Barbara Pierce (13 page)

“Fiddle-faddle! It is always my pleasure to spoil you,
Kilby,” the older woman said warmly. “My only regret is that your mother could not be here to share in our adventure.”

Kilby’s heart swelled with emotion to the point of bursting. “As is mine,” she said sadly. “Oh, Priddy, sometimes I cannot believe they are lost to us. I think it must all have been a terrible mistake.” Her father had always been so disparaging of London. What would he think of Priddy’s lofty ambition to see her rushed into marriage this season with no thought of courtship or even love?

Priddy pulled her into her arms, reminding Kilby of her mother. “I know,” the viscountess crooned, rocking Kilby tenderly in her arms. “Ermina and Weldon were so proud of you. You were their bright violet-eyed angel. How they loved you and your sister so.”

She drew away first. Kilby ignored the pang of guilt that stirred within her each time she questioned her parents’ honor because of her brother’s cruel accusation. He had set her on a path that even had her lying to the viscountess. “Do you think my parents would have approved of me coming to London to hunt for a husband? Papa rarely had anything kind to say about the
ton
. I cannot help but wonder—”

“Cease wondering, little one. Weldon might not have supported your mingling with the
ton.
Regardless, even he respected their influence,” Priddy explained as they reached their carriage. “They would have brought you themselves last season if they had not died.”

She nodded, knowing her friend spoke the truth. Kilby climbed into the carriage with the assistance of the footman. The viscountess studied her young charge with a speculative expression on her lovely face. Making up her mind, the woman ordered the footman to get her the boxes they had just picked up from the perfumery.

“Here,” Priddy said, offering Kilby the smaller box. “You are the closest I have to a daughter, Kilby. I would
never presume to replace your mother. However, I pray our time together can help ease your loss.”

She was touched by Lady Quennell’s words. It was a pity the lady’s beloved viscount had died before they had children. Priddy would have been a good mother. “You have been so kind to me. I will never be able to repay you.”

Priddy delicately wiped away a tear. “Repayment is not necessary, my girl. Just be happy. It is what Ermina and Weldon would have desired most for you.”

Kilby untied the cording on the box and opened the lid. Inside was a magnificent scent bottle. Cylindrical in shape, it was made of hand-carved gold filigree that covered a rock crystal bottle. “Priddy, I have never owned anything so lovely.” She turned the bottle in her hands, examining the detailing of the filigree. Within the scrolling leaves were tiny roses. There was a large scroll that almost looked like a heart lying on its side. A lady in Grecian costume danced beneath a tree. On the opposite side, the larger scroll framed a unicorn.

Giddy with excitement, Priddy said, “Open the top and reveal the stopper.”

She opened the filigree lid as instructed. Removing the stopper, Kilby brought the scent bottle to her nose and inhaled. The scent was a mix of citrus, perhaps lemon and jasmine. “The scent is heavenly.”

Priddy beamed in delight. “I am so pleased you like it. I had the perfumer create a scent especially for you. You always seemed to enjoy the scents Ermina wore. I had them concoct a variation of one of her favorites.”

Kilby wrapped her arms around the viscountess before she had settled on the bench and fiercely hugged her. “Thank you. It is a wondrous gift.” She returned the scent bottle to the box and stuffed it into her reticule.

The footman handed Priddy the larger box. In turn, she
offered it to Kilby. “What is this? It is heavy.” Tugging on the cord, she removed the box from its coarse canvas wrapping. She gasped in awe at what she beheld. “Is this what I think it is?”

“I suppose; it depends on your guess,” the viscountess teased.

On her lap was a toilet table box made out of black japanned iron that had been gilded. The edges of the lid were decorated with a repeating diamond design containing an inner narrower shell pattern. Within the center was a painted enamel plaque. The painting expanded on the images carved in filigree on the scent bottle. The limbs of the tree spread out gracefully across the top, while the dark-haired beauty took advantage of its shade. The lady’s hand was extended as she patiently coaxed the unicorn to her.

“The lady is so lovely,” Kilby murmured in awe as she caressed the lid. “And the workmanship of the box is so detailed.”

Priddy beamed with delight. “Look inside.”

Needing no further encouragement, Kilby turned the small key in the lock and opened the lid. On the inside of the lid was a polished metal mirror. Within the box, there was a hairbrush with boar bristles, a tortoiseshell comb, a hand mirror, a button hook, a glove stretcher, and a shoe horn. Each silver piece was decorated with the scrolling filigree with dainty roses that matched the scent bottle.

“Thank you, Priddy. The box contains a veritable treasure,” Kilby said, kissing the older woman on the cheek.

“No, my dear Kilby,” the viscountess countered gently. “The rarest treasure is you.”

“Trouble?”

“That was what I was trying to decipher.” With his hand braced on the saddle, Fayne squinted up at Lord Everod as he approached on horseback. Waiting for the man to dismount,
he gestured at his horse. “Moments ago, the animal bolted unexpectedly. Whatever ails the creature persists.” It had taken all his strength and skill to get the agitated horse to halt.

Everod crouched down and examined the horse’s left leg. “A bee sting?”

“Perhaps,” Fayne said, his hand stroking the animal’s smooth, gleaming croup affectionately. “I was fortunate the incident occurred in the park, instead of a busy street. Someone might have been injured.”

Like me, for instance.

Murmuring assurances to the edgy horse, Everod moved around to check the right hind leg. He paused and scowled at Fayne. “Where were you two nights past?” the viscount demanded, suddenly recalling the reason that had him combing London for his errant friend. “What happened? Was the wound Hollensworth delivered worse than you let on at the fair?”

The chest wound was healing. There was no sign of infection. His arms, legs, and torso, on the other hand, had some impressive bruising. “No, I am quite fit despite Hollensworth’s clumsy attempts with a single stick.”

Fayne had not seen any of his friends since the afternoon at the fair. Nor had he seen Kilby. He had decided to ride through Hyde Park in hopes of encountering her there. She was a beautiful lady. Most of the ladies he was acquainted with took great pleasure in displaying themselves at the park. This was the second afternoon he had ridden his bay in the park. There had been no sign of the lady or her friends.

“Do you see any sign of injury?” Fayne asked.

“Nothing.” Everod cleared his throat. “The ladies were disappointed that you did not join us at my house. Lady Sprying, in particular, was rather vocal regarding her dismay.”

Ah, Fayne mused, the dusky-skinned Velouette. With a distant fondness, he recalled thoroughly enjoying her lusty
appetite. He shrugged off the reminiscence. These days, he hungered for a violet-eyed little wolf. “My friend, I had every confidence that you could keep those ladies amused without any assistance from me.”

The viscount laughed heartily and stood. “Indeed. Savoring the company of two ladies at once was a pleasurable means to pass an evening. It certainly surpassed getting foxed with you, Cadd, and Ramscar.”

“If it isn’t, then you are doing something wrong!” Fayne sardonically quipped.

Everod just gazed distantly ahead with a faint grin on his face.

Most likely, the man was recalling the particulars of his pleasurable evening. Fayne had a similar expression on his face whenever he thought about tasting Kilby’s flawless breasts.

The viscount snapped out of his private musings. “If it wasn’t your injuries, what kept you from coming to the house?”

“The duchess,” Fayne said, wearily sighing. Naturally, his petulance was only for appearances. No self-respecting gentleman would admit that the two ladies in his family had him wrapped around their little fingers. “She and Fayre had learned of the duels I had participated in, and fussed over my injuries. Later that evening, the duchess wanted to attend a late supper at Lord Guttrey’s. With my father gone, I felt obliged to offer her an escort.”

The viscount scowled, his brows pinching together. “Guttrey? He’s still alive?”

Fayne grinned at his friend’s puzzled amazement. “Apparently so. And he entertains on occasion, too.”

The highlight of the entire evening had been the precious minutes he had spent with Kilby in the conservatory. It had been difficult to let her go. As he had guessed, Lady Quennell had whisked the lady away to avoid any awkward
confrontation with his mother. In truth, he had been more alarmed that Kilby had encountered his former mistress, Morrigan Du Toy than he had been about her meeting the duchess.

He had seen Morrigan when he finally joined the other guests in the drawing room. Once they could speak openly the widow had expressed a desire to rekindle their old friendship. He had caught his mother observing their quiet discourse. She had been shaking her head in dismay. Clearly, Mrs. Du Toy was not a suitable candidate for the next Duchess of Solitea. Fayne privately agreed. Then again, when they had been lovers, marriage had not even glimmered in his ardent thoughts.

“Well, I benefited nicely from your duty,” Everod said smugly. He went low and ran his hand along the underside of the bay. “I am tempted to send your mother a token of my appreciation.”

Fayne snickered. “Please refrain from doing so. You will only encourage her.” Sending the duchess gifts was trouble his friend did not want. Everod was a bit younger than his mother’s usual lovers. For some reason, he suspected the duchess would make an exception for his bawdy friend. The prospect of the viscount and his mother together was really disturbing.

“Hold. What’s this?” The viscount cursed and straightened. “I think I found the reason your bay bolted.”

Fayne circled around the head of the gelding, giving its neck a pat as he crouched low to see what Everod had found. He noticed the three-inch crease on the horse’s right flank. The wound was raw looking, but there was little blood loss.

He sighed. “I think we can rule out a bee sting.”

Everod chuckled. “I would have to agree. I’d wager a flying piece of stone was the culprit.” He walked over to his horse that had been idly nibbling on the grass. “It could have been worse.”

Fayne agreed. A little healing salve and a few days of being spoiled by one of the grooms and the bay would be fine. “Even so, I find it peculiar since our gait was too slow to—” He broke off, distracted by the carriage to the right of them. It was the couple within who had caught Fayne’s attention. The dark-haired gentleman looked vaguely familiar. The blonde hair he glimpsed beneath the lady’s bonnet even more so.

“Another problem?” Everod politely inquired. Curious, he glanced at the couple who had obtained his friend’s rapt interest.

“No,” Fayne said, grinning like a fool. If the woman in the carriage ahead was Lady Lyssa Nunnick, his luck had changed in his favor.

He was in the card room.

Exhilarated by her discovery, it was all Kilby could do to stop herself from brazenly introducing herself to Lord Tulley. Discreetly, she admired him from the respectful distance she kept between them.

Lord Ordish had told her that he was younger than the other gentlemen he had singled out as men who had once courted her mother’s affections. According to snippets of information she had gathered from Lyssa, Priddy, and several others, Rutger Elliot, Earl of Tulley, was forty-two years old and had been married once eight years ago. His countess had died three months into their marriage. The details of her demise were rather sketchy, and no one dared to speak of the lady in front of the earl.

Good grief, could this man possibly be her father? No. She immediately discarded the notion. It was impossible to view any of the gentlemen she had encountered as her father. Weldon Fitchwolf, Marquess of Nipping, was her father. Kilby sensed it wholly in her heart. Archer had to be
lying to her and she refused to let him take her family from her to justify his selfish ambitions.

Although Lord Tulley was clearly too old for her, she thought he was a handsome gentleman. His dark brown hair, just shy of black, was cut stylishly short. Observing his profile while he sipped his drink, she noticed his lips were full and his nose straight. He looked slightly bored with either his companions or the game he played with them. Kilby took a deep breath, wondering if she had the courage to approach him on her own.

“Little wolf,” the Duke of Solitea murmured in her ear. “Care to dance?”

Lady Kilby shivered as his hot breath teased her ear. As she tilted her head in his direction, Fayne got the impression the lady was not pleased to see him. “I beg you, never call me that silly name ever again,” she said curtly, opening her fan with a practiced snap of her wrist. “What if someone heard you?”

She was stylishly attired in a dress of mulberry sarcenet. Draped over the dress was a diaphanous robe of white net that fluttered about her; the front of it was cut diagonally, making the sheer covering longer at the back. Around her neck and on her upper arms she wore a double strand of carnelian and silver beads. Matching earrings dangled pertly from her earlobes.

“I am the only one who knows you howl softly when pleasured,” he said, turning her so she concentrated on him instead of whatever had intrigued her in the card room. He was anticipating getting her alone to see if he could coax those impassioned husky cries out of her again. “If anyone overheard us, they would assume it was an endearing abbreviation of your family name. Of course, they would also know we shared an intimate connection.”

One he hoped to share again with her soon. Their hosts, Lord and Lady Sallis, resided in one of the older town squares. The house was huge in comparison to some of the newer residences being built. With so many rooms, Fayne was certain he and Kilby could disappear without anyone noticing their absence.