An Affair Most Wicked (9 page)

“I’m sorry to have put you in that position, Sophia.” She sighed. “It was my decision to take you there, so don’t apologize.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the cool breeze.

“I just wish,” Sophia said, “that there was a way for you to see the marquess again without risking another appearance at a Cakras Ball.”

“If only he came out into society.” Sophia smiled mischievously. “We could hide in a parked carriage across the street from his London residence, and simply wait for him to come out, then follow him. With any luck, he’d go into a shop or into the park, and we could pretend to bump into him by chance.”

Clara shook her head at her sister. “How decidedly deranged. I can just picture us sitting for hours in the rain, then getting arrested like a couple of Peeping Toms.”

“It was just a thought. Not exactly sensible, was it?”

“I think I’d prefer something a little more direct.”

Sophia considered it. “Well, there’s always the obvious. I could hold an assembly and send him an invitation. He knows I’m your sister. If he’s interested in seeing you again, he’ll come.”

“He told me he despises the Marriage Mart.”

“That may be so, but if my eyes were telling me anything last night, it was that he was as taken with you as you were with him. You might be the very thing to bring him out of his shell. Perhaps deep down, he wants to be accepted again, and we can help him. The worst thing that could happen is that he could simply not attend, in which case we will at least know he is determined to remain alone.”

“Or that he is not interested in me.”

Sophia urged her horse into a gallop. “Not a chance.”

Clara began to gallop her horse, too.

“Shall I arrange an assembly then?” Sophia called out to Clara as she came up beside her.

Clara tingled with a thrill of anticipation, and smiled. “Most definitely.”

Seger sat down for supper in his dining room, with his stepmother, Quintina, at one end of the table and his cousin by marriage, Gillian, to his left. Lobster puffs with hollandaise sauce were served, followed by tarragon chicken with artichokes, at which time Quintina set down her wine glass and broke the customary silence.

“I received an assembly invitation today, from the Duke and Duchess of Wentworth.”

Seger paused from his chewing, then swallowed. “You don’t say.”

“You don’t sound surprised.”

He did not look up from his plate, for there was very little he ever chose to reveal to his stepmother. “Should I be? I wouldn’t know, since I haven’t been following your social calendar.”

Quintina bristled. “Surely you know that I do not receive invitations from dukes or duchesses, but we won’t go into the reasons why.” She gave a cursory glance to Gillian, as if she didn’t want to soil the girl’s virgin ears with talk of Seger’s personal exploits.

Instead, she’d cast the blame without actually saying it, which was her way. She blamed Seger for the family’s social descent, all because of what had occurred three years ago with Lord and Lady Edmunston.

Though if one was to be analytical, one could go back much farther than three years and find another source for blame. The true origin of Seger’s current manner of existence. Why he preferred to remain an island.

“The odd thing about it,” Quintina said, “is that the invitation was addressed to you and me both.”

Seger leaned back in his chair.

“
Now
tell me you’re not surprised,” Quintina said, lifting a dark, arched eyebrow.

Seger wiped his mouth with his napkin. “All right, you win. I am indeed surprised.”

Surprised? Bloody hell, yes. He hadn’t been invited into that upper echelon in years. The duchess couldn’t actually be playing matchmaker for her sister, could she? He wasn’t exactly a respectable catch, although he did hold a title, and that was the whole purpose behind most of the American heiresses’ shopping excursions to London. Perhaps she or the duchess didn’t care about his reputation.

Or didn’t know about it.

Not that any of it mattered. He was not interested in being bought for cash. He was one of the few English aristocrats who had enough cash of his own to paper every last wall of his sprawling country house. Twice.

“So what do you make of it?” he asked.

“I would call it a freakish and fantastic gift. Despite the unpleasant fact that the duchess is an American, it is at least a chance to get our toes through the upper doors, which is an opportunity this family desperately needs. An opportunity Gillian needs.” She smiled warmly at her niece. “After all, I promised Susan on her deathbed that I would do everything I could to see her daughter married well, and yet, I have been opposed at every turn in that regard. This is Gillian’s first Season and I must seize this opportunity.”

Seger glanced at Gillian, who kept her gaze lowered and said nothing. She was a quiet little bird at the table most nights. Barely noticeable sometimes, almost like she wasn’t there.
Shy
, Seger thought. Though not unattractive in a youthful way.

“You’ll go, I presume,” he said to Quintina as he leaned forward to reach for his glass of wine.

“Naturally. But may I ask that you, on the other hand, decline?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Decline? The first decent invitation I’ve received in years, and you want me to decline? What was all that talk about finally getting the Rawdon toes back through the upper doors?”

To be honest, he didn’t care a whit about sticking his toes through anybody’s upper doors; he wasn’t interested in going to a stuffy Mayfair assembly where most of the old matrons would likely hiss at him anyway.

He would, however, like to see the lovely masked creature who’d been keeping him up most nights for the past two weeks. He had still not gotten over her departing words the last time they’d spoken—that she had come to the Cakras Ball to see
him
, and had risked her reputation in the process.

To say he was flattered was an understatement. More accurately, he had been knocked clear of his equilibrium. He hadn’t expected her to say such a thing. He had expected some roundabout answer, maybe an aloof claim that she was simply looking for adventure, because that’s what most women said to him when flirtations began. They knew by instinct that that was what would lure him into their bedrooms.

Clara however, had been fearless. She had dashed to the point and told him in no uncertain terms that she had come to the ball because she’d desired
him
.

He, in turn, had been more than impressed. He’d been bowled over, aroused by her instinct to surprise him with such a comment, then instantly turn around and walk away. She had not waited for his reaction, nor had she asked for a reply, and the effect was to leave him dumbfounded and wanting more.

He remembered suddenly that she had reminded him of Daphne the first time they’d met. He realized with some relief that he no longer saw the resemblance.

“I do want all of us to be invited through those doors again,” his stepmother said, ripping him out of his reverie, “but your presence at this early stage might evoke whispers. I want our re-entry to be smooth and gradual. Certain people will not take as much offense with Gillian and me as they might with you, and I want to do what is best for Gillian.”

He glanced at his cousin again. She smiled sheepishly.

“And what would you have me do, Gillian?” he asked.

Seeming surprised that he had spoken to her at all, she paled. “I… I would have you do whatever pleases you.”

He leaned back and nodded.

Quintina was quiet for a few seconds. “There is another more important reason why you shouldn’t go, Seger.”

“And what, pray tell, is that?”

Her narrow shoulders rose and fell as she took a deep breath. “I suspect that the real reason we were invited was because of the duchess’s sister—that garish girl we read about in the paper. The duchess is holding this assembly to gather all the unmarried peers in one room, so they may be sized up like merchandise. Surely, you would prefer to avoid such a vulgar affair.”

Seger slowly blinked. “Ah. You don’t want me to meet the American. Afraid I’ll become infatuated with someone inappropriate?”

Her voice was cool and subdued. “It’s not as if you haven’t made that mistake before.”

Tension curled around the table. Seger made a fist on his lap. “You’re right, Quintina, and there were disastrous consequences.”

His stepmother’s cheeks flushed red with fury. “Seger, for eight years you have refused to take a respectable wife and produce an heir. Don’t you think you have punished this family for those consequences long enough? Consequences that no one could have predicted?”

“Her death was more than just a consequence, Quintina. I loved her. She was taken from me, and she died.” Seger tossed his napkin onto his empty plate and stood up. “I believe I am finished. I’ll skip dessert tonight. If you will excuse me.” He bowed politely to Gillian. “Enjoy the rest of your dinner.”

He left the dining room and went upstairs to reply to the Wentworths’ invitation, and graciously accept.

Chapter 6

Clara stood beside James and Sophia inside the wide double doors of the drawing room, greeting the assembly guests as they filed in.

The sheer splendor in the room was beyond anything she had ever seen before, and she’d seen a great deal of splendor in New York. Tonight, beautiful women in jeweled, luxurious, low-necked gowns with trains and long white gloves glided about, laughing and conversing, while the gentlemen strolled around in their black and white formal attire.

In addition to the sparkling finery on the guests, the drawing room was garnished with a number of immaculate tables, covered with silk tablecloths, stacks of fruit and trays of desserts that looked more like colorful works of art than actual food.

This had to be one of the most exciting and disquieting nights of Clara’s life. The anticipation to see Lord Rawdon again had reached an incomparable pitch, and her heart lurched in her breast every time a new guest approached the door.

Would he even come? she wondered. He had replied to Sophia’s invitation and said he would, but Clara nevertheless found it almost impossible to believe, for he had become something close to a fairy tale prince to her. He seemed to exist more in her imagination than in reality, and to conceive of seeing him here tonight in the flesh without the mask seemed too much to hope for.

Perhaps he had reconsidered and changed his mind. It wasn’t every day, after all, that a man re-entered a society that had rejected and expelled him.

If he did come, however, she would know that there was indeed something between them.

A gentleman stepped up to the door. The majordomo announced, “His Grace, the Duke of Guysborough.”

James and Sophia greeted the older gentleman, then Sophia turned toward Clara. “And you remember my sister, Clara Wilson?”

He bowed elegantly. He was one of the gentlemen under consideration as a possible husband, at least by Sophia and Mrs. Gunther, and this made Clara pay attention.

He was, she supposed, a handsome man. With dark hair and mustache, he possessed a certain impressive maturity. There was something about him, however, that made her uncomfortable, as if she would always have to sit up straight when he was around.

“Indeed,” he said, “it is a delight to see you again, Miss Wilson. We will have a chance to talk later this evening?”

“That would be splendid, Your Grace.”

As soon as he moved on, Clara glanced at Mrs. Gunther across the room, sitting alone. She was leaning forward, watching Clara’s every move. She leaned back, however, after the duke turned away.

“It’s getting late,” Clara whispered to Sophia when there was a free moment. “Do you think he changed his mind?”

“I don’t know. I hope not.”

At that moment, an older woman approached the door with a younger lady at her side. The woman was of medium height and proud looking; the girl appeared shy and nervous.

The majordomo announced: “Lady Rawdon and Miss Gillian Flint.”

Clara’s stomach went
whoosh
. It was Seger’s stepmother.

Clara sensed her sister’s sudden, intense awareness as well. “Lady Rawdon, welcome,” Sophia said.

“Thank you, Your Grace. May I present to you my niece from Wales, Gillian Flint.” She gestured toward the girl behind her, who curtsied.

Sophia smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Flint.” Then she turned toward Clara. “This is my sister, Clara Wilson.”

The older woman smiled but glanced sidelong at Clara as she passed. The younger Miss Flint followed with her head down.

“That was Lady Rawdon,” Clara whispered, leaning forward to see out into the center hall. “His stepmother. I wonder if Seger will be next.”

Pulse pounding, she watched the top of the stairs, but a group of ladies ascended. No wild-looking, wavy-haired gentlemen in sight.

Another half hour went by, and the frequency of arrivals began to diminish. Clara’s feet were getting sore.
He’s not coming
, she thought.
He changed his mind
.

The disappointment was difficult to keep at bay, though she did her best not to show it. She glanced at Lady Rawdon across the room, talking to a group of older women.

Suddenly Sophia nudged her. Hard.

Knocked slightly off balance, Clara stepped to the side, then turned toward the door just as the majordomo said, “The Marquess of Rawdon.”

The whole world seemed to hush. All Clara heard was the noisy, thunderous rush of blood in her ears.

It was him.
Him
.

Her gaze went first to his eyes, for she had never seen them before without the mask, and what eyes they were. Deep green and large and expressive. She had known before that he was handsome, but this was mind-altering. He was everything she had imagined and more, with the divine presence of a Greek god.

Her entire body pulsed with sizzling, nervous excitement; her blood rushed through her veins like a flash flood, her stomach whirled with butterflies.

It wasn’t until a few seconds later, as he was shaking James’s hand and saying something that made James laugh, that Clara noticed he had cut his hair. Though it was by no means short, it was not wild about his shoulders any longer.

Had he trimmed it because of this single assembly? Had he gone out and changed himself just for her? Or would he have done it for any other invitation?

Either way, the gesture touched her. She wanted to laugh. He had come out of hiding.

She wondered yet again… had he done it for
her
?

Clara watched numbly as he greeted Sophia. “Duchess, it is an honor.”

“The honor is mine,” Sophia replied, turning casually toward Clara. “May I present my sister, Clara Wilson of New York. This is Clara’s first Season here in London, Lord Rawdon.”

He moved to stand before her, so tall, so grand and sophisticated that she barely remembered to breathe. She glanced up at his beautiful face, felt her heart pulverizing her ribs, and despite all the panic from inside, felt overtaken by an instinctively flirtatious behavior that emerged from some primitive element of her being. What was it about him that brought that out of her each time she met him?

She smiled and lifted an eyebrow. He smiled in return, bowing slightly. His eyes never left hers as he whispered, “At last.”

A shiver tingled all the way down to her toes. She sucked in a quick breath.

“Welcome to Wentworth House,” she said.

He stood before her, staring.

Locked in his smoldering gaze, Clara melted at the grandeur of his face—the masculine
line of his jaw, the discerning intelligence in his eyes—and as she stared at him, Clara felt as if she were looking into the swirling, red-hot center of a volcano, feeling a senseless impulse to leap.

Neither of them spoke until the moment was broken by Sophia, who cleared her throat. Clara felt wrenched out of a trance.

The marquess smiled again, more broadly this time, as if he had noticed her start and known that she was enamored. Not that he hadn’t seemed enamored himself, but perhaps that was just his way. Perhaps he was enamored with all women.

The divorce scandal of three years ago entered her thoughts. She reminded herself to be prudent.

The marquess let his gaze sweep the room, but before he ventured inside, he faced her one more time. “I hope to hear all about America this evening, Miss Wilson, if you would be so inclined to describe your home to me?”

“I will seek you out,” she replied.

“I’ll look forward to it with pleasure.”

He fully entered the room, and Clara faced the door again to greet another guest. She smiled brightly at the lady, while struggling to wipe the silly smile off her face and quiet her trembling heart.

There were very few people whom he could talk to, Seger realized as he crossed the crowded drawing room and felt more than a few disapproving gazes follow him to the buffet table. He had not attended a proper assembly in three years, and consequently did not move in these circles. His acquaintances were of a different breed now— not so strict and straight-laced, less judgmental of others—and his entertainments were less correct. Apparently most of these people knew it.

Did they think he wanted to be accepted again? He hoped not, for he had never wished to reconcile with them. He had never really cared. They had forsaken him, as was their prerogative, and he had accepted that. Being accepted by them was not important to him. He was accepted in other places. He was here for quite another reason this evening. To satisfy a lusty curiosity. Quench it if he could, for he was not interested in marriage for profit.

Yet he could not deny that he was interested in
something
.

He noticed his stepmother and Gillian in the far corner, but was not inclined to join them. Instead, he reached for a glass of champagne as a footman passed, and downed it in one gulp.

Setting the empty glass down on a table, he slowly made his way around the perimeter of the room, feeling very much like an outsider. The only pleasant distraction was Miss Wilson still at the door, teeming with charm as she greeted the last few guests. She had smelled like strawberries again.

Her sister, the duchess, was also enjoyable to look at. She had welcomed him without a hint of contempt.

The duke had been cordial as well. Seger wondered if His Grace knew about his wife and sister-in-law attending a Cakras Ball. From what Seger knew about the duke, he was not the sort of man one kept secrets from, nor was he the sort who would remain in the dark for long about any and all events involving members of his household. Regardless, if His Grace had known about his wife’s little adventure, he certainly hadn’t revealed it. Still, he was a man Seger should not underestimate.

Seger did manage to meet a few gentlemen he knew from his own social circle, gentlemen who had the rare ability through certain connections to cross over from one sphere to the other. They were surprised to see him at the duke’s assembly and made no secret of it as they waved him into their conversation.

There, he was introduced to a few respectable ladies and gentlemen, and the first crack in the barrier of his expulsion became visible to both himself and others in the room. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He had not come here to chisel his way back in.