My Fair Captain (9 page)

Darn meddling siblings.
Aiden strode to his bedroom, his brothers’

laughter trailing behind him. He snagged his small sketchscreen from his nightstand and stuffed it into the inner pocket of his evening coat…or tried to. He’d stormed off and left his waistcoat and evening coat in his dressing room.

He didn’t want a consort. Just because he found the man attractive didn’t mean he wanted to make a life with him. His life was his art, end of story.

* * * * *

Aiden sat in the large lift directly across from Nath—Lord Deverell—

doing his best not to look at the man and failing miserably. The way the light of the streetlamps and moon filtered through the window, casting the earl in shadow, made Aiden’s fingers itch to pull the small sketchscreen from his pocket. The chiaroscuro effect made the man look even more enigmatic and deadly than before. The splendor of the man

-64-

My Fair Captain

himself was almost enough to risk Father and Cony’s wrath, and being forced to take a consort.

Deverell turned from the window, his gaze landing on Aiden before he could look away. One side of the older man’s lips turned up in a smile and Aiden’s heart nearly pounded through his chest. He’d seen many stunning men in his short life, he’d even drawn most of them, but the earl mesmerized him.

Aiden’s stomach fluttered and his prick filled with blood. Shifting, he tried to conceal his problem and make it go away at once.

Nathaniel arched a dark brow.

For several seconds they stared at each other. The heat of the man’s gaze did nothing to calm the thundering heartbeat in Aiden’s ears or his throbbing prick.

“Dance cards. Try not to lose them,” Father announced, holding up the pocket-sized thumb scanners.

Tearing his gaze from Nathaniel’s, Aiden joined his brothers in the chorus of groans.

Not long after Father passed out the cursed cards, the lift pulled in front of the Duke of Keithman’s downtown Classige mansion. With a last admonishment to behave from Father, they all exited the coach.

Thankfully, the reminder of where they were going squelched his body’s reaction to the earl.

After getting out of the coach, Aiden followed Payton absently, contemplating possible scenarios to get Nat—Deverell alone. He needed to speak with Deverell long enough to ask for his silence regarding the tree incident. And maybe he could think of a way to find out what the man was doing here and what was stolen from the castle.

Payton looked left and right, tossed his card to the ground, stepped on it—grounding it under his heel—and let out an exaggerated, “Oh dear.”

Having been so caught up in thought, Aiden nearly forgot about the dance card. One of these days Father was going to get tired of replacing the stupid things. A person would think their parent would get the

-65-

J.L. Langley

message after the first ten dozen times they’d “lost” their cards. Aiden ascertained that both his parents were too far ahead to notice, took a quick peek to each side and tossed the card over his shoulder. He stepped up next to Payton and peered down at Payton’s smashed dance card. He shook his head. “That’s too bad.”

Payton turned, a hand to his chest, looking positively stricken.

“Indeed. Oh well, let’s go inside.” Even Aiden was impressed with the serious expression Payton maintained. If the Townsend boys had inherited anything from their father, it was his flare for acting.

Side by side, he and Payton entered the mansion. Outside the ballroom, they stepped in line behind Tarren and Colton and waited their turn to be announced.

“Excuse me, Lord Aiden?”

Nathaniel.
Aiden’s breath caught. He’d forgotten the man was behind them. What could the earl possibly want with him? He turned, noticing three of his siblings, the ones in their immediate vicinity, did the same.

“Yes, milord?” Did his voice crack? Aiden’s attention zeroed in on the spot where the man’s snowy white cravat met his charcoal waistcoat, under the black evening coat. Slowly his gaze drifted upward to chestnut eyes.
Amazing, he has gold flecks in his eyes.

“Ahem.” Deverell grinned. “I believe you dropped this.” He held out his hand.

Looking down, Aiden nearly groaned when he saw the dance card resting in the older lord’s large, white-gloved hand.
Ugh.
A glance up assured him Nathaniel knew well and good that Aiden had
not
dropped the blasted thing.

Nathaniel brought the scanner to his gloved thumb. A red light flashed as the card scanned through the fabric. After it beeped, indicating it had recorded the identity of the person requesting a dance, the older man brought it close to his lips. “The first waltz.” Again, the card beeped, then Nathaniel handed it to Aiden. The entire time the wicked gleam in his eyes challenged Aiden to protest.

-66-

My Fair Captain

Aiden didn’t say a word, he couldn’t, he was too busy concentrating on making his body behave. He could not walk into the ballroom with an erection.

After a slight bow, Nathaniel stepped past Aiden to where Cony was motioning to him.

Tarren bumped Aiden’s shoulder with his own. “I don’t know whether to be jealous or concerned for you.”

Aiden was too stunned to respond. What had just happened? He’d either found his excuse to talk to the man in private or he’d obtained the means to embarrass himself in public.

When it was their turn to be announced, Payton took the card from his hand and ran it under the dance line-up scanner to the left of the ballroom entrance. The light on the black box turned from red to green, indicating that it had registered the line-up on Aiden’s dance card and his list of partners—that consisted of one—on the mansion’s main computer.

Aiden could only watch with his mouth ajar as Payton sealed his fate.

Even if he lost the card now, he had at least one dance of the evening promised to another.

Payton handed him the card back. “Be careful, Aiden, that man is dangerous.”

“What?”

“You’re obviously not the only one interested, little brother.”

* * * * *

Bannon Thompson’s dance card landed in the crystal punch bowl with a plop. Aiden bit his lip to keep from laughing as it sank in the sea of red liquid.

“Oh no.” While the men standing around the refreshment table let out refrains of “too bad”, Bannon slapped a hand to his lips. His green eyes twinkled with mirth and his dark auburn hair fell into his eyes as

-67-

J.L. Langley

he shook his head. He hid his smile behind his hand, all the while achieving a perfect facsimile of distress.

Aiden had to leave. He was so close to laughing he would give up the game and then Bannon would likely throttle him. Brushing close to his friend, he whispered a, “good one”, before slinking away. That had been truly innovative. He’d never thought to discard dance cards in such a way. Speaking of… His own card still needed to meet its demise or, at the very least, gain its freedom from his person, preferably in a secluded place.

It wasn’t that he was above lying and saying his dances were full or that he had a terrible headache or a bum knee or some such, but his father would undoubtedly ask to see his card afterward to make sure he socialized enough. Thank goodness society deemed a young man properly chaperoned as long as their parents were there. He’d hate to have Christy or Thomas following him around, goading him to dance and flirt. Father and Cony were excellent chaperones. They went about their business, checking to make sure their offspring were still within eyesight on occasion but rarely did they pester their children to mingle more at a soiree. Their own social and political life was way too active for that.

Parliament members used parties to further their agendas, and it seemed all of them wanted to discuss those agendas with the King and King-Consort.

Ah, a potted plant.
Aiden made his way across the ballroom, getting waylaid several times to talk to acquaintances, but finally he made it to the ficus. He was in luck, the plant was potted in a dark violet hydrogel.

It would help conceal the card.

He pulled his handkerchief from the breast pocket of his evening coat, then dug into his inside pocket and palmed his dance card.

Pretending to mop the nonexistent perspiration from his brow, he dropped the pristine linen square. “Oops.” Bending to retrieve it, he reached behind him and pushed the card, concealed in his other hand, down into the hydrogel.
Yuck.
The tips of his fingers sank into the wet, slimy substance. Standing quickly, he wiped his fingers nonchalantly

-68-

My Fair Captain

before stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket.
Nothing to see here.

Just a man picking up his handkerchief.

“Lord Aiden.”

Aiden nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to find Lord Chadwick Manchester, the Marquis of Braxton, standing next to him. If it weren’t for the way the man was peering down his nose, with his head slightly elevated, he would be quite handsome. He had a wonderful head of prematurely silver hair, cut short on the sides and longer on the top.

His evening dress was in shades of a subdued navy and cream, accentuating his lean frame. He wasn’t as tall as Deverell but he was taller than Aiden’s own five-foot-eight-inches. “Lord Braxton.” Aiden tipped his head.

“I went by the palace the other day to speak to your father.”

“Yes, he informed me.”
And the answer is no.
Aiden smiled.

Braxton raised a brow. “Did he?”

Wasn’t it impolite to speak of marriage to an innocent? Aiden decided it should be. Or maybe he should be thankful that Braxton cared enough to speak with him about it instead of going over his head. No wait, he’d done that first. Before ever mentioning a thing to Aiden, he’d gone to Father. That was another strike against this man. “Yes, milord, he did.

And I’m sorry to say I must refuse such a generous offer. I’m afraid we really don’t have much in common.”
See me be diplomatic.

Braxton scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. “Of course not. You’re too young to know what you want. As your consort, it will be up to me to teach you my interests and your place in society.”

Why, of all the arrogant…
Aiden’s jaw tightened and his fingers flexed.

He wondered briefly how much trouble he would get in for planting the pompous arse a facer, then decided the man wasn’t worth his attention, much less his anger. “And that, Lord Braxton, is why we don’t suit. I do know what I want and I will not be molded into something else. Good evening, milord.” Aiden turned to make a hasty retreat but was brought up short by a hand touching his sleeve.

-69-

J.L. Langley

“Forgive me, milord. I didn’t mean to offend. I think rather highly of you and truly wish you would consider my offer further. I believe we’d go well together. It’s rather pleasing to find that you do have a backbone.”

Braxton smiled, looking contrite.

Aiden wanted to hang on to being miffed, but Braxton seemed very sincere. “Apology accepted.”

“Good, perhaps you’ll dance with me this evening?”

Not on your life.
“I’m sorry, milord. I seem to have misplaced my dance card and I’m not certain what dances are taken.”

Braxton’s smile faltered a bit, but he recovered quickly. “Then another night? I would like to get to know you better.”

“I’m sorry, milord, I still don’t see any point. I want to be an artist, not a consort.”

“You are a beautiful man and should not sully your hands with such menial labor, but as my consort you could dabble in art to your heart’s content. Please, give it some thought.” The man bowed over Aiden’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of his glove, then turned and walked away.

Aiden stood there for several minutes, aghast. What in the Galaxy was that about?

Someone bumped his shoulder. Rupert Cavendish
,
Aiden’s friend and fellow artist. “He really is handsome. I’ve always had a preference for light-colored hair.”

Aiden frowned at his blond friend. “Just last week you were gushing about Lord Wesley’s dark good looks.”

“Okay, fine, never let it be said I’m finicky.”

No Rupert wasn’t picky, not when it came to men. He liked any and all. The man was a hopeless romantic.

“Did you lose your card yet? Bannon’s needed a drink apparently. It’s in the bottom of the punch bowl.” Rupert chuckled.

-70-

My Fair Captain

“I saw. I had to leave to keep from laughing.” Aiden grinned. “That definitely wins for originality. Payton’s jumped from his hand and met the bottom of his shoe.”

“And where did yours end up?”

“Plant food.” Aiden pointed to the plant behind them. “Poor thing looks hungry, doesn’t it?”

Rupert’s lips twitched. He composed himself by looking across the ballroom. After a few minutes he waved and smiled. “Is that the earl who’s a guest at the castle?”

Aiden looked where Rupert’s attention was focused and found Deverell across the room staring straight at them.

-71-

J.L. Langley

Standing off to the side of the ballroom partially hidden by a large potted plant, Nate turned his attention away from Aiden. As much as he hated to admit it, he hadn’t liked seeing the gray-headed gentleman kiss Aiden’s hand. Nor did he want to explore those feelings. And how weird was that to see a man kiss another man’s hand? Nate nursed a tumbler of scotch and waited for the first waltz.

The loud hum of chatter and the beginning notes of the quadrille assaulted his ears. He’d finally escaped the throng of people vying for his attention. It had been a long time since he’d been sought out because of his title. He had no delusions that his status as the guest of the king and the king’s consort didn’t weigh heavily on his popularity as well.

However, he didn’t miss the hopeful expression on the faces of matchmaking fathers introducing their offspring to him. Steven wasn’t the only one interested in him as a possible son-in-law. This society was going to take some getting used to.