How to Beguile a Beauty (9 page)

“Glass,” Tanner said, looking at the necklace Justin held up in front of them both. The thing glittered wildly in the sun. A beautiful piece. He could vaguely remember seeing it around his late mother's neck. “And you're sure?”

Justin let the necklace slide over his palm and back onto the desktop. “Once, in my salad days, I gifted a woman with what I believed to be a rather stunning diamond necklace. A farewell present, as it were.”

He held up the jewelers loupe. “The woman, who I
agree had to live by her wits—her beauty had begun to fade, you understand—immediately pulled one of these from her bosom, examined the stones, and then tossed the necklace back in my face. You can imagine my embarrassment. I was so dreadfully naive.”

“You'd been duped?”

“Oh, most definitely and decidedly duped. And, as I hoped my future might be fairly well littered with lovely women and parting gifts, I decided there and then to be educated on the matter of jewels. But back to the stones. I would suggest you have someone else verify my conclusion, but yes, glass. Quite good glass, but glass just the same.”

“Damn. I imagine the rest are equally fake.” He slipped off his ring and laid it on the desktop.

Justin opened another case, extracted a set of dainty diamond earrings. Then the pearls, which he, after excusing his rather primitive but, he assured Tanner, infallible method, rubbed against his teeth. The sapphire brooch. The light blue stones, the name of which Tanner couldn't remember, had never cared enough to learn. More fool him, as it turned out.

“The garnets are real. As I said, barely worth the effort of copying them,” Justin said at last, picking up the signet ring. “I'm sorry, Tanner.”

“And the ring?”

“Difficult to duplicate a moonstone, especially one of this size. I'd say it's genuine. Tanner, these stones could have been replaced at any time. Last week, last year. A dozen or more years ago. Yours wouldn't be the
first family to have resorted to switching out stones and replacing them with glass. We all have to live in these perilous times. And you said Harburton didn't object when you said you might take them to Bond Street?”

“Didn't turn a hair,” Tanner said, slipping the signet ring back on his finger. “You were in London the last year of my mother's life. Do you remember the Malvern diamonds? An impressive mass of stones she loved with all her heart? Necklace, bracelet, those long, dangling earbobs. A brooch as well, as I recall, and some pins for the hair. Prinney was so struck by it he offered to purchase the entire set, but we knew he'd never be good for the payment. Besides, my father said the center stone in the necklace is our legacy, our pride. That's what he called it. The Malvern Pride.”

“I remember. A collar, that's what such heavy, old-fashioned pieces are called. With a center stone the size of a goose egg. A stone that large and distinctive would be difficult to sell, Tanner. Not without someone taking notice. Your father wouldn't have wanted that sort of talk making its way around Mayfair, for one thing, yet no country jeweler could possibly afford to buy it.”

“Unless the stones were replaced a long time ago, which you said is also possible. One or two pawned and replaced at a time, over the course of years, even decades. There's really no way to know, is there?”

“Do you still want my company at Malvern Hall? You might be happier not knowing if the Pride is real or not.”

Tanner shook himself out of his unhappy thoughts. “I'm not inviting you just so you can screw that damn fool thing to your eye.”

“No, of course not. You're also inviting me to assure yourself that, until you're healed at least, I won't tumble into trouble here in town when you're not here to haul me out of it by offering up yourself instead.”

Tanner smiled, and then pressed a hand to his face, because the smile had set his cheek to throbbing. “Believe me when I say that it was never my intention to be horsewhipped in your place. Had I known you were there, hanging about in the shadows, I would have pointed Molton straight at you.”

“No, you wouldn't have done that. You would have done just what you did, sacrificed yourself. You should really strive to stop doing that, my friend. That's why good men die, Tanner, when the bad among us seem to lead charmed lives. Somehow, it would seem the Lady Lydia knows that.”

Now Tanner did laugh, and the hell with his wound. “She called me stupid.”

“Clearly a young woman of superior intellect. You'll also notice that she did not scream, didn't fall into a faint. A very admirable woman, as well one with a singular beauty to rival that of the angels—a sure attraction to a bad man like me. I'll give you one last chance. Are you quite positive you don't want to warn me off?”

“If I said that I'd rather you made a dead set at her, would you believe me?”

Justin frowned, looked at Tanner intensely. “You invite competition? Why? Does this have something to do with her dead captain? You were serious about that?”

“I keep attempting to tell myself that, yes.”

“Then, if I'm understanding this correctly—as far as our small farce goes, that is—the loquacious Miss Harburton is not cast in the role of future Duchess of Malvern?”

Tanner shook his head. “Definitely not.”

“Admitting again that I was listening at the door, that's not what your cousin seems to believe. I think, and I'm rarely wrong, that he's already harboring thoughts that you'll be declaring yourself at some time during our brief sojourn in the country.”

“He thought I brought her to London to declare myself. If I say
bless you
to Jasmine when she sneezes, Thomas is certain I'm about to declare myself. It doesn't matter where we are.”

“In that case, bear with me for a moment more. I think I understand now,” Justin said, holding up one finger as if just struck with an idea. “Is my presence on the scene to have more than one purpose? To be compared to you and found wanting by Lady Lydia—more fool you, if you're hoping for that—and also to romance the little chatterbox, thus keeping her occupied and out of the way? Quite the sacrifice on behalf of my poor ears, I might point out, although she's a pretty piece. It was only a horsewhip, Tanner, wielded by a fool more than half in his cups. Only one small blow you could have easily avoided if you'd only—”

“Feinted to the right. Yes, I remember.”

“Or perhaps to the left. It all happened so quickly, I could manage scarce more than to stand there and admire your prowess.” Justin pocketed his loupe. “I could win her, you know. The fair Lady Lydia, that is.”

“Then I wouldn't have lost her, would I, because she would never have been mine to lose.”

Justin's smile was wry, and almost sad. “There's that pesky honor again—don't you ever find it tiresome? But I do see your logic. At least you won't have lost to a dead man.”

Tanner employed the decanter to refill their glasses. “Said that way, it sounds callous, doesn't it? But, yes. I can't compete with Fitz. In her eyes, he was perfect. I'm not perfect.”

“None of us are. Even saints, I believe, are never canonized until years after they've been carried to bed on six men's shoulders. Stacked up against the bad baron, however, you're fairly close. But I warn you, I do have my charms. And ladies, even the best of them, tend to like their mischief, their excitement.”

“I'm fairly certain you would have more than met your match in her twin, Nicole. Much as I like Lucas Paine, I think I might have enjoyed seeing that.” Tanner shook his head. “But not Lydia. You don't know her, Justin. She enjoys a quiet life.”

“Ah, I see a wager in our future. I'll tell you what, Tanner. You read the fair lady poetry on a blanket spread beneath some shady tree, like the honorable gentleman you are. And I'll—well, I'm sure I'll think of some
thing. You may want her, my friend. But first someone needs to wake her up from whatever dream from the past you both seem to believe she's living in. Or at least one of you believe she's living in, hmm?”

Tanner opened his mouth to protest, but then shut it again. Was that what was wrong? Had he been treating Lydia as if she was fragile? Not as a woman, but still as the heartbreaking, tragic figure she had been a year earlier?

The way she'd behaved with him yesterday—in the park, at the ball, in the gardens. Her bright smile. Her almost saucy tongue. And that gown!

Had he been the unobservant witness to her first tentative steps toward breaking free from the past? With her sister gone from the scene, had Lydia decided that it was time to spread her own wings?

One might say that she had been flirting with him a bit, been less shy, more outgoing in her manner. Receptive. One could definitely say that she had been flirting with Justin, with all that business about Molière. Huh!

And more! Was it he, and not the memory of Fitz, who was the one holding her back from making that break with the past? Had she begun to chafe at his, well, his
kindness,
so that now she saw him rather as a roadblock to her future? How could he hope to inspire more than friendship, if he offered no more than friendship?

Well, damn him for a fool.

“Tanner? You're smiling. Did I say something amusing?”

“On the contrary, Justin. I think you said something
brilliant. Thank you. Thank you very much. Oh, and yes. The wager is on.”

Justin raised his glass. “Hear, hear! And may the best—or even the worst—man win.”

L
YDIA SAT AT HER WRITING TABLE
and nibbled at the end of the pen she held in her hand, staring down at the last words she'd written to Nicole.

She'd promised her more news. But to tell her one thing would not be enough, and to write to her of everything that had happened since she'd left for the ball would take volumes.

Sighing, and then realizing that she
never
sighed, Lydia dipped the pen into the inkpot and prepared to be vague.

I'm afraid I won't make the morning post now, which is a shame, since I have so little more to tell you since I gave off writing yesterday. Tanner's cousin is delightful, and rather astonishingly pretty, but what the good Lord so graciously blessed her with in looks He seems to have held back in other ways, so that she is also incredibly shallow and silly. Still, I think I like her very much.

Lydia put down the pen and looked at what she'd written.

Yes, she liked Jasmine Harburton. But
why
did she like Jasmine Harburton? Because the girl was a little silly, a little sad? Or because she didn't wish to marry Tanner?

No, she wouldn't think about that.

What else was there to tell Nicole about last night?

“Nothing,” Lydia said aloud, surprising herself.

Her sister, her best friend. They'd begun life together in their mother's womb. For all the years, for all the whispered girlhood secrets and confidences, the last thing she wished to do now was to share anything that had occurred last night with Nicole, or with anyone, for that matter.

And wasn't that odd.

She dipped her pen once more, knowing she was about to lie to her sister, if only by omission.

The ball itself was uneventful, as such things usually are, aren't they? I danced several times, so that you may put away your fear that I spent the evening hiding myself behind some potted palm after you'd so vandalized the bodices of all my gowns.

There. Let her think her little prank had been the reason for her sister's social success. Nicole loved being right.

Lydia dipped her pen once more and wrote:

Oh, and the Gunther Ices were quite lovely.

She smiled, suddenly remembering how Mrs. Shandy had been loath to put down her dish and quit the ballroom so that they could join Tanner outside. In the end, she had plucked one of the confections from a passing servant and literally
lured
the woman toward the door, waving it in front of her.

What a strange evening! And yet, if it hadn't been for the drunken fools and the horsewhip, and that cut
on Tanner's cheek, she'd have to say that she'd enjoyed last night's ball more than any other entertainment she'd attended since their arrival in town. She'd met a new friend. She'd danced, several times. The Baron had been silly and flattering.

And Tanner had kissed her on the cheek.

Yes, and there was the crux of the thing. Tanner's kiss. Whatever had it meant?

She hadn't expected him to kiss her; that much was for certain. Again, what if she'd taken that precise moment to turn her head, and he had collided with her mouth rather than her cheek? Would he have apologized? Or would he have taken advantage of the situation?

It all could have been most embarrassing, for both of them, so it was fortunate that the kiss on her cheek had been just that. A friendly kiss. An apologetic kiss? An impulsive kiss? A kiss is a kiss is a kiss, just as a rose is a rose is a rose?

“Stop it,” she scolded herself, feeling her pleasure in Tanner's action being replaced by the uncertainties of a postmortem.

Dipping her pen point once more, she finished with a wish that Nicole would write to her soon, and then signed her name with a bit of a flourish. She had just sanded the page, placed it with the others, and was folding the pages when Charlotte knocked and entered the bedchamber.

“Good, then you're awake. Even fed and dressed,” her sister-in-law said, aiming herself toward a straight
backed chair, as those of the softer and more comfortable variety lately were, according to Charlotte,
out to trap me forever in their clutches
. “I'm told you were home rather early last night. The ball was a disappointment?”

Lydia got to her feet, clutching the folded sheets in front of her, holding on to a lie while she told a lie, she supposed. “Not at all. Tanner's cousin is a lovely young woman”—she tried not to smile as Charlotte raised one eyebrow at that—“and we both had several partners during the evening. And…um…and the Gunther Ices were quite welcome in the heat.”

“Yes, balls can be quite the crush. But then you can always escape to the gardens in search of cooler air.”

Lydia turned back to the desk and laid the letter on the blotter. “I suppose that's true,” she said weakly. She was such a terrible liar, and most probably as transparent as glass. She should have practiced, the way Nicole had.

“Of course,” Charlotte went on breezily, “even while attending anything as civilized as a ball in the center of Mayfair, something untoward can occur.”

Lydia spun about, pressing her back against the edge of the desk, using her hands to keep herself balanced. “You
know
. How could—”

“A passing Gypsy taught me how to read tea leaves? But, no. Tanner told Rafe in a note he sent round early this morning. And Rafe immediately told me, because my husband knows how fruitless an exercise it is to try to keep anything from his loving wife. It was an unfor
tunate incident, and I'm so sorry you had to witness any such unpleasantness. But it's over now. And Rafe and I entirely agree that it would be best to remove the baron from London for a space. You'll all have a wonderful time at Malvern, I'm sure.”

“Pardon me? When did that happen? I'm going to Malvern?”

Charlotte nodded, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Rafe's already given his permission, yes. Just a small house party. You and the baron, Miss Harburton and Tanner.”

“Me and the—that is to say, the baron and I?”

“Rafe says he can be quite amusing, not to mention marvelously wealthy and sinfully handsome. And he's technically eligible, as well, if a bit of a social outcast, although that will pass. Impeccable lineage and a deep gravy boat always see to that, eventually, or so history tells us. Oh, dear, what a puss on you! Don't tell me you've taken him in dislike?”

Had Charlotte been drinking this morning? No, of course not. But she was next door to giddy, and Charlotte was rarely giddy. Lydia pulled out her desk chair and sat down. It was either that or fall down, she supposed. “No, I most certainly haven't taken the baron in dislike. He's really rather sad, beneath all his quips and a tendency for outrageous silliness. But what has that to say about—”

“How clever of Tanner to find you such an eminently suitable…well, suitor. Yes, there was that rather nasty business several years ago—Rafe told me all about
it—but he has received the king's pardon, so that's all there is to be said on that head. Still, it would be best to remove the man from the gossipmongers for a space, and what better way than to give an outward show of a house party serving as some welcome respite from a hectic Season? And if anything more were to come out of it,” Charlotte said, lifting her slim shoulders in an elegant shrug, “something like, oh, a betrothal? Well, then, we'll just leave that up to the Fates.”

“The fates, is it?” Lydia narrowed her eyelids. “You know, Charlotte, for a moment there you sounded just like Mama, almost as if you're planning my future for me. And as you well know,
that
is not a compliment.”

Charlotte lightly slapped her palms against her knees and stood up with more alacrity than she'd been showing for several weeks. “It's settled then? You leave for Malvern tomorrow. A single night on the road should do it, Rafe says, what with the quality of Tanner's horseflesh. A week in the country, breathing fresh air, and then a leisurely return to Ashurst Hall.”

Lydia's mouth had already dropped open, ready with her reply—her refusal, although why she felt the need to turn down the invitation she had not yet sorted out in her head. But mention of Ashurst Hall had her re-thinking her answer. “Ashurst Hall? I'll be going
home?
But…but what about the remainder of the Season?”

“Rafe has decided that his wife is more important than whatever arguments are taking place in Parliament for the moment. Especially since I told him that
it's possible I miscounted, and his son is due to make his appearance earlier than we'd first expected.”

“Really?”

“No, not really. I'm more than certain of the date. But my announcement did serve to get him up and moving, I'll say that. And if you can't tell, I'm nearly giddy with the thought of returning to Ashurst Hall.”

“I had noticed, yes.” Lydia looked askance at her. “I never knew you were a conniver.”

Charlotte grinned. “Neither did I, actually. It's rather fun. At any rate, Rafe has set preparations in motion for us to depart for home tomorrow morning. And with you on your way to Malvern at much the same time, the household will be busy today, putting everything in Holland covers. We shall make quite the grand parade of traveling coaches, won't we, heading out of Grosvenor Square. You, heading to the north, Rafe and I traveling to the south, and with Nicole causing her usual mischief somewhere in between.”

“But…but…” Lydia's head was spinning.

“Rafe's already penned a note to her at Basingstoke, asking that she and Lucas come to Ashurst Hall when her visit is over. So we may all be going our separate ways at the moment, but we'll all be together again soon. There's an heir to be born, after all, and weddings to plan.”

Lydia sprung to her feet once more, feeling helpless in the midst of a veritable storm of events in which she had no say, could find no way to refuse. “Weddings? Charlotte, will you stop! Please? Your baby, yes. And
Nicole's wedding to Lucas. I've been saying for weeks that we should all be returning to the country. But
weddings?
In the
plural?
I am most certainly not going to marry the baron. How could you even think that, on a single day's acquaintance?”

Charlotte's smile was breathtaking, and more than mildly mischievous. “Sweetheart, whoever said anything about the baron? Certainly not I. You really do need some time away from the hustle and bustle of the Season, don't you? The country air should clear your head.”

But if Charlotte wasn't throwing her at the baron's head, then she must be tossing her at—Lydia sat down so quickly this time that her teeth jarred against each other. Nicole having the seamstress clip away at all of her gowns. Rafe pushing her toward Tanner's estate without so much as inquiring as to her opinion of such a trip? Charlotte grinning like some cat who'd gotten into the cream?

Was the whole world thinking what she had been so careful not to ever utter out loud?

Before Lydia could think of anything else to say, her sister-in-law, surprisingly light on her feet suddenly, snatched up the letter to Nicole and was gone from the bedchamber, saying she thought there might still be time to catch the morning post.

For a woman who had lately complained that she waddled worse than the ducks in the pond at Ashurst Hall, she'd certainly moved with a spring in her step.

Oh, God, a spring in her step. Would that phrase never leave her mind?

So Charlotte saw Tanner as a prospective bridegroom.
Rafe probably thought the same, and the two of them must be just tickled down to their toes that they could push her off to Malvern with Tanner on the pretense of Justin's disgrace being somehow miraculously cured by dint of a small house party in the home of a duke.

It was all so transparent. But they meant well. Nicole and Charlotte and Rafe—they all meant well.

She did like Tanner very much. Very much. And he had kissed her, if only on the cheek. And he wasn't going to marry Jasmine; at least Jasmine said so. There was no more reason to try to hide her growing affection for Tanner because he was all but betrothed to another woman, not when that woman didn't want him.

Except there was still that business of Tanner's obligation to the captain, his promise to always take care of her. If he wasn't going to marry his cousin on the strength of a deathbed wish, should she not even entertain the lowering thought that he might marry
her
on the strength of another deathbed wish?

Suddenly the memory of Tanner's brief, chaste kiss on her cheek didn't seem quite so romantic. Coupling that kiss with this sudden invitation to his estate—and everyone's ill-concealed joy over the thing…?

“Oh, dear…”

Was she imagining things, or had Tanner already approached Rafe and gained his permission? Was there an offer of marriage waiting for her once they were at Malvern, away from the wagging tongues that would be questioning: “But what about the cousin?”

It all seemed so cold, so calculated.
And here's my
lovely estate, and there's the barns, and the horses, and the fields. Please, help me salve my conscience and marry them. Fitz would be so happy to see you well-settled.

Lydia's shoulders slumped. Oh, how dreadful!

There was something else, something horribly unnerving about the idea of everyone else so blithely deciding her life for her, as if they all knew best. After all, she wasn't a child anymore. Why did they all persist in seeing her as fragile? And quiet. And…biddable. Of the three,
biddable
seemed to be the worst.

She wasn't biddable. Nicole was flamboyant, impossible to rein in, which only made Lydia appear quiet and biddable in contrast. That's all. She had a
mind.
She could make her own decisions, thank you very much.

What would they all do if she pretended an attraction to the baron, if only for a little while. The man was already flirting with her, clearly playing some game for his own amusement. Perhaps she should flirt
back
at him, Wouldn't
that
put a spoke in all of their wheels! The thought made her feel…my goodness! She felt actually
stubborn.
Or, considering that she was very probably in love with Tanner anyway (not that anyone had
asked)
, was that
petty…
?