Season of Denial (Scandalous Scions Book 7) Page 3

  She had believed him when he said he did not bother cheating because it was not as much fun as winning properly. It seemed to fit with Iefan’s nature, the little she knew of it. Therefore, she would not be lying if she defended his claim that he had not cheated in the game tonight.

  As she drew closer, the Frenchman’s speech became clearer. “…French do not have a complete monopoly on pride, it seems.”

  “If Westgate doesn’t like being squarely beaten, then perhaps he should not play cards,” Iefan replied, his tone indifferent.

  “That is what I told him,” the other man replied. “Although I do believe the argument he had with his wife before he arrived here tonight had just as much to do with his mood as your very thorough trouncing.”

  He was a short man, standing only a little higher than Mairin, although she, like her siblings, was taller than most women. His hair was glossy black and brushed back in a smooth crown, looking far more contained than Iefan’s untamed waves. He wore perfectly correct evening attire, including the more fashionable bow tie and a ruffled shirt above his embroidered waistcoat. A gleam of gold chain ran to his fob pocket. Mairin judged him to be in his late thirties or early forties.

  “I wanted to assure you the man would not bother you anymore tonight,” he told Iefan. “I put him in a cab just now.”

  “I suppose I should thank you for that,” Iefan said. His gaze shifted to Mairin. He turned so she was included in the conversation. “Lady Mairin.”

  “Cousin,” she said, keeping her tone as cool as his. She looked at the lord, who stood with his head tilted a little and gave him a short nod.

  “Your cousin is not known to me, Davies,” the man said.

  Iefan rolled his eyes. It was a quick flicker of irritation, almost instantly gone. He straightened and lifted his hand. “Your Grace, may I introduce to you my cousin, Lady Mairin Williams, younger sister to the Earl of Innesford.”

  Mairin bobbed in a short curtsey, all that was needed with a foreign peer and in such informal surroundings. “Your Grace,” she murmured.

  “Louis Marchand, the Duke of Gascony, lately ejected from his estates due to the hostilities in France,” Iefan said, finishing the introduction.

  Gascony brought his feet together and nodded regally. Then he relaxed, with a small smile. “Your cousin Iefan assisted me and my family with our departure from Gascony. If all of Iefan’s family are as resourceful as him, then I am assured of your own good character, Lady Mairin.”

  Mairin glanced at Iefan, startled. Resourceful?

  Iefan rubbed the back of his neck. “I happened to be at hand, that is all.” His discomfort at having his qualities discussed was clear. Mairin sought to change the conversation and came up against an odd vacuum of information.

  Normally, even when meeting a peer for the first time, she was familiar enough with the man’s antecedents, his family and his marital status to ask pertinent questions which would keep him happily talking for a good long while.

  Because Gascony was not part of the English peerage, she knew nothing about him and had no idea how to shift the subject. He had spoken of family, though…

  “Is your wife enjoying our English spring, your Grace?” she asked politely.

  Gascony’s face shifted. The good humor faded. “Alas, my wife died many years ago,” he murmured. “In childbirth. Our first child…”

  Mairin’s cheeks grew hot. “I do apologize most abjectly for my insensitive question. I did not intend to stir your grief. I am afraid I know far too little about Gascony or its lord. Perhaps you may enlighten me?”

  Gascony waved his hand dismissively. “Gascony is in the hands of the Second Empire. Perhaps one day, I may retrieve my lands. In the meantime, I seek to establish a new life in England.”

  “This is your first society invitation, then?”

  “My very first.” Gascony smiled. “Perhaps I will have the good fortune to see you at many of this year’s gatherings, yes?”

  “Me?” Mairin said, her heart leaping hard. “There are so many other people you could—”

  Something nudged her back. It was a light touch yet unmistakable, jolting her and jamming the rest of her thought in her throat. It was undoubtedly Iefan who had tapped her shoulder. A warning, perhaps. A reminder, even, to accept the Duke’s flattery with proper maidenly appreciation.

  Gascony did not see the nudge, nor did he seem to care that she had halted mid-sentence. His smile was warm. “You, indeed, Lady Mairin. Is there a reason why I would not wish it so? Your family has already proved its sterling character. Now I would like to get to know the quality of its women.”

  “I…um….” Mairin cleared her throat. Her heart beat wildly. A duke! A duke stood before her, eager for her company! An unmarried duke!

  Then cold reason asserted herself. Gascony was a stranger to London society. In a few hours or a few days, everyone would rush to inform him of her status as an unwanted maid, heading swiftly for spinsterhood. Gascony would withdraw his attention and move on to a younger, eager debutante.

  For now, though, she had his attention. He did not find her advanced age off-putting and why would he? He was a widower, a foreigner and without an estate right now. The cream of society, the debutantes with large dowries and titles, would be denied him.

  Mairin was a maiden, though, and still young enough to marry and bear heirs. She was a peer in her own right, with a good dowry. There was no reason why he could not marry her, as long as she did nothing to repel him.

  Mairin gave him her best smile and batted her lashes. “You are most kind, your Grace. Any lady would be complimented by your company.”

  Gascony’s smile stayed in place. “Then we are agreed,” he said and lifted his elbow for her to slide her hand under it. “Let me take you in to supper.”

  Trembling, Mairin gripped the broadcloth sleeve. “That would be wonderful.”

  Then she realized. Iefan was gone. He had slipped away somewhere in the last few minutes of conversation, leaving her alone with the duke.

  Chapter Three

  Annalies threw out her hand. “Wait! Mairin! A moment!”

  Mairin paused from sliding beneath the cloak which Travers held out for her and waited for her baby sister to cross the foyer from the drawing room. Annalies had a daub of paint on her chin and locks of her blonde hair were escaping the coil on top of her head.

  As Annalies was in the habit of pushing the handles of paintbrushes into her hair in order to pick up a fresh brush, and sometimes those brushes were still loaded with paint, the messy hair and the drip on her chin were both understandable.

  Mairin wiped at the paint drip with the thumb of the hand she had not yet pushed into its glove. The paint was dry. The only reason there were not similar drips upon Annalies’ pink afternoon dress was because Mairin had convinced her to wear a pinafore over her dresses when painting. Mairin had arranged the making of the pinafore in a heavy cotton which did not let the paint soak through to the garment beneath. “Have you looked in a mirror today, Lisa Grace?” she asked, vexed.

  “I don’t think so,” Annalies said distantly. Her attention was upon Mairin’s dress. “That is such a lovely color, Mairin,” she breathed, adjusting the folds. “It makes your eyes appear so much bluer! I don’t think I’ve seen this dress before. Is it new?”

  Mairin smoothed her hand down the turquoise satin. “It’s from last season,” she admitted. She had brought the dress on impulse, in a rash moment when she had believed that if she tried just a little harder, she would attract the attention of a potential husband. The utter lack of comments about the dress, or even appreciative glances, had made her single evening wearing it utterly miserable. She had packed the dress away afterward, telling herself it was a lesson in humility—she should not attempt to wrest a man’s attention with outrageous fashions.

  Tonight, though, she already had the attention of a man. A duke.

  “Did you not receive an invitation to Lord Bycombe’s dinner party,
Annalies?” Mairin asked her sister, who was still admiring the color with a frown of concentration marring her brow.

  “I think so,” Annalies replied. “Is that where you are going?”

  “And I am in danger of being late, too,” Mairin said.

  “Your carriage has arrived, I believe, Lady Mairin,” Travers said, peering through the glass beside the front door.

  Mairin glanced at him, startled. “I didn’t order a carriage.” There were always cabs plying their trade up and down the length of Park Lane.

  “One is waiting at the curb, my lady,” Travers said. “And here is the driver, now.”

  A discreet tap sounded on the door.

  Travers opened it with one hand, Mairin’s cloak laying over the other arm, and murmured to the man standing on the steps. He shut the door and shook out her cloak once more. “Yes, the carriage is for you, my lady.”

  “How extraordinary!” Annalies said, finally noticing the world at large.

  Mairin pressed her lips together. Perhaps Gascony had sent the carriage for her. At the ball, two nights ago, he had appeared happy to linger in her company, even though she was forced to introduce him to everyone who approached them.

  Everyone had approached them, including the many people who had stopped speaking to Mairin long ago and only nodded at her when they saw each other at the society affairs they had in common.

  Mairin was popular once more because she was in the company of an eligible, handsome lord.

  Best of all, when the ball ended and Gascony saw her to a cab, he had said with a casual air, “This morning I received an invitation to a dinner, with a host I do not know. Lord Bycombe. You know this man?”

  “The Marquis of Bycombe. Yes. I received an invitation, too. Lord Bycombe hosts a dinner every April for friends and family who have arrived in London for the early season.”

  “Then not everyone is here in London? There were so many here tonight!” Gascony seemed startled.

  “Not everyone already in London was here tonight, either,” Mairin assured him. “I suppose there are few peers left in France. This must be quite different for you.”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice low. He opened the cab door for her and held out his hand to help her up into it.

  “After Easter, everyone will return to London for the High Season,” Mairin told him. “Then there will be many more people for you to meet.”

  His hand squeezed her fingers. “I am twice grateful to have you at my side to ease my way among so many. I will look for you at Lord Bycombe’s dinner. May I?”

  Mairin smiled at him. “I would like that.”

  She had prepared carefully for the dinner, eager to attend a society event after years of dreading them. Wearing the turquoise dress seemed appropriate, under the circumstances.

  Mairin hurried out to the carriage. The driver opened the door as she got closer and she peered in.

  Iefan sat in the far corner, muffled to the nose in a dark coat, with the collar up-turned. His eyes glittered in the dim light of the interior of the carriage. “Climb in,” he told her, his voice gruff.

  “What are you doing here?” Mairin demanded.

  Iefan glanced at the driver standing patiently behind Mairin, his hand on the door. “Thank you, Charlie. Why don’t you climb onto your bench? I’ll get the door.”

  “Right, sir,” Charlie murmured and pushed the door back against the coach, so it stayed open. He nodded at Mairin, swung up onto the high bench at the front of the carriage and gathered up the reins of the pair of grays standing with their heads down.

  Iefan patted the padded bench beside him, then waved toward the opposite bench. “Sit there, if it makes you more comfortable.”

  “I have a dinner engagement,” Mairin protested. “Is that where you are going?”

  “Bycombe’s?” Iefan snorted. “Not unless you drag me there in chains. I’m going to a real party.”

  Mairin stared at him, confused. “But…”

  “Will you at least get in, so we can discuss this without sharing it with the entire Lane?” Iefan asked. “The carriage won’t move until I tell Charlie to leave and you’re safe with me.”

  “That is not why I stand here,” she said hastily. “I’m running late, Iefan, and being late is such a disaster…” She bit her lip. “Can you take me to Bycombe’s?”

  “Will Gascony be there?” he asked.

  Her heart gave a little start. “Yes,” she said, keeping her tone cold, to hide the tremor.

  “Then the last place you should appear tonight is Bycombe’s,” Iefan replied. “Do you know nothing of seducing a man?”

  She recoiled a half step. “I beg your pardon?”

  Iefan waved impatiently. “Get in, Mairin.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. Not a single cab was on the street now she needed one.

  Vexed, she climbed up into the coach. Iefan made no move to help her.

  Mairin chose the bench opposite him. She settled her hands on her lap and glared at him. “Explain yourself.”

  “My God, I hope you don’t look at other men with that expression,” Iefan said. “The average peer’s constitution is too weak to withstand the assault of such iron coldness.”

  Mairin pressed her lips together, containing the hot words which rose. She said, instead, “Why must I not attend a dinner invitation I have already accepted? It is the height of rudeness to fail to appear after accepting.”

  “Your reputation will withstand the minor infraction,” Iefan assured her. “If you hurry to Bycombe’s, though, you will send Gascony entirely the wrong message. You will appear far too eager.”

  “I told him I would be there.”

  “Good,” Iefan said, with relish. “When you fail to appear, he will wonder why you have not and if the fault lies with him. He will be twice as anxious to please you when you next see him.”

  Mairin considered the strategy. “That seems…”

  “Calculating? Oh yes, it is all that,” Iefan agreed. “You want to win the duke, do you not?”

  Mairin gripped her fingers together. Was she so transparent?

  Iefan rolled his eyes. “Come, come. He is a duke, you are desperate for a husband, he seems to like you. How much more obvious can it be that you want to snare the poor bastard?”

  Mairin jerked, shocked. Then she remembered. “Blunt honesty,” she murmured.

  “Precisely. You want to catch the duke, yes?”

  She hesitated, then made herself say it. “Yes.”

  Iefan nodded. “Then you should not attend the dinner party.”

  “It is a large risk to take,” she countered. “Gascony could meet another companionable lady tonight and forget about me.”

  “Not when you have given him cause to worry he has a flaw which repels you.” Iefan’s gaze was steady. “You have spent nights wondering what you said or did to send a man scurrying from you, I know.”

  Mairin sighed. “Too many of them.”

  Iefan’s smile was warmer. “Turn the tables. Let him wonder, for a change.”

  Mairin pressed her lips together again, this time to suppress her smile. The idea of making a man suffer the agonies she had, over five seasons of diminishing hope, was powerfully satisfying. “I have dressed for the evening for no reason,” she said.

  “Oh, let’s not waste the effort,” Iefan replied. “Come to the party with me.”

  “With you? What party?”

  “You know nothing of the real London and you believe a woman cannot have adventures. Let me show you the truth about both.”

  Her heart thudded against her chest, making it ache and her belly to tighten. “An adventure? Will it be dangerous?”

  “Not if I am there,” Iefan said. He reached past her, snagged the door and closed it. He knocked his knuckles against the wall of the carriage behind him.

  The driver clicked the horses into motion and the carriage rolled forward, all before Mairin realized he had taken her question as acquiescence. />
  Why not? The thought was a daring one which made her tremble.

  An adventure and a strategy to draw Gascony closer to her, all in one night. She had thought the night to be filled with promise before stepping out of the house. Now she vibrated with possibilities.

  THE HOUSE WHERE THE carriage halted was in fashionable St. James, opposite the park. It was a four story, red brick house with big white framed windows which glowed with lamp light behind lace curtains and heavy drapes. The house was a modest size, and there were no carriages waiting at the curb for their owners to return. Across the park was Wakefield’s big house, with all its lights blazing. Mairin could see it through the trees.

  Iefan helped Mairin out of the coach and in the orange light from the gas lamps, she could see the coat he wore was a heavy one. The upturned collar hid everything but his face.

  “Whose house is this?” she asked him.

  “Brigadier William Gordon’s. The third, I think.” Iefan gave another dismissive shrug.

  “A commoner?” She bit her lip. “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “I guarantee you will not have heard of half the people here tonight,” Iefan assured her. He took her hand, not as a gentleman would, to drape it over his elbow, but in a firm grip as if he suspected she might run away if he let go.

  And perhaps she might have, for her fear was rising. What sort of house contained hidden adventures? Where was she? What laid beyond the door which was opening for them.

  Iefan squeezed her hand. “I said you would be safe with me, remember?”

  The reminder let her relax. Just a little. “I’ve never had an adventure,” she admitted.

  “This will be a rather mild one, to begin,” he replied, pulling her toward the door. A normal-looking butler stood holding the door open for them. The butler nodded at Iefan. “Mr. Davies.” He did not say Iefan’s name with the note of condescension many butlers used.

  “Roy,” Iefan said in acknowledgement. “My cousin, Mairin.”

  “Miss Mairin,” Roy said, with another nod.

  Her name sounded peculiar without the usual “Lady” tacked in front of it. Mairin swallowed and looked about the front hall. A straight, narrow staircase began only a few paces away from the door itself. An equally narrow corridor running beside it, leading to the back rooms of the house, Mairin presumed.