Edith Layton (3 page)

She laughed again. “Little fear of that. I intend to get leg-shackled one day. But not that soon. And the men I’m considering won’t be any the worse for a few weeks of worry about my availability. Might raise their interest in me, at that.”

He looked at her curiously. There was much he didn’t know about his pretend fiancée. Why would such a lovely young woman put such a low value on herself? How had she learned to defend herself so successfully? Had Sinclair taught her? It was useful, but even so, few females showed such gusto for the art of
self-defense. And while she wasn’t vulgar or brash, why—charming though it was—did she lapse every so often and speak as a young man might, and not like any well-born maid he’d ever met, here or abroad?

The Viscount Sinclair was pacing when they entered the hall. His lady’s worried expression vanished when she saw them.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” Gilly said. “Did I keep you waiting? Are you tired?” She hurriedly wrapped herself into the coat a footman held out for her and went to the viscountess’s side. “I told you not to go out so soon,” she said fretfully, “but you wouldn’t listen to me, would you? A woman who had a babe not three months past ought not to be out to all hours. Let’s go home right now! Oh, bother! I told you this ball meant nothing to me!”

Damon watched with interest. Were all wards so familiar with their benefactors?

“It meant
nothing to you
?” Sinclair asked silkily, glancing at Damon. “Odd. I wonder how that can be when your long-lost love was here waiting for you?”

“Don’t tease the girl,” the viscountess told her husband. She dropped her voice. “I’m not ill, Gilly. I just wanted to get you out of here.”

“Oh. Well, thank you for that,” Gilly said. “Wait until you hear the whole!”

“I can hardly contain my curiosity,” Sinclair said dryly. He offered one arm to his wife, another to his ward. He turned his head to Damon. “Her version tonight. I’ll see
you
tomorrow—at ten.”

“Ten,” Damon agreed, and watched the trio walk out to their waiting carriage.

Damon wanted to leave the ball the moment Gilly Giles and the Sinclairs did. Not only had all his interest in the affair left with them, but the townhouse itself was hot and crowded. The ballroom smelled of melting tallow, perspiration, and too many warring perfumes. But there were things he had to know before morning, and this was the best place to learn them. He turned back to the ball.

“Sly dog!” his friend said, appearing at his side before he could take another step. “You let me blather on about her, and didn’t breathe a word to me. No, no, I’m not offended in the least. I understand, you’re a gentleman and couldn’t speak until you knew her mind. But it’s a lucky thing I didn’t say a word against the lady, isn’t it? Um, I didn’t, did I?”

“You’d have known if you had, Charles, that I promise you,” Damon said good-naturedly.

Charles turned pale. Damon wondered if his old friend was appalled at the thought of having said anything rude. But watching him more narrowly, Damon realized Charles might actually be worried that he’d made a remark that could result in a challenge. With good reason. They’d been old school chums, but time had changed them both.

Like many of his London cronies, Charles avoided any play that involved much more than his wrists. Holding cards, throwing dice, hefting glasses of wine, and placing bets were his only recreations since he’d left school. Sporting with wenches involved more muscles, but was acceptable because there was all that bed rest afterward. Damon had done much more.
He looked as rudely healthy as a savage from the land he’d just returned from.

Damon had been glad to see his old school friend at the ball, because though his figure had certainly changed, he was at least a familiar face. They hadn’t exchanged three words in as many years until tonight. But now he judged it was time for them to pass some more, while Charles obviously still feel uneasy.

“You didn’t say anything wrong, but now you can tell me more,” Damon said mildly. “I’d heard about the Viscount Sinclair in my lady’s letters, of course. Tell me what you know about him.”

“Oh,” Charles said, vastly relieved. “Well, that’s simple enough. The man is much discussed, or was. Before he met his lady he was wild to a fault—or so all said. He lost his first wife and the shock of it sent him to the Continent, where he became a rake. When he came back he met his Lady Bridget and turned meek as a lamb—staid as a parson, in fact. He’s got eyes for no lady but his own now, and God help other men who look at her the way he still does.” Charles shuddered. “He was a dangerous fellow, too, famous for his skill with his fists, pistols, and sabers. He uses his tongue and his wit to slay his foes these days. They’re just as lethal. I tell you, few dare his wrath.

“Some say he was working for the Crown as some sort of spy when he was abroad.” Charles leaned close to whisper, “Who knows? Napoleon’s gone, he’s home, and it’s all done. But he’s a powerful fellow in society, with connections in the government, too. You’ve aligned yourself well, Damon, and that’s a fact!”

“But I thought you said his ward was ineligible,”
Damon drawled. “You were warning me away from her, weren’t you?”

“No, no,” Charles said nervously. “Of course not! I only meant she had no fortune. A nice competence, to be sure, I don’t doubt. No one thinks Sinclair will be a skint when it comes to her dowry. But no estate. Well, you know what frippery fellows we London bachelors are! Why else would we be here at such tame pleasures as this ball? Looking for wives to settle our futures, of course. Most fortunes are made and estates settled by wedlock, just like in olden days, for most of us. You made your own fortune and can look wherever you choose for a wife. Even marry for love! Few of us have such freedom.”

“Only that?”

“No ‘only’ about it,” Charles said indignantly. “Many’s the fellow wed to a dragon only because she’s sitting on a pile of gold. You think there’d be half as many married men playing fast and loose if they’d been able to wed where they would? Just look into the ballroom. There’s Jessup, dancing with that Turner woman, and he with five children at home with his wife. There’s Johnston trying to pretend Lady Johnston don’t know why he’s avoiding Lady August’s eye. Ho! All know that affair’s exploded even if she don’t. There’s Lord Wycoff on the prowl again, as is his wife. Don’t you see how she’s watching you? As if you’d have any truck with her, when you’ve the pick of the crop. That’s only what I can see from here!

“Half the married men have their little
cher amis
from the ranks of the impure, ladybirds who amuse them under the sheets but who can never appear at a
respectable ball like this. Love don’t come into it either way. Getting children’s one thing. Finding pleasure with a female is another. Love is something else altogether, I suppose. No ‘only’ about it, my friend!” Charles said, so worked up he forgot to worry about Damon’s temper. “You went out and made your fortune. But the rest of us? There’s those who sneer at the word
trade
and act like you’ve dirtied your hands. But we have to dirty far more. Marriage is the best chance most of us have of making or keeping our fortunes.”

“So that’s the only reason you said she was ineligible?” Damon persisted.

Charles showed the first trace of color in his cheeks Damon had seen since they were boys at school, coming in from a rough game of ball. “Well, but there’s no family there either,” Charles mumbled, “and there’s them that sets store by old names and such, y’see.”

“I see,” Damon said, content. No scandal then. Nothing against the sprite herself. Only that she had nothing these London fools needed. Not enough money nor worthy enough ancestors. Neither meant much to Damon. If he’d been firstborn, maybe they would have. Or even second, or thirdborn, for that matter. But he was the baby of the family and had more nephews and nieces than he could count. No, he thought with a smile, he did keep count, and rejoiced in each new addition. Since he’d left England he’d gained four more he hadn’t met. Apart from the fact that it was a joy to welcome new members of his clan, with so many worthy heirs in his family he was obviously free to wed where he would.

And so he would. I
t might even be Miss Giles
, he thought with pleasure.

“Coming back to the dance?” Charles asked.

“Why? I got what I came for,” Damon said. He looked around the crowded ballroom. “I’ll never find old Merriman in this crush. I’ll say my farewells to you instead. We’ll share a dinner one of these nights—if I can tear myself away from my fiancée, that is to say. Good night, Charles.”

Damon called for his coat and hat and walked out into the night. He stood on the front step gazing up at the sky. He was used to more stars and less smoke. Rawer streets, with dust instead of cobbles. But the earth under his feet held centuries of his history. He was home, and very glad of it.

He shook his head when a footman offered to call a hackney for him, even though the street was crammed with waiting coaches and cabs. One thing his adventures in the new world had given him was a taste for walking or riding horseback instead of riding locked inside a coach. It gave him time to think.

Damon strolled to his hotel, still humming the waltz he’d heard as he’d left the ball. He was very pleased with himself. She was a beauty, rare and unique. Just the sort of prize a man looked for in a wife. This man, at any rate. Her hair, those eyes, that figure…. Still, a man ought not be ruled by his organs—his heart or his masculine ones. Because there was often little difference between them where women were concerned.

But there was a clever brain ticking away in that lovely head, and a backbone of steel, too. She’d courage
and a lively sense of humor, and a fresh and breezy manner that was a relief from the coy young women of quality on both sides of the Atlantic. There was also a delicacy of mind…or so it seemed. Marriage was a lifetime affair, a man had to be sure.

Now a trick of fate had given him time to evaluate the lady who claimed she wasn’t one. Time to spend in her company, hear her thoughts, and see her reactions to his. Few men were lucky enough to do that without committing themselves for eternity. But she was willing—eager—to set him free. He knew people well enough to know it was no trap. She honestly hadn’t wanted him from the first. Not because she didn’t like him. He knew women well enough to know that kiss had shocked her with the intensity of its pleasure, too.

But she said she wasn’t good enough for him. Why? She said she wanted a husband one day. She only accepted his mock courtship to save her reputation, and said she couldn’t wait to free him from his obligation. A mystery. An enthralling one.

Still, a courtship meant intimacy. Not the kind of intimacy he most wanted, of course. He could wait for that. He’d had as active a sensual life in the New World as he’d had in the old one. Women liked him. He genuinely liked them and always was able to find one he wanted who was willing to take what he offered. Which was sometimes money, often affection, usually both. All he asked in return was an eager partner in bed as well as an amusing companion at dinner. If there was the possibility of love, even better. There was almost always that. For a while at least. He couldn’t imagine making love to someone without the thought that he
might love them…but he’d never known the real thing. Miss Gilly Giles had possibilities he’d never found before.

He’d come to London to find a mate. He’d never seriously looked for one until tonight—and there she’d been. Fate had favored him again. Not only had he found her, but as the hapless Charles had said, he was lucky enough to name his own destiny. Though luck wasn’t all it took.

Damon would have been comfortable if he’d stayed at home these past years. His oldest brother got the estate, those next in line got acreage, funds, and professions suitable to gentlemen. But his father had a nice amount settled on him, too, and he’d a fine education. He’d only begun to wonder about how he’d spend his life when a great uncle had obliging shuffled off his mortal coil and left him the lot of his worldly goods. He’d inherited a tidy manor house and a neat little fortune. It was actually the inheritance that decided him. It had all been so easy.

His family and friends congratulated him. But one friend said one word too many. “Your life falls so neatly, Damon,” the fellow said enviously, “I think if you walked off a cliff the earth would rise up to meet your feet. You never have to ask for anything. It all falls to you.”

That stung. Everyone in the family had petted and cosseted him since birth. The thought of being on his own, rebuilding and refurbishing his great uncle’s house for himself, had given him pleasure—until then. Because he wouldn’t be on his own, would he? It would only be more of the same. Another gift. He had
to prove he could earn his future for himself, if only to himself.

His mother wept, his father thundered. Go to America and establish himself in trade? Some families might have been appalled at the word
trade
. They weren’t. They were horrified at the word
go
. Whatever for? Didn’t he have everything? When he told them what he didn’t have—a chance to discover his own abilities, to make a life with his own brain and two hands—they fell still. Until they marshaled new arguments. They loved him so, they couldn’t bear to let him go. Which was why he knew he must.

His brothers warned him, his sisters begged him to change his mind. But his family had loved him too well. All that unrestricted love had also made him a man with a strong sense of self-worth and amazing tenacity. He could have become a lap dog, pettish, snappish, and selfish. But even as a boy he’d rejected that. Because it hadn’t been unconditional love—they had set standards and lived them themselves. He refused to be less than they were.

Fortune kept smiling on him. He thought he was lucky. That his family had also created a man with a sunny, even disposition who liked his fellow man and woman and showed it, and so got back from the world just what he put into it, never occurred to him. In his travels he made friends it was as much of a wrench for him to leave as those he’d left at home. He was lucky to find such good men and women, he thought, never knowing he worked, knowingly or not, for every bit of luck he found.