Love and Other Scandals (14 page)

But Lord Boor, fall in love with her? She couldn’t imagine it. He seemed determined to find new ways to be rude and impertinent every time they met. Joan didn’t want to marry someone who would constantly argue with her, call her unattractive, and bully her to his will. And even if he managed to improve on further acquaintance, there was her family to contend with. Her mother would sooner lock her in a convent than let her marry the likes of Lord Burke. And if she did let herself be drawn into a scandal, a convent and a securely locked door would most assuredly figure in Lady Bennet’s plans.

“No,” she finally said, very quietly.

“Then be careful.” Abigail gave her a rueful smile. “Not the most exciting plan, I know.”

“Your pardon, but are you ready to go home? Mrs. Townsend is growing overheated in the sun.” Mr. Weston’s voice made all three girls jump. He had dismounted and walked up behind Abigail.

“Oh! Yes, we’re ready.” Penelope took her brother’s arm and led him back toward the carriage, shooting a glance of compassion at Joan. “How dare you let Olivia sit in the sun, Jamie? You ought to have stopped in the shade . . .”

Abigail fell in step beside her as they followed more slowly, ignoring Penelope’s chatter. “It was really lovely, wasn’t it? When he kissed you. I could tell from your face.”

Joan sighed, half in longing, half in regret. “Yes.”

Her friend was quiet for a minute. “It appears he wants to kiss you again, if he wagered he could make you enjoy it better next time . . .”

“He only said that to tease me.”

“Are you certain?”

Joan just snorted in reply. They had reached the carriage, where Mr. Weston was helping Penelope up the step.

Instead of stepping forward to climb into the carriage behind her sister, Abigail turned to Joan. “Not wanting to be caught up in a scandal is sensible,” she whispered. “But holding out hope that a gentleman’s feelings might grow . . . there’s nothing foolish about that.”

“With this gentleman, hoping for anything is foolish,” Joan replied with a bittersweet sigh, and she prayed she didn’t forget it.

Chapter 15

T
ristan dismounted outside the Bennet house in South Audley Street and took his time tying up his horse. With any luck, this would be a brief visit, but he was beginning to wish he’d brought his own liquid refreshment. How was his visit—for tea, no less—supposed to add to the Fury’s enjoyment of the Season? If he’d had to lay money one way or the other, he would have wagered she’d rather not see him again.

For the hundredth time, he wondered how he’d let himself agree to this. When Bennet returned to London, there would be a reckoning. Look after my sister, he’d said; bloody Christ, he might as well have asked Tristan to catch a wild boar and ride it to York. The boar would have appreciated his efforts just as much.

He straightened his jacket and rapped the door knocker, bracing himself. The sooner he went inside and drank some tea, the sooner he could leave. Whatever she said to him, no matter how provoking, he must not respond. He would ask after her health; after her mother’s health; if she would like him to shoot her brother for subjecting them both to this farce; and then take his leave. The thought cheered him. A few polite minutes of meaningless conversation, and he would be done.

The butler admitted him and soon showed him into the drawing room. But only Lady Courtenay was waiting for him, smiling a little too broadly.

“Lord Burke! How lovely to see you. Thank you so much for calling.”

Tristan bowed, resisting the urge to peer out into the corridor behind him. If he’d had the abominably bad luck to call when Miss Bennet was out, he damned sure wasn’t staying. “The pleasure is mine, madam. I was most gratified to be welcome.”

“Oh, yes,” she said in amusement. “Won’t you sit down? My niece will return in a moment. We were just about to enjoy some tea and sandwiches. Would you care to join us?”

“That’s very kind, thank you.” He took the seat opposite her as the countess rang for a maid and instructed the girl to have more sandwiches and some cakes sent up with tea.

“Now.” Lady Courtenay smiled at him. “How is Douglas? I haven’t seen him in an age, and my niece tells me you are staying with him at the moment.”

“He’s gone to Norfolk, but he was in excellent health and spirits when he left, ma’am.”

“Very good,” she said warmly. “I remember him as such a rapscallion, always in pursuit of adventure and willing to break more than a few rules . . . oh, but I mustn’t say so to you—he will never forgive me! I beg you to overlook the reminiscence of a fond aunt.”

“Of course,” Tristan murmured, feeling an unwanted bolt of envy for Bennet. If only his aunt had ever thought so well of him and his youthful escapades. Lady Courtenay showed no approbation, and even a little admiration.

“I must confess, he was a boy after my own heart,” his hostess went on. “I knew it the moment he skidded down the stairs of this very house with an atlas for a sled. Such an uproar it caused! His parents were hosting a fine dinner, and he upset it all by flying through the hall, shouting for all he was worth.”

“I defy any boy not to shout whilst sledding down a staircase,” said Tristan with a slight grin. “I might have done that myself a time or two.” He’d done it exactly three times, before getting caught and thrashed so hard, he almost squirmed at the memory.

Lady Courtenay leaned forward and lowered her voice, still smiling broadly. “Of course! I did it myself as a girl, once my brother showed me how. We were clever enough to wait until our parents were away, however.”

“Very wise,” he agreed solemnly.

The door opened, and a woman came in. “Lord Burke,” she said a little breathlessly, dropping a curtsy. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Tristan stared. He’d shot to his feet at the sound of the latch, but if Lady Courtenay hadn’t said her niece would be returning soon, he wouldn’t have believed it was truly Miss Bennet. She didn’t have a single flounce or shred of lace on her. In fact, she seemed shorn of almost all trimmings. Her dress was a muted green—damn, he’d been right that deep colors would suit her—and decorated only with a wide satin ribbon around the neckline. Instead of ruffles and puffs, her skirt was embroidered, and it swayed softly from side to side as she moved. And her hair . . . all the ringlets were gone. Her chestnut locks were pulled back into a heavy-looking mass of soft curls that seemed to beg for a man’s hands to run through it.

“You changed your hair,” he blurted out.

She blinked. “Yes. A pin came loose and I had to repair it.”

For some awful reason, all Tristan could think about was pulling out that pin and all its brethren, letting her hair fall loose around her shoulders. He cleared his throat as she crossed the room and took a seat on the sofa. “Right. Well done.”

“We were speaking of Douglas,” said Lady Courtenay. “And what a scamp he was as a boy.”

Miss Bennet turned her gleaming gaze on him. “That must be a lengthy conversation! I am sure Lord Burke knows a great deal about the topic.”

”Are you asking me to tell tales on your brother, Miss Bennet?” He was still having difficulty believing it was the same woman, but no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t see anything that wasn’t her. He’d just never noticed that her fine complexion went all the way down to the swells of her bosom. In fact, now that the lace and trimmings were gone, he had an all-too-clear view of her bosom, along with the rest of her figure. Far from making her look fat, as that horrid pink dress had done, this gown made her look lush and delectable. His hands almost itched to test the span of her waist.

“Oh, my. No doubt my aunt and I would both swoon away at your exploits.” She batted her lashes at him, which only drew his attention to her eyes and the sly sparkle in them.

It made him grin. She was once more undaunted and uncowed, just as she had been the day she invaded Bennet’s house. He much preferred her this way, instead of the nervous, anxious creature she’d been at the Malcolm ball. He felt no shame in admitting it, either. If he had to dance attendance on a woman, it might as well be interesting.

“Goodness, no,” said Lady Courtenay with a laugh. “How can we talk of Douglas when the poor boy’s not here to defend himself?”

“Much more easily than if he were here,” murmured Miss Bennet.

Tristan coughed to cover a laugh. “I hope Lady Bennet is recovering her health.”

“We’ve only had a brief letter from Sir George,” said Lady Courtenay. “They were obliged to stop in Bath, which I believe may be very fortunate. I’ve always found Bath so invigorating, but also restful. Have you ever visited Bath, Lord Burke?”

“Er.” There had been one dreadful summer, when he was eleven, when he’d been unable to secure an invitation to any schoolmate’s home and had been forced to spend a month in Bath with his aunt and uncle. Aunt Mary had been expecting then, and her pregnancy had made her more unbearable than ever. Not from ill humor; on the contrary, she’d been certain she would have a son, thus removing Tristan from any claim to the Burke title, and she’d been in exceptionally good spirits the whole time. He always wondered how great her disappointment had been to have two daughters instead of a son. But he would always remember Bath for the complacent smile she had given him every day of that horrid month.

He shook off the bad memory. “Not really, Lady Courtenay,” he replied. “I merely passed through once.”

She was watching him thoughtfully. “You must stop sometime. It’s a lovely town.”

He just nodded as the maid came in with the tray of tea. Lady Courtenay bid her niece pour, barely interrupting her attention to him. “But here I am, encouraging you to leave town, when London holds so many diversions, it would take a lifetime to enjoy them all! Just this morning we were discussing which invitations to accept. Does Lady Brentwood serve decent wine at her balls?”

“Ah . . .” He stared at her. “I’ve no idea, ma’am.”

Lady Courtenay made a face and waved one hand. “Oh, we shall have to take the risk, then. At least we may count upon Lady Martin to have a fine selection at her soiree on Thursday. Joan, you may send our acceptance to Lady Brentwood this afternoon. Will we see you there, Lord Burke?”

He looked at Miss Bennet as she handed him a cup of tea. Dancing with her once or twice would satisfy his debt to Bennet, after all. “Likely so, Lady Courtenay.” The lady across from him lowered her gaze, but not before he saw her roll her eyes. “Perhaps Miss Bennet will save me a dance that evening.”

Her head came up in surprise, but then a faint smirk touched her lips. “I’m afraid I cannot, sir.”

Tristan almost dropped the teacup. He didn’t ask many ladies to dance, but when he did, he was never refused—never. Instead of being a relief, it made him want to dance with her more than anything. He wanted to know if she still smelled lovely. He wanted to feel her against him again. And damn it, he did not want to be refused. “Your brother exacted my explicit promise to dance with you.”

She smiled at him in the overly bright way he had come to mistrust. “Goodness! What a dilemma. My mother exacted
my
explicit promise not to dance with you. I expect they’ll have to fight it out—although I assure you, Mother will defeat Douglas every time.”

“Perhaps she should have done so before he required my own oath.” That wiped the smug look off her face. “However, since neither of them is here, I propose we turn to a neutral party to render a decision. Lady Courtenay,” he said, without taking his eyes off Miss Bennet, “which promise must be considered the stronger: mine to Mr. Bennet, to see to his sister’s well-being and contentment, or hers to her mother, to refuse an honest entreaty to dance?”

Lady Courtenay laughed. “Well! As a woman who was once a girl, hoping not to sit out a single set, I’m sure I’d grant the dance, provided . . .” She glanced at her niece. “Provided it was solicited with the best intentions, seeking only the enjoyment of both partners, and not just out of grim obligation.”

“The look on his face is quite grim, Aunt,” said Miss Bennet, gleeful once more. “I cannot think he anticipates any pleasure in dancing with me.”

“Should I, since the mere request for a dance has caused an argument?” Tristan sipped his tea. “I shall have the satisfaction of keeping my word, of course.”

“My,” said Lady Courtenay admiringly. “I never could turn down a chance to prove a man wrong.”

“I accept,” said her niece at almost the same moment.

A fierce burst of triumph surged through Tristan. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground; she probably intended to hand him his head on a silver platter. But he didn’t care. He didn’t want to think about what gossip it might stir up. He didn’t want to think about the dangers of spending even more time with her. Just the prospect of touching her again seemed to override all his good sense.

A footman came into the room and handed Lady Courtenay a letter. She read the direction on the front, and almost leapt out of her chair. “Oh! You must excuse me. I’ve been expecting this letter and may need to reply at once. Joan dear, will you pour our guest more tea?”

“Is it bad news expected?” asked Miss Bennet in alarm.

“No, no—that is, I hope not.” Her aunt was already moving toward the door. “Carry on without me. I’ll be back in a moment!” She vanished out the door, pulling it gently closed behind her.

Tristan, who’d jumped to his feet when she stood, turned to Miss Bennet. She looked as nonplussed as he felt, but she gathered herself quickly, reaching for the teapot and filling her cup to the brim again. “I wonder how long she’d been wanting to sneak out.”

Slowly he returned to his seat. All his words of warning to Bennet echoed in his mind, about women maneuvering men into marriage. He’d already identified Lady Courtenay as a Fury to be reckoned with . . . “You think it was planned?”

“The letter? Perhaps, but not likely. I daresay that was merely a convenient excuse.”

“And why would she want to sneak out?”

Her cheeks grew pink. “It certainly wouldn’t be to escape your witty chatter. If you leave now, I shan’t try to stop you.”

“You’ve said even less than I,” he observed, suddenly less eager to make his own escape. “And I haven’t even finished my tea.” He took a long sip, heedless of the taste but exquisitely alert to the way her eyes darkened as she watched him.

“I know why you’re here,” she said. “As honored as I am by your attention, please don’t think I expect you to inconvenience yourself merely for my amusement. My brother had no right to impose on you that way.”

“No, none at all.” He leaned forward and held out his cup. “May I have some sugar? I like my tea sweet.”

For a moment he thought she might throw the sugar at him, but she took a deep breath and dumped a heaping spoonful of sugar into his tea. Now it would taste vile. He sipped it anyway.

“Why did Douglas choose you, of all people, to thrust into my path?”

He shrugged. “His other friends were unsuitable.”

“More unsuitable than you?” she asked dryly.

“Far, far more,” he agreed, picturing the reprobates Bennet usually kept company with. “You should be flattered. He feared you would go into a decline, but knew that would be impossible if you had my escort.”