The Debutante Is Mine (22 page)

The Season Standard—the Daily Chronicle of Consequence
.

I
t appears that the new
Viscount L—’s
first order of business was to procure a bride. A report from Gretna Green tells us that our
Miss A—
wore a single pearl on her dress.

In related news, our
Viscount E
— has been spotted in his well-turned-out phaeton. Alone. Although with whispers (of the
Original
nature) circulating about
E—
(among others), we are hopeful for a viscountess in his near future.

There is one pair, however, who are even more eager for the naming of this Season’s
Original
. Sources tell us that the rivalry between a certain
Lady G—
and the
Marquess of Th—
is fairly combustible when the two are in the same room.

On the topic of combustion . . . an odd series of events brings our attention to
Baron H—
. After his recent bout of clumsiness—the sore-slipper debacle in
Dame F—’s
ballroom, the infamous quizzing glass incident at
Sir G—’s
garden party, and last evening’s flaming candelabra mishap in
Lord R—’s
dining room—one must wonder if
H—
should be dubbed Baron Catastrophe instead. Be on your guard, dear readers!

And for our more daring curiosity-seekers, our
Earl of W—
has not changed his wolfish ways, as his most recent exploits have proven. One must wonder if such a man could ever be tamed.

The end . . . for now.

T
hank you to the amazing team of people at Avon/HarperCollins for giving this book a chance and making it sparkle. Sometimes all it takes to grab a new reader is one look at a great cover, and so my appreciation goes to Tom and the art department for making magic happen. But most of all, I am grateful to Chelsey Emmelhainz—editor extraordinaire—for her incomparable insight, support, and dedication.

Also, thank you to Stefanie Lieberman for helping this first book in a new series find a home.

And a special thank you to Heather and Shelly for the laughs and the advice. Both of you helped the word flow begin again. Wishing you much love.

Want more from Vivienne Lorret?

The Season’s Original series continues with

THIS EARL IS ON FIRE

Coming Summer 2016 from Avon Impulse

Can’t wait?

Keep reading for an excerpt from Vivienne Lorret’s Season’s Original novella

“The Duke’s Christmas Wish”

in

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS A DUKE

Available now from Avon Impulse

T
he Christmas Eve Ball at Castle Vale had begun. As usual, Ivy was running late. This time, however, she was not looking for her slippers. She was looking for the duke’s study instead.

She hadn’t passed a single servant here in the east wing, but when she saw that the hall was lined with paintings of scientists at their worktables, she knew she was on the right track. Hesitating at an open pair of glossy walnut doors, she smoothed her hands over her skirts.

This evening, she wore layers of silvery gray silk organza with little puffed sleeves that rested at the very crests of her shoulders. Her pale, straight hair had been curled, coiffed, and secured by silver combs. Unfortunately, the small oval mirror in the hallway reflected that a few strands had unwound and now lay limply against her temples. Not only that, but her cheeks were flushed as well.

She made a face and shrugged. At least when she arrived later to the ball, her unrefined appearance would only corroborate the story she’d told Lilah about feeling a trifle ill.

Now was not the time to be worried about her appearance, however. Ivy needed to decline the duke’s offer for the first dance. What business did she have dancing with him, when she needed to help Lilah win him?

Stepping over the threshold of the study, she prepared to do just that. Yet after a glance about the room, she realized the duke was not here. Disappointed, she was about to turn around when she saw him emerge from a narrow doorway on the far side of the room near the fireplace. For a moment, he stilled and blinked at her, as if he was as surprised as she. Then those creases appeared on the side of his mouth.

He crossed the room, leaving the narrow door behind him ajar. “Miss Sutherland, what brings you to the east wing? Shouldn’t you be patiently waiting for the first dance?”

At the word
patiently,
she knew he was teasing her. Yet as he neared, she felt a tremor of apprehension. What if her plan worked too well? Could Ivy’s heart bear to see North marry her friend? “Actually, I was hoping to speak with you about that.”

“Oh?” He stepped past her and peered into the hallway before closing the door.

Ivy knew that being alone with him,
again,
wasn’t at all proper. His closing the door was even less proper. Perhaps she should mention it. Perhaps they should hold their conversation in the open doorway . . . yet when he gestured for her to accompany him into the other room, she forgot to mention it.

“It was Lilah,” she began along the way, “
Miss Appleton’s
idea to take the puddings to your tenants, though I’m certain Miss Leeds would like to take the credit.” If Ivy had to endure the sight of him marrying anyone, she would rather it be Lilah than that dreadful Miss Leeds. Though neither thought made her happy.

A smirk appeared, looking perfectly at home on his lips. And when she drew close enough to pass through the narrow doorway, something hot and pleased shone in his eyes. “Actually, Mrs. Thorogood told me that the idea was yours.”

“Well . . . it was Lilah who whispered it to me,” Ivy said quickly, forgetting all about the cook being present for her idea.
Drat!
Continuing, she tried to make up for all the times she’d missed the opportunity to bring Lilah to his notice. The way she should have been doing all along. “As you might have guessed, I have the propensity to say whatever idea is on my mind, even if the idea isn’t mine in the first place. Lilah is incredibly kind and generous. Not only that, but—like you—she is fond of numbers and equations.”

“Is she?” He grinned in earnest now as he closed this second door as well.

Most assuredly,
this
was not at all proper. Yet Ivy said nothing to reproach him. She wanted to be here. It was a cozy space, cast in the glow of firelight. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the semicircular walls. Unevenly stacked papers and leather books with worn bindings poked out in complete disarray. A few jars were tucked in here and there, along with assorted sizes of microscopes and other scientific paraphernalia. Yet all the clutter appeared to have function and order. There were no plates with half-eaten dinners. There were no forgotten teacups. The room was not a dirty mess. It was a sort of organized chaos. It felt like stepping into the mind of a genius.
His
mind. She realized quite suddenly that this room was an extension of him. “Do you often bring your guests here?”

“Never,” he said as he moved toward his desk and leaned back against the one place that wouldn’t cause papers to topple. “My aunt has invited herself on few occasions, and Mr. Graves is permitted at my request.”

Those intense, magnetic eyes held hers in an unspoken communication that Ivy felt in the center of her heart. She hadn’t been imagining the uniqueness of their connection. He felt it too. Which made what she had to do all the more difficult.

“Lilah has quite the head for figures, indeed. Since her brother and father passed away, she’s been overseeing her family’s estate ledgers,” Ivy said, drifting toward his desk, where an assortment of contraptions rested. The first one looked like a miniature ascending room, built out of wood. Picking it up, she toyed with the button-sized pulley and small ropes.

“Hmm . . . and what other accomplishments does your friend possess?” As he spoke, North reached over and compressed the pulley. The action sent the miniature ascending room on a swift descent, slipping down a few inches until it suddenly caught and held. Then, flipping the contraption over, he brushed his fingertip over what looked like four diminutive clamps.

Ivy beamed.
Brakes
. Somehow he’d come up with a design from her suggestion in only a matter of days.

“That’s ingenious. However did you—” Lifting her gaze, she found him staring at her. Another moment passed in silent communication that made her want . . .
everything
. She wanted so much more than she could ever have.

“I was inspired by a fascinating and brave young woman,” he said, setting aside the model to take her hand, drawing her to stand before him.

She cleared her throat and went on with her task. “Lilah is brave. Do you know that I’ve never seen her flinch in the presence of a spider? She has other fine qualities too.”

“I’m certain she does.” He expelled a rasp of air that was just shy of a laugh. “Miss Sutherland, I am not going to marry your friend.”

“That isn’t what I—” Ivy stopped, already seeing in his perceptive expression how easily he’d read her intention. “Why ever not?”

Something tender softened the flesh around his eyes and the creases around his mouth. “I suppose the simplest reason is that Miss Appleton and I are not in the same ledger.”

Ledger? Before she could ask what he meant, he reached behind him to a stack of ledgers in three colors on his desk and held them up, one after the other. “You see, for my formula, there are certain people who automatically enter the black ledger—those with high-ranking titles, a good deal of property, and wealth. The brown ledger contains members of the lower-ranking aristocracy and the landed gentry.” He stopped then, his gaze fixed on the trio.

“And what about those in the red ledger?”

He shook his head. “They have little, if any, hope of marrying at all.”

“Please do not tell me that Lilah is in the red ledger.”

He blinked at her. “You needn’t worry. If my formula is correct, your friend would find her match among those in the brown ledger.”

No. That couldn’t be right. Ivy wanted Lilah to be in the black ledger. After everything she’d been through, her friend deserved the very best. “Have you finished her equation? Isn’t it possible that her number would pair with yours?”

“I have not, but I already know the answer. And I think you do, as well.” He set the ledgers back down. Gently, he took her other hand as well. “Now, tell me the real reason you want me to marry your friend.”

She didn’t like thinking about the past, and she certainly never spoke of the life-altering incident, yet she found herself wanting to tell North. It would be better for him to understand.

Ivy exhaled. “It’s because of Jasper, her brother.”

North’s brow furrowed. “I don’t recall the mention of his name.”

“He had an unfortunate . . . accident and died a couple of years ago.” Reluctantly, Ivy released North’s hands and turned away. “You see, since we were children, I’d always planned to marry Jasper.”

“And he is the reason why you are not married now?”

She nodded even though the answer was more complicated. She began to amble around the room, stopping at a bookshelf full of sideways stacked books and jars filled with all sorts of things. She picked up one that contained a green branch dotted with small white berries that looked suspiciously like mistletoe. “I’d always planned to take care of Lilah too. Her parents were not very kind. After Jasper died, they became worse.

“Within the year, her father died as well, and for a while I thought she might have a reprieve from the demands put upon her. However, then came the reading of her father’s will. After Jasper’s death, Lilah’s father added a codicil, stating that the line had to be preserved. Lilah has to marry a man of noble blood, or she will essentially lose everything. Worse yet, if she doesn’t find a titled gentleman to marry by the end of this coming Season, she will be forced to marry her licentious cousin, who holds her father’s estate.”

When she turned around, North was there beside her. He lifted a hand to cup her jaw. “I am sorry for your friend. If you like, I will work her equation and find a match for her. In addition, I will introduce her to as many of my unmarried friends as possible. You must know that I would do anything . . . ”

His touch stirred so many sensations within her. She wanted to lean against his hand and close her eyes. Fighting the impulse was next to impossible. “Anything other than marry her yourself.”

“I am sorry, Ivy.”

He wouldn’t marry Lilah. Ivy’s entire purpose for attending this party was to save her friend, and she had failed. So then why was joy leaping inside her heart?

“No. I am the one who should be sorry, because hearing those words from your lips fills me with blissful relief, when it should fill me with agony instead.” It was no use. She lifted her hand to cover his, to urge him to linger. “I am a terrible friend. I failed Jasper, and now I have failed—”

“How did you fail?” North shook his head, his gaze frank and earnest. “Even in the short duration of our acquaintance, I feel as if I know you. You cannot fail at anything, because you are the kind of person who does not give up when something matters to you. I know you, Ivy, to the very core of my being. You weave the world around you into a fabric of light that blankets anyone who stands near. Your vivacity is as charming as it is infectious. Your heart is warm and open. And your curiosity might even rival my own. There is nothing within you that could fail.”

Embarrassed, she wanted to look away so that she wouldn’t have to face the truth. She even attempted to step back but found herself against the bookcase. Yet even with North so close, his hand still curled beneath her jaw, she did not feel trapped. Surprisingly, she found his nearness comforting. If ever there was a time to admit her dreaded secret, now was it.

“But I did fail,” she said. “For years, I tried hard to be perfect. To let Jasper know that I was the bride for him. I was patient. You may not believe it, but I was. Nearly ten years went by before my impulsive nature finally consumed me. And when I kissed him on that last night we ever spoke, he scolded me and told me that I did not stir his passions.”

North slowly shook his head, his gaze drifting to her mouth, lingering. “That is not possible.”

“It is true, I tell you. I must have done it wrong. All I know is that I wasn’t enough for him. And there you have it.”

“Not possible. I simply do not believe it.” His thumb swept against the underside of her bottom lip. “Your mouth is far too perfect.”

Ivy held her breath. “Apparently not.”

“It is a matter of simple mechanics.” His gaze lifted to hers. He edged closer by degrees. With one hand propped on the shelf beside her head, and the other sliding to the back of her neck, his fingertip dipped into the hollow at the base of her skull. A riot of tingles traversed her spine, plummeting all the way to her toes. “I’ll show you.”

And then he kissed her. Her lips parted on a soundless gasp of pleasure. The press of his mouth was brief but warm and pleasantly firm. When he withdrew, the sensation of his lips upon hers lingered. A current zinged through her. She imagined that she knew what an electric coil felt like, all tingly and warm.

Reeling from it, she was almost afraid to ask his thoughts. Instead, she prolonged the moment. She licked her lips to see if she could taste him, and the barest hint of port teased her tongue.

His gaze darkened. The hand at her nape tightened ever so slightly. His nostrils flared and his breath rushed against her lips, but he said nothing.

Surely something that felt so wondrous to her couldn’t have been a complete failure. Could it? Ivy closed her eyes before she asked, “Well?”

“I’d say the experiment was a complete success. However . . . ”

Her eyes snapped open.
“However?”

“It was only
one
kiss,” he said with a slight lift of his brow, as if uncertain. Yet one of those creases made an appearance beside his mouth. “A scientist must experiment multiple times in order to come to a definitive conclusion. I believe we should make another attempt, for further study, of course.”

He hesitated only long enough for her to agree with a nod before he took her mouth again. This time, he angled his head the other direction, kissing her once—
twice,
nuzzling the corner of her mouth. By the time he concluded, she was out of breath and clinging to his shoulders.

“Hmm . . . ” he murmured, the low sound vibrating through her. “Another successful experiment.”

She moved closer, her hands sliding down from the breadth of his shoulders beneath his coat to wrap around his torso. This new position molded her body to his. Beneath the solid wall of his chest, his heart pounded. Her breasts ached and her back arched so that she felt the firm rise and fall of his breaths. And lower, she felt the unyielding, intriguing heat of him. “Though . . . perhaps further study is in order.”