A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (108 page)

Throughout Lady Kearsey’s drawing
room, interspersed groups of ladies and gentlemen stood whispering
with their heads close together while pointing or passing a nod in
her direction. Occasionally, their whispers rose in pitch and
carried over the air to where she could hear. No one, it seemed,
had anything to discuss that evening other than Miss Jane Matthews
dashing before a mad horse—not to mention the tales of her rather
public set-down of Lord Eldredge which followed.

Charlotte made her way with
Lord Naismith, one of the many men of the
beau monde
who was currently paying
her court, through the crush of the grand drawing room with a
single glass of lemonade to where Jane was flanked on either side
by Sophie and the blasted duke.

“
I daresay if you hadn’t
already caused a splash with the
ton
, Jane, this would certainly be
enough to manage the feat. Everyone I passed along the way was
commending your bravery—and commenting a touch on your audacity,
too, but not enough to truly worry about. That part will pass over
in no time.” Charlotte brushed a single lock of her auburn curls
away from her face and tucked it securely behind her ear. “The
gossips will undoubtedly have some new
on
dit
to discuss by tomorrow, at the very
latest, after tonight’s balls.”

“
I suppose it’s good I’m
not counting on being the height of gossip, then, if they will move
on so soon,” Jane replied drolly. “But really, I wish they would
not all point and whisper so. It makes me
uncomfortable.”

Somerton tilted his head to the side
to stare more fully at her. “I would not expect you to care what
was said about you, Miss Matthews. You always seem to do or say
whatever is on your mind, irrespective of the consequences.” He
looked away from her and scanned the crowd. “If you did not want
the attention, I’d think you might learn to act and speak with a
hint more decorum.”

“
Is that so?” Jane lifted a
brow. Two could play his game. “And if you intended to do as your
mother expects of you and find a bride, I’d think you might expend
your energies in such a manner instead of spending the entire
evening in the company of your sisters and me.”

“
Obviously it
is
so, ma’am, as you’ve
just shown everyone standing within earshot.” He indicated Lord
Naismith, standing with eyes wide next to Charlotte, whom Jane had
thoroughly forgotten was there. Drat. The duke kept his voice low
and gentle—misleadingly so, in fact. “And it’s also true that you
insist on turning the tables upon me in order to avoid paying any
heed to your own flaws. You might consider spending some time on
self-reflection. It would do you a world of good. And to answer
your earlier question—or accusation, as that might be more
appropriate, considering the nature of the words—I’ve decided
that
someone
needs
to protect you from yourself because of your inability to bite your
tongue as you ought.”

Oh, the nerve of the man.
“It would likewise do
you
a world of good to remember there are other people
in your life, people who have feelings and minds of their own and
therefore do not need to be ordered about constantly.” Unlike him,
Jane made no effort at keeping quiet. It would serve the blasted
man right to have a bit of scandal come down upon him. Maybe it
would help him relax. “But why would you care about that? You are
the
Duke of Somerton
. Everyone else in the world is too far beneath your touch to
deserve even your notice. Heaven forbid you grant someone the
unrealistic concession of thinking for themselves and making their
own decisions.”

During their argument, Sophie,
Charlotte, and Lord Naismith had slowly backed away. Charlotte
whispered something that sounded like, “Oh, dear, I’ve never heard
anyone speak to Peter in such a manner,” but Jane couldn’t be
entirely certain because of the fury pounding through the vein in
her temple.

Sophie, ever clear-headed,
interjected, “Oh, look, Charlotte. I believe Lady Rowland and her
daughters are over there by the window. We haven’t seen them in an
age or two. Lord Naismith, would you be so kind as to escort us
over to speak with them?”

Without waiting for a response from
either of her companions, she took up Naismith’s arm in one hand,
grabbed Charlotte’s hand with the other, and then led them
away.

Even with the three of them gone,
however, the duke and Jane retained an audience. A good quarter of
the room were listening intently, peeking over their shoulders at
intervals to see the display, and not entirely (or rather, not at
all) trying to hide their attempts at eavesdropping. If the gossips
would have moved on to something juicier by the next day, she and
Somerton were clearly making certain nothing of the sort would
happen.

“
I’m a tyrant, am I? A
dictator?” Somehow, his voice dropped even lower and he leaned in
toward Jane, ensuring that no one could hear him but her. “And how
could you believe yourself to be beneath my touch—you, whom I
touched most inappropriately only a brief time ago? Or have you
already forgotten my kiss?”

Heat rushed to her cheeks at the
memory, and it only intensified at the thought that anyone might
overhear their discussion.

She wanted to be anywhere but where
she was at the moment, with him so close the heat of his body
enveloped her like a cocoon. So close his breath against her ear
fanned over her ear. So close his sandalwood scent invaded her and
took root, like it had been burned for eternity into her nostrils.
So close the passion building in his darkened eyes threatened to
consume her. So close she couldn’t form a coherent thought if her
life depended upon it.

“
Have you? Have you
forgotten?” Somerton moved away again, far enough she could regain
some small piece of her sanity. “Because I promise you, I have
not.”

His words poured through her and
traveled straight to her most intimate places. Her body tugged and
pulled, straining as though to betray her.

Jane shifted from foot to foot, trying
to put at least a moderate distance between them. “You are behaving
most inappropriately, sir,” she mumbled. But gracious heavens
above, she hoped he wouldn’t stop. What a brazen
thought!

“
And you changed the
subject yet again, ma’am.” Disdain traveled from his tongue in
rivers.

The clang of spoon against glass rang
through the crowded drawing room, and Lady Kearsey’s voice rang out
above the crowd, requesting they all take their seats immediately.
Thank goodness. The concert would finally begin, and perhaps she
could remove herself from this infernal man’s presence.

“
Shall we?” he asked as he
placed her hand against his arm and held it there in a manner which
brooked no argument.

Drat. Perhaps not, then.

He led her to a position a third of
the way from the front and slightly to one side, waiting until she
was positioned before taking his seat directly beside
her.

Jane looked about, searching for or
Sophie or Esther’s faces amongst the sea of London’s elite. Even
Cousin Henrietta would do, or perhaps Charlotte. For that matter,
she would settle for one of the infernal gentleman admirers who so
often plagued her with their attentions of late. Anyone to ease the
discomfort of spending the rest of the evening in such close
proximity to this particular man. For all she knew, he quite
possibly would prove himself to be her nemesis, if tonight acted as
a precursor for their future engagements.

Search as she might, she found no one
to alleviate her discomfiture.

Oh, there were plenty of onlookers
nearby, hoping (by the looks upon their faces) to catch any stray
comments uttered between the two. She imagined they intended to
rush off to the nearest gossip so hopefully they could be the first
to reveal the latest tidbits. But when Jane looked to a few of
them—women with whom she had at least an acquaintance—they all
smiled condescendingly at her and turned away.

Double drat. She supposed now she was
truly on her own with him.

If only the concert were nearly
finished instead of only just beginning.

Jane looked down at the
hand printed program for the evening and groaned. A pianist would
start the evening, followed by a string quartet, and then an
Italian soprano would close. Each of them would perform a minimum
of five pieces each...with the soprano performing six. Including
parts of
The Messiah
.

It would be an interminably long
evening, indeed.

She settled in and tried to ignore the
heat radiating from his leg, which he had positioned uncomfortably
close to her own.

With no luck.

In love with him, indeed. That just
went to prove that Sophie did not know everything, even when she
thought she did.

~ * ~

In the last weeks, Utley had become
quite the sneak. He’d skulked about Town, keeping an eye on
Somerton and his Miss Matthews and learning of their comings and
goings. He’d even spied on the other Hardwickes, as dull and dreary
as such a thing might be. The only member of the family Utley had
not been able to track handily was Lord Neil Hardwicke, but he was
clearly busy sowing his wild oats and not doing anything of
interest.

He hadn’t stopped with his spying
there, though. Oh, no. There were far too many things he needed to
sort out in the midst of his planning.

And so, at the moment, he stood
outside Lady Kearsey’s townhouse (or crouched in the bushes, if one
wanted to be entirely accurate), waiting for one invited guest in
particular to step outside.

Surely, the biddy would follow her
usual pattern and slip out before the close of the
festivities—rushing off to spread her gossip as fast and as far as
she could. Utley needn’t wait much longer. Which was good, since
his thighs were starting to burn from being in the same position
for so long.

Finally, the grand doors pushed open,
and the short, squat woman he’d been waiting for waddled down the
stairs. She took off on foot down the street, not getting into one
of the waiting carriages that had begun to reconvene.

Utley dusted himself off and started
after her. They had business matters to discuss.

~ * ~

This Season, his first on the marriage
mart in years, was quickly becoming an abysmal failure on his part,
at least in Mama’s opinion.

Peter, however, thought the Season to
be progressing rather swimmingly, if one should ask him.

Not that Mama cared for his particular
opinions on the matter.

Her largest concern was that he was
spending far too much time plastered to Miss Matthews’s side and
far too little time actually making any sort of effort toward
finding a new wife.

Of course, he
had
promised to do the
latter more so than the former, but one could argue that to be
rather beside the point.

In paying his attentions to Miss
Matthews, Peter was flabbergasted to discover that she was rather
intelligent, interesting, and far more engaging company than the
simpering young misses he would otherwise be required to dance with
at the balls.

Which was why, on this evening at Lord
and Lady Blacknell’s ball, he had already danced with Miss Matthews
once and had secured the first waltz with her, as well.

He had discovered four nights
previously, at Lady Kearsey’s concert, that he enjoyed antagonizing
the poor woman rather more than he ought. There was something
utterly fascinating about her when she glared at him, eyes full of
passion and heat—which was invariably followed by the most
delightful and ravishing blush he had ever seen.

It didn’t hurt matters, either, that
by staying so close by her side, Miss Matthews seemed to have fewer
gentlemen callers paying her court. Not only that, but nearly all
of the ladies (both eligible and otherwise) who’d been haunting
Peter at these functions had ceased casting their looks in his
direction.

He cared not whether this
was due to the gossips assuming he and Miss Matthews were soon to
have an arrangement or not. What the
ton
assumed meant nothing to him. He
only hoped Miss Matthews felt the same about such
matters.

If the onlookers at the
Blacknell soiree weren’t watching them so closely, he might even
request her hand for a third set—but as things stood, that would be
thoroughly out of the question. Doing so, he’d be forced to offer
for her after such a show of preferential treatment—and clearly,
neither of them wanted
that
to come to pass.

Even if they did, Mama would throw a
fit of pique. Miss Matthews’s come-out ball, for which his mother
had been working tirelessly on the preparations, was to occur in
only three more days. She couldn’t have even a hint of a betrothal
floating about.

As Mama said, it
just
would not do
.