The Debutante Is Mine (8 page)

She didn’t even realize that she needn’t alter a thing. All she needed was a little more time to find the right man who would see her. The only problem was, her time was running out, and Haggerty made it all too clear.

“And while we’re having this friendly chat, I may as well confess that I have all this land. More than I need,” the baron continued with a grandiose chuckle. “Since the tenants aren’t making good use of it, I could be persuaded to sell off a good portion. For the right price, of course.”

I
nstead of taking a direct route, Lilah, Aunt Zinnia, and Juliet skirted through the private rooms of the family wing and made their way through a shadowed ingress at the far side of the ballroom. Thankfully, the Grecian design of the room provided an alcove concealed by a large column and ivory drapes, hanging from the vaulted ceiling and pooling on the mosaic stone floor.

“There is Lord Stapleton, near the gaming room doors,” Aunt Zinnia said, still perfectly poised, as if taking the narrow servants’ stairs was commonplace for her.

Decorum demanded they greet their host immediately. Yet after the disturbing news regarding Winthrop, Lilah didn’t trust her legs to carry her across the room or her lungs to draw in enough air. She preferred to linger here. She was nervous and worried—without a ludicrous notion, this time—that all of Juliet’s efforts would come to nothing. She might very well fail.

This fear resided far too close to the surface. She could feel it on her skin, making her so cold she shivered with it.

“Aunt,” Lilah began, her voice breaking around the edges, “might I linger here for a moment or two?”

“Juliet and I cannot leave you here alone. And it would be unseemly for me to cross the room toward a gentleman unaccompanied,” Aunt Zinnia replied automatically. Then she turned to Lilah and the sternness in her countenance softened. She must have seen Lilah’s dread. “Very well, my dear. Juliet and I will greet him, clear up matters, and return to you shortly.”

Juliet squeezed her hand. “In the meantime, take a deep breath and know that you are lovely.”

Lilah followed her cousin’s advice and drew in a deep breath as she took a step back. She wanted to stay out of the line of sight from the ballroom doors to avoid seeing Winthrop again. Or worse, letting him see her.

“You’re late, Miss Appleton.”

She jolted at the low, familiar sound of Jack Marlowe’s voice. It vibrated through her, even as she pivoted around to face him. “What are you doing here?”

“Much the same as you, I suppose. I accepted an invitation.” He grinned, flashing those canines in challenge as he emerged from the narrow passage as well. “I could have warned you earlier if you’d been
at home
for my call.”

When the butler, Mr. Wick, had presented Jack’s card on a salver, Lilah had been stunned at first. Since Juliet had been out shopping—and her potential suitors informed—there hadn’t been a single caller. Aunt Zinnia had abandoned the parlor in favor of counting the silver with Mrs. Wick, the housekeeper. This had left Lilah alone. But it was more pride than a matter of propriety that she’d refused his call. She didn’t want him to see the empty parlor and make the correct assumptions about her lack of desirability.

Also, she was stubborn enough to keep her word. “I told you that I would not be at home. Although I suspect your visit was merely to test my resolve.”

He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he took a moment to study her, his gaze seeming to miss nothing. “Lady Granworth was correct, you know. You are lovely this evening.”

Another breath stuttered into her lungs, warm and unexpected. She was sure she didn’t need more air because now her stays felt too tight. She possessed a sudden urge to press his primroses between glass, so she could keep them forever.

“Though I’d expected to find you altered this evening,” he continued, “given your declaration within Mrs. Harwick’s parlor
last
evening.”

A deflating breath abruptly remedied the tightness of her stays. His primroses might meet an early demise instead.

If the one man who had remembered her name did not notice the changes, then what hope did she have with the ones who had not? “I am very much altered. Can you not see? My hair has been brushed away from my face.”

After spending her entire life with a thick fringe hiding her expansive forehead, this was quite a change for her. She felt vulnerable displaying—what she’d always thought was—her greatest physical flaw. And now, she had to endure an encounter that was doing nothing to settle her nerves.

“I feared making such an observation would lead me to compliment your eyes.” His grin turned into a smirk. Then he leaned in marginally, his gaze dipping to her mouth before traversing her from head to hem and back up again. “And I’m not certain I’m supposed to know that you have eyes. Just like I’m not supposed to know that you have a waist.”

The man was exasperating!

Even so, he smelled quite nice.
Sandalwood and a certain spice—clove, perhaps? Argh!
She shook her head. Distractions were not welcome at a time like this. She had to wonder at her misfortune this night. First Winthrop, and now him. Why, out of all the men in London, was Jack here? Was it merely to aggravate her? Clearly.

“I have a waist, Mr. Marlowe,” she hissed. “There—are you satisfied?”

He pursed his lips as if mulling over his answer. “No. I’m not certain I believe you. I might require proof. Perhaps, if we were to dance a waltz . . . ”

A sudden wash of heat stung her cheeks. Her imagination was far too vivid. In an instant, her mind misused her talent for contriving catastrophes and showed her what it might be like to be held in his arms. Her mind, obviously, had forgotten how much she despised him.

Refusing to let him see how he’d embarrassed her with his teasing, she turned around. “This is too small of a party for waltzing.”

“Pity,” he said, his warm breath brushing her neck. “Though perhaps I could call on you again tomorrow, and we could meet in the garden for a waltz.”

Instead of answering, she intended to walk away. There was no use in speaking to a man who obviously delighted in making fun of her. From where she stood, she saw that her aunt and Juliet were still conversing with Lord Stapleton. But in that same moment, she saw Cousin Winthrop enter the ballroom. He stood beneath the arch at the far side of the room.

Without thinking, she stepped back—colliding with Jack Marlowe.

“Careful.” He steadied her with a hand. A hand
conveniently
located at her waist. He made no move to extract it either. In fact, he settled it more securely against her, his palm resting above the flare of her hip. His splayed fingers went all the way to her navel and up beyond the edge of her ribs, scant inches from the underside her breast. All the while, his thumb moved in small, distracting circles at her back. “
Hmm
. . . I suppose that proves your claim.”

For a moment, Lilah’s spine lost all substance, and she leaned back against him. She tried hard not to notice the warmth of his body. Or the feel of his superfine coat against the narrow expanse of bare skin at the crest of her shoulder blades. Or—
she swallowed
—the way her bottom nestled squarely against the hottest part of him.

She straightened, withdrawing enough to create some space between them but not far enough to risk being seen by Winthrop or by the guests who might happen this way. “Since I cannot move forward, the gentlemanly thing for you to do is to step back.”

“Why can’t you move forward?” His breath skimmed across her nape, teasing the tendrils that must have come loose earlier, when their carriage had hit the rut.

She shivered, closing her eyes. “I know very well that you do not care about my answer. All you are doing is delaying the removal of your hand from my . . . ”

She’d said the word a moment ago. So why couldn’t she say it now? Likely, because that part of her body had suddenly become the center of her world. It was now a place of intimacy and forbidden touches.

“Waist?”
he supplied, moving his fingertips in such a way that it made her stomach quiver—not on the surface but someplace deeper inside.

“Person,”
she corrected, yet noticed her thready word lacked censure. She tried again. “You really should not be touching me here.”

“If I were assisting you into a barouche, I would have both my hands on your . . . person.”

Both of his hands on her? She tried not to imagine it. When she felt an enthralling warmth spread through her, she knew she’d failed. “No. I mean here, in the ballroom. If anyone should see, the result would be catastrophic for both of us.”

Her reputation would be ruined. He would be expected to marry her. They both knew, however, that he would not. His conduct indicated that he cared little for the principles of society. He didn’t even like her. And more important, she reminded herself, she despised him.

“Indeed. The rules that govern your actions
must
be obeyed.” With those hard-edged words, he dropped his hand and stepped back.

Lilah immediately missed his warmth and hated herself for it. She turned to face him, a reprimand at the ready. “If we didn’t have rules, then society would be full of men like you who enjoy taking liberties.”

He lifted his tawny brows. “You don’t think society would be full of
women
taking liberties?”

She blinked, caught off guard by the question and by the very idea. Women taking liberties?

Spinning a web to decide her fate . . .

It was an unexpectedly intriguing proposition for a woman in her circumstances. Now, however, was not the time to ponder it. “I will not imagine such a thing. After all, if I were to have placed my hand on your person, then you would have removed it. Men do not wait upon politeness.”

“I wouldn’t have removed your hand . . . from
anywhere
on my person.” He grinned, making her regret the example she’d used. Then he spread his arms out in invitation. “Please tell me you require proof.”

She ignored the taunt. She only wished that she could force her pulse not to react. “Then the act wouldn’t be taking
liberty
, would it?”

“I suppose not.” He lowered his arms.

Feeling as if she had the upper hand, she intended to keep it. “If you choose to mingle with society and yet live outside of our strictures, then you should learn to govern yourself.”

“I prefer to live apart from a society that marries for money and advancement and uses their daughters as chattel, leaving them with few paths to traverse.”

In his direct gaze, she saw the loathing he must have gained over years through his own trials, but she also saw pity. She wondered, in that instant, if he was speaking of her fate, should she not find her own husband. “Did you happen to meet Lord Haggerty?”

“I did.”

Lilah felt her spine straighten, one vertebra at a time. She did not want Jack’s pity. “Then you understand my desire to find a husband of my own choosing.”

He nodded. “Though I don’t see why you need to find one of noble blood. Why not elope with a banker, merchant, or country squire?”

“My father’s will states that any lesser marriage would not be validated.”

“If you were to elope and prove that you were in a . . . delicate condition, any court would validate your union.”

She blushed at the intimation. “The codicil addresses that as well. In such a circumstance, I would be cut off from any tie to the family. As I said before, my mother has already stated that she will honor my father’s wishes. And if my aunt were to choose to keep our association, then she would lose a sister. I could not do that to her.”

“These rules you live by are unconscionable,” he growled, stepping away from her and deeper into the shadows. “And the worst part of all is that you accept it—the lot of you.”

“Accepting implies that I am doing nothing to alter the outcome, when the contrary is true. Do you think that I enjoy subjecting myself to scrutiny? Being introduced to gentlemen who cannot bother to recall my name? Constant reminders of the calendar days slipping past? I can assure you that I do not.” She huffed. Then, realizing she’d followed him, she stopped, prepared to leave his presence without even knowing what awaited her. “And I certainly do not need to be bothered by the likes of you.”

“I know how to help you, Lilah.”

The sound of her name on his lips shuddered through her. This time, she had to press her hand to her middle to quell the unwanted trembling. Unfortunately, it didn’t work.

“Miss Appleton,”
she reminded. Again. “And I am already aware of my own requirements. I do not wish to hear your opinion.”

“Finding a worthy husband will take more than revealing those dark eyes and donning a new gown. You need my help. In fact, I believe that’s what Vale wanted when he wrote your name on that card. However, I can see that I’ve flustered you . . . ”

“You are the most arrogant man,” she interrupted, clenching her teeth. He was not even in society, yet he believed that he could help? Astounding.

He chuckled and continued. “If you find that the results of this evening have left you disappointed, then be
at home
for me tomorrow when I come to call. If I’m sent away, I’ll have your answer and never bother you again.”

At last, a bright spot in her evening. Smiling broadly, she mocked him with a curtsy. “Then this shall be our final meeting. Good-bye, Mr. Marlowe.”

“Until tomorrow”—he inclined his head, letting his gaze linger on her mouth—
“Lilah.”

T
he following day, Lilah had four callers. Though none of them was a gentleman. In fact, they were all debutantes. Miss Stapleton and Miss Ashbury were the last to leave.

“It was such a pleasure to meet you at my father’s party last evening,” Miss Stapleton said as she tied the periwinkle ribbon of her bonnet beneath her chin. Her smile appeared genuine, the apples of her cheeks softly rounded and rosy. “I’m still quite shocked that we hadn’t met previously. Promise you will waggle your finger at me this evening if I even dare to blink without acknowledging you?”

Lilah couldn’t help but laugh. This was all very new and strange to her. Had such a difference been made, simply by baring her forehead to the world and powdering her face with pearl dust? “If you insist.”

Miss Ashbury clapped her hands, sending the tassels dangling from the sleeve of her burgundy spencer in motion. “Yes, you must, and to me as well. We who are in our third Seasons must stick together, after all. By the way, which party will you be attending—the Lewises’, the Backstons’, or the Smithfields’?”

Lilah suspected there was little sincerity in Miss Ashbury’s abrupt affability. Her smile did not lift her cheeks. Instead, her hazel eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she tucked a lock of auburn hair beneath her bonnet. For some reason, Lilah felt as if she’d just made one friend
and
one enemy. The same had been true with the other two who had paid a call. One friend—
Miss Creighton
—and one enemy—
Miss Leeds.
Though if truth be told, Lilah had never been fond of Miss Leeds, especially after the way she’d abused Lilah’s dearest friend, Ivy.

“I’m not entirely certain of our plans this evening. I forgot to ask my aunt,” Lilah said, receiving a flash of annoyance from Miss Ashbury. The downy hairs on Lilah’s nape lifted, filling her with a sense of caution. Though warned of what, she wasn’t certain. Perhaps she said something wrong. Thankfully, Mr. Wick saved her from a further faux pas by opening the door.

After a few parting niceties, her new
friends
left. Juliet stepped out of the morning room down the hall. At the same time, Aunt Zinnia sauntered out of the parlor, where she’d been
chaperone
for Lilah’s visits.

Her aunt and her cousin exchanged glances before Aunt Zinnia nodded thoughtfully. “An interesting turn of events.”

“Quite promising,” Juliet said with a careful smile. While she was not
at home
to callers, she had been listening to Lilah’s visits from the adjacent room.

Lilah frowned. “Not a single gentleman paid a call.”

Not even Jack Marlowe. Which didn’t bother her at all. In fact, she’d barely taken notice and hardly even had glanced out the parlor window in search of a man on a Destrier. When she’d heard a knock at the door, she hadn’t turned her ear, waiting for the sound of his low cadence. And she
certainly
hadn’t been disappointed by its absence.

“A serious candidate will wait,” Aunt Zinnia began. Her tone and countenance provided a confidence that few would disbelieve. “A sensible gentleman will think about what he has learned about you and the others. From there, he will consider his dance partners and with whom he would ask to stroll the perimeter of the ballroom.”

“It may not seem like it,” Juliet began, “but having four debutantes pay a call shows that you have already started to make a statement. They took notice.”

“Then last evening was a . . . success?” Lilah had been thankful that she hadn’t encountered Winthrop all evening. It was like her own small miracle. Two gentlemen had asked her to dance. Unfortunately, neither had been Lord Ellery, as he’d been absent.

Juliet nodded. “We will stay in tonight. That way, they will wonder what other party you attended. This will create an urgency about you. They will want to know more, and soon a tide of curious whispers will lift you high above the throng. And the next step is having your new
friends
ask what you will be wearing to the Corbett Ball and to the LeFroy’s dinner. I imagine Miss Ashbury will be the first.”

“Miss Ashbury already dresses at the height of fashion. I do not think my wardrobe would concern her.”

“Dear Lilah, she is the one who cares the most. Be on your guard with her,” Juliet warned.

A new frisson of trepidation stole over Lilah. She was out of her element. Her first Seasons had never encompassed such a variety of mannerisms. Thus far, she’d thought that pretending to be perfect had been difficult enough.

“I know how to help you, Lilah,”
Jack had said last night. Only now she wished she hadn’t dismissed him so readily. As of now, Juliet’s focus was primarily on Lilah’s appearance, believing that these subtle alterations would make a difference. But what if Jack was also right?

Aunt Zinnia adjusted the seam of her glove. “Now, I must be off to tell Mrs. Harwick of the news.”

“Might I share the carriage?” Juliet asked. “I will call upon my modiste and see about enhancing Lilah’s wardrobe with just the right flair.”

“I
asked for primrose plants, Mr. Boone.” Jack scrutinized the plant wrapped in burlap. Instead of primroses, however, little shrubs composed of sticks and small leaves waited on the flower merchant’s cart. He would have preferred something with flowers already on it. He would have preferred for Boone to have been punctual. And since he was making a list, he would have preferred not to have lain awake all night, thinking about Lilah.

Even now, the card in his pocket felt as if it were searing a hole through his waistcoat and shirt.

“Azaleas are hearty. Perfect for spring,” Boone replied with a quick nod of his head as he worried the brim of his black felt hat beneath his hands. He cast a nervous glance up at Jack’s horse. “Mr. Marlowe, I know you asked for primroses, but they never would have survived the replanting, with frost coming. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

When the man took a step back and appeared to shiver to the soles of his worn boots, Jack realized he was glaring at him. And standing beside his fearsome horse, both man and beast likely portrayed a rather ominous outcome for the gardener. Therefore, Jack made an effort to relax his glower.

The truth was, his surly mood had little to do with the flowers. “But you’re saying that this
azalea
will survive, and you’re certain it will bloom?”

“These are the buds, here.” Boone pointed a shaky hand to a cluster of green teardrop shapes. “More will come and soon, blossoms so thick you won’t see the leaves or the ground beneath.”

Since Jack knew next to nothing about gardening, he had to take the man at his word. He held out the coin. When Boone reached out, Jack gripped his hand. “Should the claim turn false, I’ll expect compensation.”

Boone gulped. “P-please, sir. I would like for you to accept a second shrub as a gift.”

Jack accepted the gift but mostly because he didn’t want to be bothered anymore. And he was bothered a great deal. After spending the evening across from a card table from Haggerty, any man would be. In an effort to keep him from going into the ballroom, Jack had continuously lost more and more money to him. The more Haggerty won, the more he drank, and the more he drank, the more he revealed about his true nature, until Jack was certain he wasn’t going to allow Haggerty anywhere near Lilah.

A perfectly reasonable reaction, he mused. Especially considering how close Lilah’s story resembled his own mother’s. He didn’t want history to repeat itself.

Boone left two plants at Jack’s feet before scurrying up into his cart and driving away. Watching the wheels disappear out of sight reminded Jack of sending Haggerty away in a hack last night. Afterward, Jack had wanted to return to the ballroom to see Lilah once more, but he’d abandoned the notion the moment it had filled his head.

He still wasn’t certain what had possessed him to hold her in the ballroom earlier in the evening. Even he knew the rules of society. For some reason, he hadn’t been able to help himself. She’d turned her back on him, and then, suddenly, she’d stepped into his arms. Instinctively, his hand had settled against her. Holding her close had felt natural. The curve of her body fit perfectly against him, igniting his blood. He was not a man led by errant desires. His actions had purpose. Yet it had taken all of his control not to pull her deeper into the shadows and discover the secrets behind her scolding mouth. He wondered if she tasted bitter or sweet.

Those thoughts kept him distracted as he tied the burlap bundles to either side of his saddle. Otherwise, he would have been prepared for the sudden intrusion that followed.

“Have you begun a new enterprise, son?”

Son
. At the sound of the unwelcome though familiar voice of his father, Jack stiffened. Bellum’s hooves shifted on the street, the muscles of his flank twitching as he sensed the tension. Jack brushed his hand over his Destrier to calm him without turning around to face the carriage that had stopped beside him.

“I have not,
Dovermere
. I’m merely delivering a favor for a friend.”

“Interesting,” he said, stepping out of his carriage and onto the pavement as if he’d been invited. “Though I wonder which one of your friends cannot see to the task himself. Thayne is in good health, as is Wolford. Therefore it must be Vale . . . since he is out of town.”

On a slow exhale, Jack resigned himself to this conversation and met Dovermere’s gaze. The shock he’d felt over their resemblance had lessened over time. Dovermere dropped in on him once a week, and Jack had grown used to seeing an aged version of himself—hair a shade lighter and salted; fanned lines beside amber eyes; creases beside a mouth that smiled too much and had been known to ask an endless amount of questions about the most inane topics. And clearly, Dovermere was also keeping track of Jack’s friends.

“You are correct. This is an errand for Vale. He asked if I would send flowers to his bride’s dearest friend.” And before his father got the wrong idea about Lilah and jumped to the same conclusion that Jack had, he continued. “Apparently, he believes that flowers will help her find a husband. While I do not understand his method,
I
am a man of my word.”

Dovermere stroked his jaw, scrutinizing the burlap. “A young woman who receives flowers can claim a certain desirability and gain interest from potential suitors. Perhaps that is what Vale intended.”

“Perhaps.”

“If I may ask,” Dovermere began, even though Jack knew he wasn’t waiting for permission, “if you are to send flowers, then what do you have here?”

“A flowering shrub. The young woman in question expressed sadness for the first posies I gave her because cut flowers only survive a few days.” He pointed in an impatient gesture. “Hence, the plants.”

Dovermere’s brows shot up. “You’ve already called upon this young woman?”

“Yes.” And after last night, Jack was determined to help her.

“Hmm . . . more than once?” Dovermere studied him with an uncanny shrewdness in his gaze. An instant later, he nodded, seeming to have read Jack’s expression. “By chance, did she attend Stapleton’s soiree last night?”

Jack despised Dovermere’s unnerving skill of detecting the answer. “I have asked you before not to make inquiries regarding my affairs.”

“You leave me little choice,” Dovermere said with an absent shrug. Then, as if he had suddenly gained all that he required from this impromptu visit, he stepped toward the waiting landau. “If you were to come to dinner or join me at the club, there would be no need for other tactics.”

Incredulous, Jack fisted his hands, watching the man calmly close the carriage door. “You made your choice. You already have a family.”

“I know,” Dovermere said through the open window. “And you are part of it.” His steady gaze gleamed with challenge as the driver spurred the horses.

Jack hated that look. And the reason was because he’d seen it in his own reflection and knew what it meant. Dovermere wasn’t about to give up.