Miss Lacey's Last Fling (A Regency Romance) (6 page)

"Odds fish, madam," he said, and placed a limp hand upon his forehead. "I grow dizzy just listening to you. Let us sit down before I collapse with fatigue."

He led her to a stone bench beside a potted box shrub trimmed to a perfect sphere. When Rosie had seated herself and arranged her skirts, Max sat down beside her. Not too close, she noticed. In fact, he sat as far away as possible without actually teetering on the far edge.

"And so you are keen to enjoy town pleasures?"

"I am all agog."

He chuckled. "Indeed you are. Your eyes fairly dance in anticipation. I suspect you must be younger than you look."

"I am six and twenty."

"As elderly as that? Astonishing. At so ancient an age, how have you managed to maintain so much... lust for life?"

He lingered over the word
lust
, caressing the sound of each letter so that Rosie could not take her eyes away from his mouth. He was trying to rattle her. She did not believe he truly meant to seduce her, only to test her, to see what would make her squirm. She would not give him the pleasure of victory.

"It is my first visit to London," she said with perfect equanimity. "Everything is new to me."

"Ah, yes. Of course. To be in one's first Season when all is fresh and untried. How I envy you, my dear. Enjoy the novelty while you can."

"While I can. Yes."

He gave a weary sigh. "Alas, I have too many Seasons behind me. I have been everywhere and done everything—countless times, over and over. It begins to pall." His hand moved upon his breast as if protecting something tucked away in his waistcoat.

"I do not believe you."

His head jerked up at her words. She was rather surprised at them herself; but Rosalind was in charge now and Rosalind could say anything she pleased. "My aunt has told me of your reputation, sir."

"Warned you against me, did she?"

"No. She simply mentioned it as a point of fact. But if it's true, then it seems as though you cannot be as bored as you pretend. I would guess you manage to find a good deal of pleasure in Society. Quite a lot of it, actually. I sincerely doubt that such... such gratification has begun to pall."

"You'd be surprised," he muttered.

"I will wager you have interesting plans of your own for the Season," she said. "Tell me about them."

"Egad, you want names?"

Rosie flushed. "I did not mean those sorts of plans. I am just curious about all the types of entertainments London has to offer. It seems there is so much to do. There must be something you are looking forward to."

"Not really." There was a hint of resignation in his tone that made her believe him, and she was surprised at how angry it made her. Here was the consummate pleasure-seeker, with years and years of pleasure stretching ahead of him, while she only had these few months in which to find her own enjoyment. How dare he take his life for granted!

"You are not happy, Mr. Davenant?"

"I have never sought happiness, my dear, only pleasure."

"And found it?"

"Often. Too often."

"Have you never been in love, then?"

"Only for brief moments, in the heat of passion. Fortunately, it always passes."

His callous words increased her annoyance with him. He had so much to live for, and yet did not grab hold of a single moment as meaningful or lasting. He did not look beyond momentary pleasure to find something deeper, something special. A wasted life.

He must have sensed her irritation, for he straightened slightly and offered a sheepish smile. "All right," he said, "you asked if I had plans. Well, I do. If you must know, there is a mill next week that has piqued my interest."

"A mill?"

"Yes, Randall and Neate. Should be great sport. But I don't imagine that is the sort of entertainment you had in mind."

"But I've never been to a mill. All of my brothers are mad for them. To tell you the truth, I should love to see one. Just once."

"Ah, but Fair Rosalind, think how Society would frown upon such unladylike behavior."

"Oh, pooh! As if I care a fig for what Society thinks of me. I simply want to experience everything I can while I'm here. In town, I mean."

"Brave words, my dear. But do you not worry about your reputation?"

She might have at one time. But what did it matter now? "No," she replied, and rose from the bench. "I am not concerned for my reputation."

Max stood and said, "You ought not say something so enticing to a man like me." He leaned close, so close she could feel his breath upon her neck. "You might experience a great deal more than you expected."

Rosie offered her broadest smile, then walked toward the terrace doors. When she reached them, she looked over her shoulder in the most coquettish manner she could muster, and said, "Why, Mr. Davenant, you have no idea what I expect."

She entered the drawing room without waiting to see if her attempt at flirtation had succeeded.

*          *          *

Max studied the sway of her hips beneath the red skirts as she walked away from him. The minx! Not only had he been thoroughly captivated by Rosalind's artless charm, but he was quite sure that within the week half the male population of London would be smitten as well.

Despite her rejection of the notion, Max did rather think of her as family, and determined to watch out for her. She may appear to others to be an experienced flirt, up to every rig and row. But Max knew from Fanny that the girl had been stuck in the country her whole life and therefore could not possibly be as sophisticated as she let on. She was sure to get herself in trouble if she wasn't careful.

Knowing she was an untried rustic, Max had no intention of being the instrument of that trouble. He did not for one moment believe her denial about coming to town in search of a husband. She spoke of love, after all. What woman spoke of love without thoughts of marriage? Rosalind, despite her words to the contrary, was no different from the rest. All unmarried women, with the possible exception of the professional Cyprians, were in search of a husband. If he even so much as kissed the girl, he would be in the untenable position of having seduced the daughter of Fanny's stiff-rumped brother. The man would put a bullet in Max's head if he refused to "do the right thing."

And no pistol-in-the-ribs forced wedding, either, thank you very much. He shuddered just to think of it. No, such a fate was not for Max, so he would steer clear of Miss Lacey and her considerable attractions.

Yet, she was Fanny's niece, and poor Fanny would be the one forced to deal with whatever mischief Rosalind fell into. Max adored Fanny and had no wish to see her saddled with such an irksome chore. So, he would keep an eye on the girl. For Fanny's sake.

It was a difficult assignment. Over the next week, Rosalind flitted about town with that come-hither smile and those hazel eyes wide in innocent wonder. Such a paradox could not help but intrigue any man who spent more than five minutes in her company. And Max was quite sure that Rosalind remained perfectly unconscious of her power.

"Are you absolutely certain she is Sir Edmund's daughter," he asked Fanny a few nights after the Forde card party, "and not some imposter come to town to take advantage of you?" They stood together along the edge of the ballroom at Almack's, a place Max generally avoided and Fanny detested. But Rosalind had begged to go and Fanny had capitulated. In a moment of weakness, Max had agreed to accompany them.

They watched as Rosalind gathered a circle of gallants around her. She laughed and flirted and teased and wielded her fan with remarkable finesse. Where had she learned to do that?

Fanny chuckled. "No one is more astonished than I am to find such spirit in the girl."

Rosalind gave an uninhibited crack of laughter that caused many heads to turn, and she swatted young Lord Radcliffe on the arm with her fan. Several older women directed stern looks in Rosalind's direction, but Max noted that most of the gentlemen in the vicinity smiled.

Fanny smiled, too, looking for all the world like a proud mother hen as Rosalind was led into a quadrille by Sir Cedric Bassett. "Max, darling, is she not delightful? You know how I dreaded her arrival. I don't know how I could have been so wrong about her, but I tell you she is not at all as I remembered her. Quiet. Reserved. Plain, even. Lord, she's not plain at all, is she, Max?"

"Dash it, Fanny, you're as bad as any marriage-minded mama trotting out her chick, shamelessly angling for compliments. It must be this horrid place. The deuced lemonade has gone to your head."

"I shall feel obliged to slap you, Max, if you persist in comparing me to those ravenous matrons. I am no more pleased to be in this odious place than you are, but she would insist I merely wondered how you thought she looked."

"She looks lovely."

"She does, doesn't she? It is remarkable considering... Well, you saw her when she arrived."

"You've done a marvelous job with her, my dear."

"Oh, it was not my doing. Not entirely, anyway. I did select that emerald figured silk, though, as well as the cunning little aigrette in her hair. The color suits her, don't you think? It brings out the—"

"Green flecks in her eyes. I noticed."

She lifted her eyebrows. "I ought to have known you would notice, Max. Must I prepare a lecture for my niece on the dangers of the infamous Max Davenant?"

"That will not be necessary. I would never do that to you, my dear. I was simply admiring all you have done for her. I do indeed remember her arrival. I thought her the drabbest mouse."

"Do you know on that very first day she announced to me that she wished to be transformed? She knew she looked the mouse and wanted so desperately to be stylish. But even the most fashionable dresses could not have disguised a vapid disposition. From the first, though, she has shown such gumption, such spark, such—"

"Such a wild desire to experience everything."

"Yes! You've noticed it, too? I declare, a sort of mad curiosity, an exquisite wonder, fairly throbs in her veins. Oh Max, she reminds me so much of myself at a younger age—much younger even than Rosalind. Poor thing, how Edmund must have stifled her spirit all these years. I could strangle the man. No wonder she wanted to come to town. She must have been bursting to escape before it was too late."

"Too late?"

"She is six and twenty, Max."

"Too late for a Season? Too late to find a husband? But she tells me she is not looking for a husband."

Fanny gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "Yes, I know. She has told me the same thing, over and over again. The odd thing is, I believe she means it."

"I got the same impression."

When the quadrille ended, Max saw Rosalind make her way toward them and he rose to allow her his place on the bench. She sank down upon it in a swirl of green silk, breathless, and worked her fan with enough vigor to stir up a respectable gust.

"Heavens, but it has become warm in here. I really do not know why my sisters thought this place so wonderful."

"You appeared to be enjoying yourself," Max said.

"Well, there are always interesting people everywhere one goes in London, are there not? But all things considered—the decor, the food, the music—this place is really nothing very special. In fact, if s a trifle dull. Especially compared to some of the other parties we've attended."

Fanny rose to her feet and shook out her skirts. "Rosalind, my dear, you are a woman after my own heart. If you are quite satisfied that you have seen enough of Almack's, let us be off to the Sanbourne ball. It is sure to be more entertaining."

As they gathered at the King Street entrance to meet Max's carriage, the strains of a waltz could be heard from within the assembly hall. "Oh, blast!" Rosalind exclaimed. "Wouldn't you know they'd play a waltz now, just when we're leaving. I was so hoping to dance one."

"It is just as well," Fanny said as she was handed into the carriage. "You have yet not received permission to waltz."

Rosalind looked sharply at her aunt. "Permission? I must have permission to waltz? From whom, may I ask? From you, aunt?"

"Heavens, no! Why should it matter to me? No, it is those blasted patronesses who rule Almack's."

"They can decide who dances what?" Rosalind's eyes grew wide with indignation.

"They decide everything in regard to Almack's, including who can attend," Max said. "Did you not know what strings your poor aunt had to pull in order to get tonight's tickets? All attendees must have the blessing of one of the patronesses."

"Fanny! Is that true? I knew it was rather exclusive, but I had not realized it was so restricted. And tell me why you, of all people, should have trouble getting vouchers? You are Lady Parkhurst, after all."

"I have not always been welcome within the fine portals of Almack's," Fanny said. "Earlier patronesses barred me from the door. Very high sticklers, don't you know. These new ones are even worse, if you ask me. But my more notorious days are behind me and these new patronesses are young women who were not even born when I was kicking up my heels. With a bit of cajolery and sweet talk, I was able to wheedle the vouchers out of Emily Cowper." Fanny gave a self-satisfied chuckle. "I could see, though, that Sally Jersey was not pleased to see me. That woman wouldn't allow her own mother-in-law in the door."