Barbara Pierce (14 page)

“I told you four days ago that what happened in Lord Guttrey’s conservatory was an aberration,” she said primly behind her fan. “By the bye, how is your mother? Is she here this evening?”

Fayne was not going to allow Kilby to escape him so easily. The day he and Everod were riding together in Hyde Park, the lady in the carriage had indeed been Lady Lyssa Nunnick. Regrettably, her male companion had been Lord Darknell. For obvious reasons, both he and the viscount had taken a mutual dislike to each other. While Everod distracted Darknell with idle conversation, Fayne had charmed what information he could about Kilby’s plans for the week out of her friend. His plans to seek out the lady had failed miserably when he had missed her on two other occasions. He had almost convinced himself Lady Lyssa had deceived him about Kilby’s whereabouts when he espied her in the Sallis’s ballroom.

“If I said yes would you dash out of here as you did at Guttrey’s supper?” Fayne asked, prepared to chase after her this time.

“Of course,” she said, crossing her eyes at him for his intentional obtuseness. “Perhaps it is uncouth of me for mentioning your father so soon after your loss; however, you force me to speak plainly. I know what was said the night Lady Quennell visited your family, the accusations that questioned my good character. Priddy related to me the family’s confusion regarding my friendship with your father.”

“You must forgive us, my lady, it was a—difficult night,”
Fayne quietly said, recalling the rage and grief that had struck them all when they realized the duke was dead. “Accusations might have been uttered in the blind heat of torment. I suffer no such confusion now.”

“You are merely being kind,” she replied, looking unconvinced. “And so am I. Despite what your family might think, I am not so unfeeling as to cause your mother any unnecessary anguish.”

Fayne sensed Kilby’s earnestness. He was still trying to understand the lady who had captured his father’s interest in his last days. A part of him envied his father for having claimed her first. Had she loved him? He had already gathered she was neither thoughtlessly ambitious nor cruel. “There is no need for you to run from me this evening,” he confessed, pleased his mother had decided that she did not need his services once she was satisfied that his recent recklessness had left him unharmed. “I am wholly yours if you desire it.”

Kilby looked away and glanced curiously at the card room. “And . . . how many ladies have received this generous offer from you?”

A dangerous question. Answering it truthfully would never get him what he wanted from the lady. “This very evening or in the past year?” he asked mischievously.

Amused, she glanced back at him, searing him with her violet eyes. “I thought as much. How many have refused you?”

He was not certain of the game she was playing with him, but he did not mind the challenge. “Why, absolutely none, my lady.” He blatantly lied.

“Really?” she marveled, her eyes flashing with indulgence. “It is a shame, though.”

“Not from my perspective,” he said, wondering how she would react if he suggested they leave the ballroom now. “I savored every pleasurable moment.”

“No, you incorrigible man, I meant it is a shame I must ruin your perfect record by refusing your kind offer.” She blithely ignored his stunned expression. “I meant it when I told you that I was not interested in pursuing our friendship further, Your Grace.”

A surge of unjustifiable resentment rose and exploded in his chest. “Give me a few minutes alone with you in the Sallises’ gardens,” he said with terse impatience. “And then refuse me.”

Kilby’s features darkened with regret. “You tempt me, Your Grace. It is a challenge I would be unwise to accept.”

Kilby forced herself to walk away from the Duke of Solitea. It was a difficult task when every nerve in her body was so aware of him. When the man stared at her with those beguiling green eyes, she felt her will to resist him weaken. If he sensed the full depth of her desire to explore the passion between them, he would have whisked her out of the ballroom and she would have been helpless to deny him.

“Oh, I see, His Grace found you,” Lyssa said, greeting her with a brief hug. At Kilby’s puzzled expression, her friend nodded at something behind her.

She turned back and saw Fayne broodingly staring at her. His burning regard was arrogant and transparently possessive. Her body trembled in response. The duke was going to have to stop looking at her in that manner. Someone was bound to notice.

“How did you know he was looking for me?” she asked, deliberately turning away.

“His Grace approached Darknell and me while we were driving in Hyde Park several days ago,” Lyssa confided,
thrilled with the notion that her friend had gained the attention of a duke. “Darknell, naturally, warned me not to reveal your whereabouts to him. Nevertheless, while the duke’s companion distracted our mutual friend, I did reveal to His Grace that you would be attending the Sallises’ ball this evening. Did I do something wrong? I thought you would be pleased.”

From Lyssa’s perspective, the young duke was everything Kilby should be seeking in a husband. He was handsome, wealthy, and his position in polite society far eclipsed Archer’s. He was perfect—well, almost.

It was a pity he was Solitea’s heir.

Kilby did not blame her friend for her hasty attempt at matchmaking. If Fayne were so determinded to seek her out that he approached her friends, he would have eventually found her on his own. He might have even sought out Priddy’s assistance. Kilby could well imagine how thrilled the viscountess would have been by that prospect.

“You did nothing wrong,” Kilby said cheerfully. She could feel the weight of Fayne’s stare on her. Becoming increasingly agitated, she gripped Lyssa’s hands. “I need to leave the ballroom for a few minutes. Will you let Priddy know if she asks after me?”

Her delicate brows furrowed in concern. “Are you ill?” Lyssa asked, holding on to Kilby before she could escape.

“Not really. I am unused to so many people. I just need a few minutes alone.”

“You might try the informal parlor. No one should be there,” her friend helpfully suggested. “I could sit with you, if you like?”

Kilby wrinkled her nose. “No. Stay and enjoy the ball. I will not be gone for long.” Releasing Lyssa’s hand, she pivoted and headed out of the ballroom. Fayne had disappeared. If she had any sense, she would leave the Sallises’ house and wait for Priddy at home. However, Fitchwolfs
were made of sterner stuff. Once she calmed down and composed herself, she would focus on her task of meeting Lord Tulley and forget all about the flirtatious Duke of Solitea and his sinful kisses.

“She was the pretty wench you were flirting with at the fair,” Cadd nonchalantly remarked as Fayne observed Kilby depart the ballroom. “The lady who gave you the gossamer frippery, the favor.”

“Who was Solitea flirting with?” Everod asked, shouldering himself in between the two men.

Fayne saw no point in hiding his growing obsession. Everod had been with him the afternoon he had approached Lady Lyssa Nunnick. One of them was bound to discover her name. “Lady Kilby Fitchwolf,” he said, his tone warning them off.

The viscount cocked his head, trying to glimpse more than the back of her head. “Ho-ho! What’s this? Are you keeping secrets from your friends?”

He accepted his friend’s teasing with his usual sarcastic manner. “Not much of a secret when you gents are involved, is it?”

Cadd shoved him boisterously on the upper arm. “Sweet Christ, she is the one, isn’t she?” Realizing his voice had drawn the interest of nearby guests, he leaned in closer. “The lady your father was tupping when he—” The earl illustrated his point by clutching his heart and staggering.

“Nice one, Cadd.” Everod smirked, shaking his head at his companion’s insensitivity. “Perhaps later we can break into the abbey and crack open Solitea’s crypt for a lark.”

Fayne rubbed his brow in exasperation. He wished Ramscar had joined them. The earl was a better mediator when his demented companions started fighting than he was. Personally, he was tempted to let them come to blows.
A bloody match would keep them from prying into his business.

The marquess glared murderously at Everod. “Very amusing, you horse’s arse. I was just saying—”

“I know what you meant, Cadd,” Fayne interjected, resigned that his friends had guessed the truth. He was surprised they had not figured it out sooner. “Yes. The lady I demanded a favor from at the fair was with the duke when he died.” He gave them a harsh look. “This is family business, gents. If I hear Lady Kilby’s name uttered in connection with my father, I will know the source and deal with you both accordingly.”

“Don’t be an arse! You have our oaths if you require them. I just thought you had a hard rule about not fuc—” Everod halted and grimaced. Recalling where he was, he cleared his throat, and said in a quieter voice, “A rule about not dallying with any of your father’s mistresses.”

“I do,” Fayne snapped, not liking that his friends were reminding him that he was not abiding by a rule that ages ago, he had deemed not only sensible, but necessary in keeping the peace among the Carlisles. The duchess and his sister would have been devastated if father and son had come to blows over a mistress. His father had quietly honored his side of the unspoken bargain, as well.

“The rule applied when my father was alive,” he said, switching his gaze from Everod to Cadd, daring either one of them to argue. Christ, he could not believe he was getting lectured by a man who bedded two ladies in one night! “Now that the duke is dead, I see no reason why his former mistress cannot find solace in my bed.”

Unapologetic, the viscount grinned at him. “You do not have to convince me, my friend. Lady Quennell introduced me to Lady Kilby Fitchwolf when she first arrived in town. The wench has a bewitching face and a lithe body to tempt
even the devil himself,” he said, his enthusiasm for his subject reflecting on his handsome features.

Fayne glowered at his friend. Everod had no business looking at Kilby.

“I’ll admit that I have considered calling on the Quennell residence,” Cadd confessed, surprising both of his companions. “The viscountess has high hopes of marrying the girl off this season. A man could do worse for a bride.”

It was worse than he thought. Fayne not only had to worry about Lady Quennell finding some insipid, foppish suiter for Kilby, but he had to watch out for his friends’ amorous intentions.

Fayne let his companions feel the impact of his unwavering green gaze. “Forget about courting Lady Kilby, gents. She’s a Carlisle woman, whether she knows it or not.”

Everod stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the doorway. “You have bigger problems than worrying about someone usurping your place in the lady’s bed.”

Cadd glanced in the general direction and swore. “Hollensworth. I thought the man left town.”

Damn.
Fayne was in a tense, volatile mood. It would not take much prodding from the baron to incite him to violence. “I hope this business between us is settled. If he persists, I might have to kill him.”

“Nay,” Everod drawled, clapping Fayne on the shoulder. “He hasn’t seen you. Nor does he have to, unless you want to openly challenge him.” The viscount was always ready for a fight.

“We could distract him while you leave the ballroom,” Cadd offered, subtly shifting so Fayne was effectively hidden from view from the doorway.

Fayne broodingly contemplated his options. If Hollensworth was still seeking a fight, he was willing to oblige him. Or . . . his second option was more appealing. He
could go after Kilby. Enough time had passed since she had quit the ballroom. If anyone noticed his departure, he doubted they would connect his leaving with Kilby’s.

“Distract him,” he ordered his friends. His green eyes heated as he thought of the impending chase. Once he had bedded Kilby, she would understand the full extent of his claim on her. “I have a little wolf to tame.”

Kilby had strayed far from the ballroom in search of an empty room. The house was large enough that most of the staff was stationed in the wing where the ballroom was located. Where she had wandered was lit, but she had encountered very few people.

Initially, she had gone upstairs to find an uninhabited bedchamber to relax in. The three rooms she had checked had definitely been occupied. She had seen enough of one gentleman’s bared backside that she could not bring herself to open a fourth.

She went down one landing in the opposite direction of the ballroom. The hall split, giving her a choice in direction. Kilby chose to turn right, but quickly discovered this way opened into a kidney-shaped room. On the paneled walls were so many mirrors of differing shape and sizes, it must have been a collection. The odd-shaped room was furnished with gilded black chairs softened by green cushions, scarlet sofas with frills, and gold fauteuils. She started to step into the room, noticing a mosaic center table as she entered.

The sound of a lady’s voice had her quietly backing out of the room.

“I almost declined Lady Sallis’s invitation,” the unknown woman continued. “Last week I noticed her cheating at cards. Can you believe it?”

“My word, no,” was her friend’s faint retort.

“My companions, naturally, begged me not to confront
the pathetic woman. I was prepared to cry off when I heard Carlisle was planning to attend.”

She realized the woman was talking about Fayne. She glanced in one of the mirrors and immediately recognized the tall, voluptuous blonde. It was Mrs. Du Toy. Her companion was a darker blonde whom Kilby was not acquainted with. A swift insight had her bringing a hand to her mouth in horror. If she could see the lady in the mirror, Kilby could be seen, too. Silently, she retreated farther down the hallway.

The darker blonde spoke, but her voice was not as distinct as her companion’s.

“Oh, he is feigning reluctance,” Mrs. Du Toy said in response. “Our parting was frightfully violent. It was my fault, really. I devastated poor Carlisle when I announced I was accepting Du Toy’s offer of marriage and could no longer continue our affair.”