Lord Will & Her Grace (18 page)

Oh, she had been showing all the trappings of
a bewitching enchantress, but she realized suddenly that she had
never felt truly feminine with anyone except William.

He said not a word. His eyes and his
movements spoke eloquently.

And then it was over. He was bowing over her
hand, and a faint buzzing in her ears grew louder before she awoke
from her trance to encounter a round of applause from the onlookers
directed toward Sophie and her partner. She curtsied
gracefully.

And then, just as she wondered how she would
gain the courage to refuse his certain request to see her again, he
was gone with only one fleeting but poignant searching look.

Sophie blessed the mass of people exiting the
dance floor for blocking any steps toward him her weak side was
screaming for her to make.

Lord Drummond stepped before her. "My dear
Miss Somerset, allow me to lead you back to your family if I cannot
persuade you to dance the next set with me?" he asked, hope filling
his face.

She shook her head briefly.

"Blasted inconsiderate devil not to escort
you back to your aunt, if you were to ask me."

"Yes, you are right."

"Who was he?"

"I can't say." For some reason she didn't
want him or anyone to know.

Lord Drummond grumbled further. "I would have
asked you to waltz earlier if I had known it was you under that
costume. I've been searching for you all evening." They edged
between a circle of acquaintances to join Mari.

Sophie felt her usual gaiety slipping
precariously. "Would you be so kind as to bring me some lemonade,
my lord?"

"Why, of course," he said, depositing her
next to Mari. "Your wish is my every command. And when I return I
must be allowed to exhibit more poetry so you shall feel obliged to
dance with me or at least ride with me tomorrow morning. I hear
tell"—and here he winked at Mari—"that you have a heretofore
unknown habit of rising with the sun to partake in most unladylike
gallops in the park."

"Yes, yes. Of course, sir." Sophie was
willing to say just about anything to free herself from the
necessity of conversing with him or anyone. She just wanted to take
her leave of the entertainment to put as much distance as possible
between her and—well,
him
.

Lost in thought, Sophie barely noticed Mr.
Mornington asking Mari for the next set.

William knew not how he would force an
opportunity to see Sophie again, but see her he would, whether it
entailed spying on her twenty-four hours of every day or storming
the flock of liveried footman guarding her at her aunt's townhouse.
Elation had filled him when she had responded to him within the
circle of his arms. He'd seen it in the depths of her eyes. His
greatest fear the past month had been that she had excised him from
her heart. It would have been only natural. But, it seems his luck
was returning, and he knew as any good gambler that one must press
the advantage when Lady Luck rode on one's shoulder.

A quick search of the garden and outer halls
did not unearth his faithful valet-cum-courtesan. At least Charles
was in evidence, now dancing and soon to be wooing his ladylove on
the terrace. William wandered back into the house all the while
wondering if his friend would bungle the delicate mating ritual
known as the marriage proposal much as he himself had done.

His search took him to the inner sanctum of
the jaded gentlemen's sect, the card room. Those few who were too
tired or bored to partake in the frenzied revelry of the masquerade
populated the room, illuminated by a single taper within a
candelabra heavily coated with wax drippings.

There, his wig tipping slightly, sat Jack on
a divan, hand-feeding Mrs. Tickle from a plate of choice
morsels.

William skirted the two tables of card
players to join his valet. He could not help but overhear the
conversation coming from the nearest table of four. He recognized a
blond gentleman as the lord who'd had the misfortune of wagering a
certain sum against William and his brother Alex in a protracted
game of whist last Season. It had been the sum that had allowed
William to pursue his dream of rebuilding his family's fortune.

"Playing cards is a lot like dealing with
women, don't you know?" The gentleman sneered as he rearranged his
diminishing counters on the green baize table.

"Do tell, Coddington," said Lord Acton, one
of the other gentlemen sprawled before the table.

"Why, usually when you pick one up, you wish
you hadn't."

A round of brandy-soaked chuckles circled the
close quarters.

"Take the too tall and overblown form of the
infamous Miss S," Lord Coddington continued in slurred tones.

An elderly gentleman leaned forward and asked
his neighbor, "Who's he referring to, now?"

"The Hoyden Heiress," the other said with a
knowing look.

"She shows her mud-flat origins with her
ostrich height, and vulgar actress-like physique," Coddington
replied, shaking his head and reaching for a card. "I surely wish
my father hadn't forced me to pick that one up. Although to be
fair, I suppose I shouldn't complain. When I take her to the altar,
ere long, I'll not only gain her fortune but her delightful little
maid as well."

"So you've gotten past the draconian aunt and
landed the big fish have you?" Coddington's contemporary, Lord
Acton, leaned forward in excitement. "I'd say it's rather time to
celebrate. How's about a house party on your soon-to-be Cornwallis
estate instead of your standard honeymoon, man? I could round out
the numbers with a few friends and we could have a rousing good
game."

Coddington smirked as he dealt the cards.
"That's a capital idea. But"—here he leaned forward with a shrewd
look on his face—"only after I have my fun with the maid. She shall
be my reward for the hours of tedium I'll be forced to endure with
the Amazon slut."

If Will had had a dagger, he would have slit
the man's throat faster than the conspirators he had dispatched for
the English government. As it was, Will hoisted Coddington to his
feet and slapped his gloves in the man's face, catching his
knuckles and signet ring on the man's jaw on purpose. He grabbed
Coddington's lapels and made a primitive growl, "You'll meet me on
Primrose Hill tomorrow, dawn, where you might find it necessary to
revise your matrimonial plans in lieu of a rendezvous with your
maker."

"Ah, one of Miss Somerset's many suitors, I
presume?" Coddington mocked. "I've sampled her wares and can't
fathom what all the fuss is about. You may have her all you want
after she gets an heir off me. No need to fight over her. Whom do I
have the
honor
of addressing?"

The bugger's cowardly acquaintances had the
good sense to depart at the first sign of discord. Only the
cardplayers at the other side of the large room remained.

William gripped the man tighter. "You've less
than six hours to make your peace with the world, and if I were
you, I'd be less worried about my name and more concerned about
choosing the method by which I'll put an end to your pathetic
existence. I shall see you at dawn, sir." William spat out the last
word as if poison. He released Coddington roughly.

"I rather fancy swords. Won't waste a good
bullet on you, I think," replied Coddington. The blond man suddenly
swiped at William's head, dislodging the mask and exposing Will's
face. "Ah, why Lord William of the notorious Barclay family—of
mixed blood of course. A card cheat, stealer of fortunes and now,
what, a defender of trollops? I'm not surprised. One can always
count on a traitorous half-breed Frenchman to—"

His words were cut short by the abrupt
scraping back of chairs at the distant table. Out of the corner of
his eye, William saw the hulking forms of the three Tolworth
relatives who'd been prowling London since William's escape.

Soon Will found his role reversed. The beefy
arms of Tolworth and his nephew and cousin grasped him.

Coddington laughed heartily and rearranged
his neckwear. "Why, I see you have a horde of
friends
joining us this evening. How convenient."

"You've avoided your responsibilities in
Yorkshire long enough Lord William, don't you think?" asked
Tolworth. "If you had thought to hide from us, you misjudged the
matter. If you survive our affaire of honor on the morrow, you'll
be singing to the parson in Scotland in three days time."

Jack jumped up from his perch where he had
been discreetly observing the events. "Why, my dear sirs, you are
all mistaken. This is my husband, Viscount Gaston. We have been
married these last two years and we have neither of us ever set
foot in Yorkshire," Jack sniffed. "My pug would never stand the
cold there."

After several seconds of silence, William
shook off one of the men's arms and grasped Jack about the waist.
It was an inspired risk with a huge potential for failure.

He looked at Jack with the most adoring
expression he could muster. "And I would never force you into the
uneven climes of the northern wilderness, my dear—but I digress. As
my wife was trying to tell you, I believe you've mistaken me for my
brother. He has an astonishing ability to get in the damnedest
scrapes and I have the misfortune of looking remarkably like
him."

"Oh no, my dear, your shoulders are ever so
much broader than that scallywag's." Jack looked up at Will and
fluttered his eyelashes. "But it's been such a long time since
we've seen him. Why, it is above a year since you ended our
connection with that blemish to our family's good name."

This was going to work. The blokes had
removed their hands and one of them was even brushing the back of
William's domino and retrieving his mask. He would have to buy
Jacqueline
a complete new fall wardrobe; he could see it
coming.

It was worth it.

"Well, I say," Tolworth said gruffly. "I
suspect apologies are in order."

William accepted the apology and the mask
with good grace before spying Mornington coming their way with Miss
Owens in tow. Oh dear God.

"There you are. Wish me happy! Miss Owens has
done me the great honor of consenting to become my bride." He
turned to Miss Owens. "Do accept their good wishes, my dear. Lord
William and Farquhar played a large part in our future
happiness."

William did not have to look down to know
that the hands, gripping his forearms once again belonged to the
Tolworth relations.

Despite the glares from
Jacqueline
and
William, Mornington continued blissfully on, like a pastor in the
pulpit, his audience ensured, unaware of how firmly he was sealing
his friend's fate.

"I knew that dog looked familiar," said
Tolworth's heir and nephew. " 'Tis the one that fancy valet of his
kept. Damned mongrel ate my best shoes, he did."

William gave a significant look to Jack, a
look perfected through their many years together on the spy grounds
of Europe.

Jack warbled a perfect feminine laugh.
"Excuse me, my good man, but my pug, a female by the way, would
never, ever eat common shoes for"— he reverted to his normal
voice—"she prefers her meat raw." In the pug's ear he whispered,
"Get him."

Mrs. Tickle for the second time that night
tasted blood.

But it was not to be. William had just enough
time to signal Mornington and Miss Owens to get out before the
three Tolworths tackled him and Jack. A few minutes later several
burly footmen and the hosts' butler herded the entire group of
gentlemen outside.

The clatter of horses' hooves and carriage
wheels filled the air in front of the mansion where a goodly number
of drivers and whips were passing around spirits and partaking in
the general conviviality of the evening.

"We'll be escorting you back to your lodging
Lord William and
Lady Jacqueline
and setting a watch on your
place. For we wouldn't want you to get lost on your way to Primrose
Hill tomorrow morning, would we?" Tolworth chortled with
laughter.

"I shall meet you," said William, "a quarter
of an hour past my appointment with Coddington, with or without
your watch on my heels. I'm through protecting your neck. If you
really want to allow your dear nephew an early inheritance, far be
it for me to deny you."

Tolworth paled and blustered about.

"Pistols or swords?" asked William.

This could only end badly. For while there
was no doubt he would nick the fool with a pistol or a blade, in
his experience, it almost never ended there. There was always some
hotheaded male further on down the line who would attempt to exact
some form of revenge.

"Pistols," replied Tolworth. "But I'll settle
for this until tomorrow."

William instinctively knew what was coming.
Tolworth's fist slammed into his left cheek and eye as the stout
gentleman's relations held William in their grips.