company you keep, my lord, that doesn’t surprise me.”

Laughter lit his eyes once more, and she thought how lethally devastating he would be if only he let that smile overtake his tightly controlled features.

He moved toward her, and with his free hand, he caught her chin. “I will teach you to be extravagant, dear Lizzie.” His gaze lowered to her mouth. “I look forward to teaching you a great many things.”

Heaven preserve her; when he looked at her with such intense fascination, she longed to learn every one of them. Heat unfurled between them. Her breath seemed to catch in her lungs and refuse to leave her body.

He was going to kiss her. She knew it. Right here in the vicarage drawing room.

Her heart seemed to stop beating, then kicked into a hell-for-leather gallop.

“Lizzie.” His voice was thick and graveled. His gaze flickered to hers, and back to her mouth.

As if some invisible force drew her against her will, she swayed toward him.

He placed one fingertip to her lips to stay her. The sudden break of that magnetic pull disoriented her. She blinked up at him, bewildered at his change of mood.

“With the utmost regret, my dear, I must take my leave,” he said as if he’d never the slightest intention of pressing his lips to hers. “I look forward to seeing you at Harcourt, Lizzie.”

Shame washed over her, laced with anger. How dared he act as if he were about to kiss her, and then make it seem as if he was the one drawing back from her eager assault?

Humiliation throbbed inside her. She sank into a curtsy with lowered eyes. “I will be there, my lord. But only because I have no choice.”

“Is that so?” His lips quirked up derisively. “You are not even a tiny bit curious to see what it would be like between us now?”

“Curious?” she repeated. “If it were not for our marriage, I wouldn’t go within an aim’s ace of you, Lord Steyne. You are cold and selfish and a wicked, wicked man. I—I thoroughly disapprove of you.”

He turned to collect his hat and gloves from the table. “Yes?” His regard flicked over her, an insolent inspection. “How very … promising.”

She sputtered. “Promising! Do you
like
the notion that the woman you make your wife disapproves of you?”

He moved back toward her, until he stood close. She felt the warm wash of his breath on her cheek as he leaned in. “You see, Lizzie,” he said softly into her ear, “it will make it so much more interesting to corrupt you.”

*   *   *

The week passed far too quickly for Lizzie’s comfort. While Clare and Aunt Sadie were in transports of delight over the forthcoming sojourn at Harcourt, Lizzie was a bundle of hope and apprehension.

She was obliged, however, to at least give the appearance of someone who expected a high treat. Every young lady in Little Thurston would have given her eyes to be in Lizzie’s place. A circumstance much in evidence when Lady Chard invited the local ladies to tea in honor of the party’s imminent departure.

No one would have suspected from Lizzie’s demeanor that the farewell was a more permanent one than her friends and neighbors knew.

She hoped it didn’t show on her face how often her thoughts strayed to Steyne’s almost kiss.

“About a month, I daresay,” said Aunt Sadie in answer to a query from Miss Felicity Moore. “These things are always vague. One must assess the proper time to leave when one gauges the mood of the party.”

“A month,” said Felicity, clasping her hands at her ample bosom. “I do believe you will both be betrothed by the end of your stay, Clare and Lizzie.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Aunt Sadie happily. “But it will be a very good thing for the girls to enlarge their circle of acquaintance before Clare makes her come-out next month.”

“Do you have prior acquaintance with the Westruther family, Lady Tiverton?” Mrs. Worthington asked Aunt Sadie.

Miss Worthington had been quiet all afternoon, which Lizzie had noted with relief. At her mama’s question, Miss Worthington’s body seemed to tense.

“Some acquaintance, yes,” said Aunt Sadie. “You see—”

Lady Chard broke in. “Ha! You know very well, Sadie, that the gels were asked to Harcourt because young Lydgate is taken with Clare.”

Clare’s eyes sparkled, but there was a studied air of disinterest in her tone as she said, “Do you think so, my lady? I am sure his lordship must have admired many young ladies more beautiful than I.”

There was a general outcry at this. The ladies might vie among themselves for the title of local belle but let no outsider think to compare the charms of a lady from Little Thurston unfavorably with her town-dwelling contemporaries.

Only Mrs. Worthington and Miss Worthington remained silent on that score.

“One must suppose,” said Mrs. Worthington after a moment, taking an infinitesimal sip of tea, “that Miss Allbright was invited out of consideration for Mr. Huntley.”

“Well, you suppose wrongly,” said Clare before Lizzie could make haste to agree. “Lizzie will never marry Mr. Huntley. Indeed,
I
think Lizzie has an admirer in Lord Steyne.”

The company froze. Several teacups hovered, half raised to lips. Lips that were now pursed in expressions of disapproval.

A scalding flush flooded Lizzie’s cheeks, but she had no opportunity to dispute Clare’s statement, for her friend rattled on.

“You should have seen how he looked when you were not at the picnic yesterday, Lizzie. He has this way of going very, very still. His face turns sort of hard, you know, and his eyes freeze one to the marrow.”