The Marquis At Midnight (5 page)

‘While you know that I’m fond of Bertie,’
Grace had begun, trying to find the best possible way of phrasing
it.

‘Oh poo. He’s much smarter than he used to
be. He’s matured.’

Grace very much doubted this. ‘But how can
he steal it? We don’t even know where Lovington has it.’

‘It’s in his house in Eaton Square. He
showed it to me when I called around to beg for it back.’

Grace had looked at her friend, shocked.
‘You went to his house? Alone?’ No woman, married or otherwise,
visited a man’s house unless he was a relative or a very old
friend.

Warm color flooded Hester’s cheeks. ‘I made
sure that my identity was conceal and I took my maid. I was
desperate.’

Grace shook her head at the folly of it. In
such ways, reputations were ruined. It was dreadful that Lovington
held the value of her debts and the Woodward necklace, but that was
nothing if Hester destroyed her own good standing by appearing at
an unmarried man’s house. However, it was done and apparently
Hester had emerged unscathed. ‘He actually showed it to you?
Knowing how upset you were?’

‘It’s as I told you. Lovington likes to have
power over others. He was amused that I had come to see him.’
Hester had been silent for a moment, then, ‘Actually, he was really
rather unpleasant about it!’

That conversation had certainly convinced
Grace that Lord Silas Lovington was a very obnoxious man indeed, if
he could take pleasure from another person’s pain.

On Saturday evening, with Porter once again
absent, Grace and Hester set out for the journey to the Hartwell
ball. Neither of them was in particularly high spirits, although
Hester had assured her that she had told Bertie to be there so they
could explain their plan. Grace wanted to protest that it wasn’t
‘their’ plan, that using Bertram would probably end in disaster,
but Hester was already downcast enough. Lord Lovington was sure to
be there, she’d predicted glumly, but at least Porter did not seem
to be attending, which would spare her the difficulties of keeping
the two men apart.

With all that had been
happening, Grace had almost managed to forget her dreadful
faux pas
with the Marquis
of Morvyn at the masquerade ball; almost, but not quite. She and
Hester had experienced a quiet few days and had not been out and
about much so there had been no danger of her encountering him
again. She very much hoped there would be no danger of it that
evening for she had more than enough drama in her life and she was
not keen to add the marquis into the mix.

He had been causing her more than enough
trouble already.

Grace had not deliberately kissed the man
responsible for her husband’s death. She had managed to absolve
herself of anything more than foolish impropriety caused by an
excess of unaccustomed freedom, but the one thing she could not
forgive herself for was how the memory of the man’s kiss lingered,
even now. For some reason she dreamt of it, that warm, firm
pressure that had released a cavalcade of fireworks on her foolish,
impressionable body. Twice, she had actually woken up with the
taste of his mouth on her own, or at least on her sleeping
lips.

It was all very disturbing and Grace was
half regretting her promise to Hester that she would bear her
company a while longer. The sleepy wilds of Yorkshire had never
seemed so appealing, but leaving Hester to her own devices would be
too cruel, so she put all thought of retreat from her head.

As this was, unofficially, the event that
would open the London Season, both women had dressed in their
finest. Hester had chosen an under slip of silver satin over which
was worn delicate crepe in cerulean blue. The blue looked marvelous
with her skin and eyes and, if it weren't for the fact that those
eyes were faintly shadowed, she would have been flawless. Grace was
wearing one of the new gowns she had ordered since arriving in
London; a white satin under slip with an overskirt of jonquil
sarcenet several shades lighter than her dark golden hair. Tiny
yellow rosebuds had been embroidered around the bodice and hemline.
As it was still cold out, both ladies were wrapped in velvet
cloaks, Hester’s lined with ermine for she could not seem to get
warm.

Grace was growing more and more worried
about her friend. Normally someone with the sunniest of
dispositions, the weight of what must feel like her pending doom
was pressing down on Hester unbearably and Grace could not help but
feel that she was heading for a breakdown. It was why she had not
entirely dismissed the idea of Bertram’s assistance. The
possibility of getting that necklace back somehow seemed to be all
that was keeping Hester from breaking into a hundred tiny
pieces.

The Earl of Hartwell’s
estate – not his country estate that lay in Shropshire – was set in
extensive grounds abutting the Heath itself. It had become a
tradition for the Countess to hold a ball there at the end of
March, to which, it seemed, all of the
ton
were invited. Unsurprisingly,
then, Hester and Grace had to wait in the carriage for a good ten
minutes while the occupants of the carriages in front of them were
dislodged.

Once inside, as a first
time visitor, Grace was impressed by the enormous, well-lit rooms.
There were two ballrooms and both had been set up to accommodate
the flood of guests who wandered through them. They had not arrived
early and there were a
lot
of people. Both Grace and Hester looked around
them a little nervously, although for different reasons.

‘What a crowd!’ Grace murmured, a little
stunned.

‘It’s the same every year.
Most of the
ton
turns up. It’s like bears emerging from hibernation.
Especially some of the older gentlemen.’ Hester gave a mischievous
grin. ‘Sometimes I swear I can see some of them blinking at the
light while they scratch themselves.’

Grace smiled at the image. It had to be
admitted that some of the elderly lords, with their equally elderly
wives, looked a little like slow moving, furry animals.

It wasn’t until they had been there an hour
that Grace finally got to meet the perpetrator of her friend’s
continuing torment. They had been dancing and Grace had almost
managed to have a good time, although for some reason all of her
partner’s brought to mind that last dance at Vauxhall Gardens,
which was a very unwelcome memory and one she constantly tried to
banish.

Returning from the dance floor, she saw
Hester talking to a tall, thin man dressed in black satin. Even
from a distance, she knew that it must be Lovington and, even at a
distance, she disliked him immediately. The way his tall form
hovered over Hester, as predatory as a carrion bird. Grace hurried
forward, unwilling to leave her friend undefended, although really,
what could she do?

I cannot give him the
satisfaction of intimidating Hester
, she
thought with unaccustomed fury. The man was, quite simply, a wrong
‘un. She shed her partner with alacrity and sailed towards Hester,
who turned to greet her arrival with relief.

‘Oh, Grace. There you are. May I present
Lord Lovington? A… A friend of mine.’ Hester could not help that
small catch on those last words.

Grace gave him a smile. Not the kind that
she usually bestowed upon a new acquaintance. It was more of a
teeth together kind of grimace. ‘My lord.’

Lovington’s cold dark eyes surveyed her with
interest as he took her hand, bowing over it. ‘My dear Lady
Pemberton,’ he drawled, giving her a smile that was a reptilian
stretch of the mouth as he was practically lipless. ‘How charming.
Hester has told me so much about you.’

Hester? Only close friends
were given permission to call a lady by their first name and
Lovington was certainly not a friend. The deliberate use of
Hester’s name was almost a taunt. ‘And I you, my lord.’ She
returned coolly, retrieving her hand and fighting the urge to wipe
it on her skirts. ‘She has told me
all
about you.’

Something flickered in his eyes. Grace had
just told him that she knew about Hester’s situation. He was far
too skilled a conversationalist to be thrown off by the unexpected,
however, and his smile remained firmly in place.

‘I trust you are enjoying your stay in
London?’

‘It has been most entertaining.’

‘And do you share dear Hester’s love of
piquet? I occasionally hold small, intimate evenings at my place.
It would be a pleasure to have you attend one.’

Grace blinked, astonished
by the sheer boldness of the invitation, which was no only
inappropriate, but, quite simply, should
never
have been extended to a new
acquaintance.

Hester hastily laid a hand on her arm.
‘Grace does not enjoy card games. Do you Grace?’

‘Not the ones where I am in danger of losing
money I do not possess, no.’ Grace agreed flatly.

‘What a pity,’ Lovington purred. ‘Hester has
always found them vastly entertaining.’

Beside her, Grace heard Hester’s soft gasp,
but she did not break eye contact with Lovington. ‘Such amusements
can be entertaining for a time, I suppose,’ she said with an airy
shrug, ‘but they soon pall. I do believe Lady Woodward has lost her
taste for games of chance. Hester? I particularly wish for you to
meet Mrs. Baverstock, who lives just a few miles from me at
Scotton. I’m sure Lord Lovington will excuse us.’ She shot the man
an icy smile.

Lord Lovington hesitated for a moment, then
bowed. ‘But of course. I’m sure Hester and I can have a little chat
later.’

As they walked away, Hester
cast her friend a look of mingled admiration and astonishment.
‘Good heaven’s Grace! I’ve never heard you be so… so
haughty
before.’

‘That is a very unpleasant man.’ Grace was
still quivering with a variety of emotions, most of them
unfamiliar.

‘Yes,’ Hester hesitated, ‘I do not think he
is the kind of man of whom it is wise to make an enemy.’

‘He has no intention of exposing you just
because I did not humor him,’ Grace said, a little more sharply
than she intended. Beside her Hester fell silent. Grace sighed and
slipped her hand through her friend’s arm. ‘He is a really hateful
creature Hester. I’m so sorry.’

‘For what?’

‘You’ve had to deal with him by yourself for
weeks. It must have been very difficult.’

For a moment it appeared Hester might cry,
but then she rallied and gave Grace a smile. ‘I am so glad you are
here.’

‘Of course I am.’

‘So where is this Mrs. Baverstock?’

‘I daresay she’s in Yorkshire. She is not
fond of travel.’

Hester gave a small gurgle of laughter, her
spirits partially restored. ‘Well, where are we going then and in
such a hurry?’

‘I’m sure I spotted your ridiculous cousin
earlier,’ Grace said quietly. ‘I think we need to talk to
Bertie.’

Morvyn came to the ball late and, almost
immediately, wished he had not come at all. It had all the elements
he most disliked in a social function: a great many people, a large
amount of noise, and the unwelcome interest of his peers who
appeared to be intrigued to find him there. He could only imagine
the gossip tomorrow.

The Marquis of Morvyn was at the Hartwell
ball. He must have decided to finally find himself a wife.

It was exactly the same each and every time
he turned up at anything, unless he had his mother or Judith on his
arm. Everybody knew that, upon occasion, he was bullied into
accompanying them and did not speculate, but despite the fact that
his parent and his sister were present, he had not accompanied
them. Actually, he had told them that he’d changed his mind and
wasn’t going after all.

Which he had.

Then he changed it back again.

Morvyn was growing increasingly frustrated
with his sudden inability to concentrate on the day-to-day business
at hand. And why was he having difficulty in concentrating? He did
not want to attribute it to that woman, or that dance, or - God
forbid! - that kiss because he was a man of two and thirty and
dwelling on such nonsense simply didn’t happen. Except that he
hadn’t been able to forget Grace Pemberton nor the undoubted
pleasure he had found in her lips.

Damn it.

He glanced around the room,
wondering if she had come. Of course she would have. His mother had
assured him that everybody in the
ton
who was not seriously ailing or
irretrievably impaired would be there and Grace Pemberton was
neither of those things.

Morvyn wasn’t sure what he wanted to derive
from the evening. Another look at Grace to assure himself that
whatever had caught a hold of him when they had shared that kiss
had been more imagined than real? He was heartily sick of waking in
the middle of the night, his head filled with her, his body… well,
his body was certainly not behaving as it should. Much more of this
and he’d have to find himself another mistress. It had been several
months since he had severed ties with his previous one and it was
beginning to show. Every man had his needs, but they did not
necessarily encompass the widow of his former friend even if he
could not recall one thing about her that he had not found to his
liking.

Her voice, her address, her humor. My God,
even her dancing had recommended her to him, but then Grace
Pemberton had looked at him when he had taken off his mask and her
face had changed.

And then she had run from him.

What the devil had Pemberton told her?

Thoughts such as these had kept him far too
occupied for the past four days and he was done with it. Tonight he
would find Grace Pemberton and he would banish her from his
thoughts – and his imagination – once and for all.