How to Marry a Marquess (Wedded by Scandal) Page 2

  The offer was made with evident reluctance. “I’m fine if you are. I, too, wished for solitude from the crush. The lawns are filled with croquet players and the lake with row boats.”

  A relieved smile lit her entire face, and Richard froze. Truly exquisite.

  He cleared his throat. “However, if you would permit me to conceal the evidence?”

  After receiving her quick nod of acquiescence, he moved swiftly along the path he had come until he spied a small shovel by some rosebush plants. The area had been recently tended and had loose soil. He bent, retrieved the small shovel, and scooped up some of the dirt. He hurried back, pleased to see she was still waiting, though a part of him had hoped she had scuttled away. He spread the dirt over her mishap, then placed the shovel on the stone bench. “There, now we can converse in relative normalcy.”

  “Your kindness is appreciated.” She moved a few paces away and leaned against a small tree. “Tomorrow is my informal coming out ball. Mamma expects me to garner several offers, and I have already been told who to encourage.”

  Her voice had a definite tremble in it and her eyes were dark with uncertainty. “I am not ready for marriage,” she said in a tiny voice. “But Mamma says I must do my duty.”

  Another young lady being urged to marry where her heart did not lie. You fool, never forget Aurelia chose money and prestige. “I see.”

  Lady Evelyn’s breathing hitched and she avoided his gaze. “My stomach has been in knots ever since Mamma told me the Duke of Carlyle has shown a marked interest in my coming out. He is our special guest and I am to save two dances for him.” She held up two fingers as if to emphasize her point.

  The Duke of Carlyle? The man was not a day under fifty. “That is why you have been casting up?”

  A sheepish smile crossed her face. She leaned forward and lowered her voice as if they were not alone in a secluded garden. “He…he kissed me this morning in the music room.” Her face turned red with apparent mortification at that admission.

  Cold, disgusted fury twisted in his gut. Richard was twenty-four and felt considerable discomfort at having felt desire for her. The Duke of Carlyle was a man in his prime and had pressed an advantage. The lecherous bastard. That man already had an heir and two spares from his first marriage, why the hell did he need to marry someone so young? “You should inform your mother.”

  Richard observed in amazement as every piece of her he could see flushed pink.

  “I did. She… When I told her, Mamma was happy at His Grace’s marked attentions.”

  He heard the unsaid words. It mattered not if she had been touched improperly and even before an engagement was announced, for the catch was a duke—a man of unmatched power, wealth, and privilege. “There are ways to discourage a suitor.”

  What the hell am I doing?

  “There are?”

  “Yes, though it depends on the gentleman in question. Each man has flaws he would not countenance in a woman.”

  “How did you come by this knowledge?”

  “My source is of little consequence; however, I will admit men do converse on such matters together on occasion.”

  “Upon my word, I never knew gentlemen were also taught to perfect the art of gossip.” Before he could respond, she continued, “Please, you must tell me, how do I discourage the duke?”

  The Duke of Carlyle was close friends with Richard’s father, the Duke of Salop. Richard thought of what he knew of the man. Carlyle was stiff, proper, and impeccable in his mannerisms; he would expect the most severe adherence to comportment and propriety in his duchess. It was even quite a stretch to imagine the staid duke allowing passion to overcome him and kissing this girl. Though her beauty would be a temptation for any man, young or old. “Carlyle truly kissed you?”

  Disgust crossed her face and she lifted her hands to her lips. “Yes. He said he had to…to taste me. After, he said he was well pleased and would speak with my father. I think my coming out ball and my presentation to Almack’s in a few weeks’ time will be a farce for the matter of my husband appears to have already been decided.”

  A rush of sympathy filled him. Richard moved closer, leaning against the tree beside her, aware of how close they were. “Listen to me keenly.”

  Hope brightened her green eyes. “Yes?”

  “At tomorrow’s ball, when you are alone with the duke—and only when you are alone and there is no chance of anyone overhearing—blech as much as you can. In between conversation, while dancing…belch.”

  She glared at him. “You expect me to behave in such an unladylike fashion?”

  “Yes. If you can, will yourself to fart as well. That would settle the matter most decisively.”

  For precious seconds her face blanked, shocked awareness dawned in her eyes, and then horrified laughter spilled from her. “You are cruel to jest with me so when I desire your advice.”

  “I do not jest. Carlyle is very proper and he will be grossly offended. Gentlemen such as the duke retire to their libraries with a sniffer of brandy to fart in relative privacy.”

  “You reprobate,” she gasped, clearly offended.

  “You wound me unjustly. I only seek to offer valuable assistance.”

  “There is much to reprove in your behavior, my lord…to even suggest…” Her face crumpled. “I cannot credit you would speak so of His Grace. I am appalled, Lord Richard, at you for speaking in such an ungentlemanly manner and at myself for being amused by your ghastly vulgarity.”

  “Richard,” he murmured, unaccountably pleased to see the lingering uncertainty had vanished, even if it had only been replaced by horrified humor. “Let’s not stand on formality. Please call me Richard and I shall refer to you as Lady Evie, inarguably after speaking of farts formality is no—”

  She leaned over and clamped her hand over his mouth. “Please, no more.”

  He nodded and she lowered her hand, a thoughtful frown on her face. “My parents would be most disappointed in my behavior if I should follow your advice.”

  “So will Carlyle.”

  She scowled fiercely at Richard. “You are unpardonable.”

  He could see he had planted the seed, and it only needed a bit of encouragement to flourish. “If you are truly disenchanted with the idea of marrying the duke, think on my advice.”

  She gave a weak nod. “I will.”

  “Lady Evelyn,” a voice called to their far left.

  “Mrs. Winters, my governess, looks for me. I must leave, Lord…Richard.”

  He straightened from his casual pose. “Would you like me to walk back with you?”

  Her smile turned wistful. “No, but I should like for us to be friends.”

  Friends? With a slip of a girl? “Friends,” he repeated without inflection.

  “Yes,” she said. “I do find you interesting.” Tentative hope and something akin to embarrassment swirled in her gaze.

  “I would like that, Lady Evie, if our meeting permits. I sincerely doubt we will socialize often within the same circles.”

  “But you will visit my brother, won’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said softly.

  “Will you be staying for the remainder of the house party? There is archery tomorrow in the day and hunting on Friday.”

  He’d planned to leave immediately, but confoundedly that plan had just been aborted. She’s sixteen, he reminded himself sternly. Yes, and many young ladies are married at that age, the lustful devil in him said slyly. He almost stumbled. Marriage? Of course, if his interest remained he would have to act with honor. Such genteel innocence and beauty should not be debauched, no matter how terrible the temptation to be wicked. Worse, nothing could ever convince him to want to marry again, unless it was dire, and he could not imagine a situation that would necessitate him taking a wife. “Yes, I shall.”

  “And will you ask me to dance?”

  It was then he saw the awareness in her eyes, and he acknowledged that in this instance she was reacting as a woman would to a man. H
is heart lurched and distressing lust swam in his veins. He suppressed it with a willpower he’d not known himself capable of. Instinctively, he recognized she was dangerous. Though it was foolish, for she was a mere girl, an innocent child, but she made him yearn to break free from the coldness that had been slowly encasing his soul. How in God’s name that was possible from a chance meeting, he had no idea.

  Emerging from that shattering awareness, Richard carefully retreated a few steps. “I have it on excellent authority the waltz will be played at tomorrow’s ball.”

  “How scandalous,” she murmured, a twinkle in her eyes.

  “Promise my dance to no other gentleman,” he impulsively added.

  “Nothing could induce me to, not even the threat of a severe scolding from Mamma.”

  Her fervent whisper rooted him to the spot and he could only stare at her helplessly.

  She rushed over to him and lightly touched his arm. “Thank you, my lord.”

  His entire body hardened, tensed, thrilled at the barely-there touch, and then she dropped her hand. After bestowing the sweetest of smiles, she turned and disappeared toward the insistent calling of her name.

  Devil take it, she was the sister of one of his good friends, it was unpardonable he should react in such a manner to her closeness. Ravenswood would challenge him to a duel or thrash him within an inch of his life if he even knew Richard had met with her in such secrecy. He couldn’t imagine what his friend would do if he had an inkling of the lustful thoughts she had provoked. God’s blood. If Richard had any honor left or respect for his friend, he needed to marshal his thoughts into order whenever he came near her. There was an unstated code: one did not lust after friends’ sisters, nor did they befriend them. Yet he had done both.

  What in damnation just happened?

  …

  Tonight, Lady Evie was a princess at her very first ball, or so her brother, Elliot, had reassured her moments past. She certainly appeared like one in her exquisite white ball gown with tiny transparent gauze puffed sleeves trimmed with silver ribbon. The modest neckline was trimmed with matching silver ribbons that tied in a long bow at the front of her dress. She liked it better than many of her more complicated gowns because it was so classically simple. Her mother had spared no expense on Evie’s coming out wardrobe, insisting that lavish ornamentation be added onto her ball gowns, and several had been festooned with seed pearls and complex embroideries made from gold thread around their bodices. Her silver satin slippers glinted under the light of a thousand candles, and her elegantly upswept hair shone like burnished gold.

  Instead of feeling joy at an occasion she’d anticipated since she had entered the schoolroom, she was a nervous wreck. She’d once again snuck into the kitchens for a few hours, where the cooks tolerated her presence and had taught her how to bake cakes herself, a very unladylike but wonderful skill she had acquired several months past. One of the kitchen maids had pounded the sugar for an hour to make the sugar paste to decorate the cakes. Evie had made mille-feuille for the first time, a classic French pastry that consisted of layers of razor-thin puff pastry and cream filling with a feather-patterned iced top. They were some of Evie’s favorite confections and now she knew how to make them herself.

  Desperate to soothe the fear and uncertainty, she had lingered too long and Mamma had caught her in the act. Evie had endured the most severe scolding, and Mamma had even threatened to relieve Mrs. Potter, their cook, of her position. That incident, and the pressure of securing the duke, had her most anxious.

  A lady is always refined, elegantly poised, and serene, especially when her composure has been shaken. Holding close the words of her genteel governess, Evie lifted her chin, determined for tonight to be a success, despite the potentially ruinous plan to which she had committed herself.

  Her stomach pitched, and she feared she was on the brink of committing the most horrifying social gaffe, which would surely ruin her reputation before she’d even had a chance to be presented at Almack’s. Evie was about to once again cast up her accounts, in full view of the lords and ladies staring up at her with such great expectations.

  “You look quite green,” a smooth, cultured voice said to her left.

  Poised to descend the stairs to the wide open ballroom, Evie hovered, her heart leaping into her throat and staying there.

  “Lord Richard,” she said softly, a dangerous thrill bursting in her heart. She tightened her hand on the staircase railing and shifted slightly so she could peer left.

  He was partially in the shadows on the landing of the hallway, leaning against a column. He was the darkness to her purity, dressed in stark black with only a white shirt, a golden waistcoat, and an immaculately tied cravat to lighten the overall impression of darkness. He looked totally at ease and so very confident that she felt as if some of his nonchalance had been gifted to her. Scanning his lean, lithe length and striking features, a strange heat surged inside her. His eyes were the most beautiful shade of amber, the color of rich, dark honey with bright flecks of gold. Very much like the whisky her father thought he had carefully hidden in the bottom of the French rococo cabinet in his study.

  “You are staring, Lady Evie,” he murmured with a slightly ragged edge to his voice. Perhaps he was not so confident after all? But his arrogant, dark head tilted back, almost as if he was inviting her bold appraisal to continue.

  Color flooded her cheeks and an aching, terrifying awareness of him as a man shot through her. “You are handsome,” she said, then blushed at her forwardness. Surely he would think her gauche and unrefined in the art of flirtation.

  He stiffened, amusement and something far more elusive shifting in his beautiful eyes.

  “How old are you?” The question sprang from her without her making the conscious decision to ask. “I’m being impolite and improper, forgive me, my lord,” she said, each word carefully measured. It baffled Evie how much she wanted his admiration after so little time spent in his company.

  A young lady must never be obvious in her regard for a gentleman. That was another gentle lesson from her governess, to which she so desperately wanted to adhere.

  He strolled closer, careful to stay hidden from the view of the other guests who were peering up, no doubt wondering what kept her riveted. “I thought we were to be friends.”

  “Oh, yes, most assuredly,” she said with far too much enthusiasm.

  Lord Richard’s enigmatic smile was fleeting, but she could feel every nuance of his stare as it skimmed across her features. Delight stirred in her veins at the admiration she espied.

  “Discourse between friends can never be improper. Trust and honesty are values I treasure. Let’s not taint our interactions with hypocrisy and false senses of propriety.”

  She was quite pleased with his unpretentiousness. “Of course. I shall be optimistic of our friendship, and I will endeavor to always be trustworthy and candid.” Her promise was very much in opposition to the lessons drilled into her by her mamma and governess. A lady must never be bold with the truth but should be coy and modest, even if her heart holds another sentiment. It was quite appealing to have a relationship not riddled with polite half-truths.

  His eyes warmed. “Thank you, Lady Evie. I will accord you the same honor, though I shall try to be mindful of my tongue.”

  “As long as your mindfulness is not in a bid to coddle my feminine sensibilities, I daresay our friendship shall be favorable indeed.”

  He moved a few steps closer, the lights from the candles now splashing across the upper part of his body. “I shall be twenty-four in a few weeks.”

  Eight years separated them, and quite evidently, a wealth of experience on his part. “I shall bake a cake in celebration of the event. You must call to collect it.”

  “You bake?” The man could hardly disguise his surprise. “Not at all proper, are you?” he suggested drolly.

  Amusement curled inside. “Quite unconventional, I know, and Mamma would surely send me to our estate in Scotlan
d if it was made known I shared such a confidence. However, I would like to know how to prepare my favorites so I can instruct any cooks I may employ in the future.”

  “Your secrets are safe with me.”

  Inexplicably, she believed him. “Thank you.”

  “I shall look forward to my birthday treat expectantly, and with prayers.”

  “I assure you while I am quite unremarkable, I’m a capable cook. You will not be poisoned.” Though she was now regretting the impulsive offer. Outside of the kitchen staff, only her brother had been kind enough to sample whatever she created.

  Footsteps alerted her, and she glanced down to spy Miss Henrietta Dawson climbing the stairs with a wide smile on her face. The cheerfulness of Miss Dawson’s nature had made them dear friends, and Evie was happy to see her.

  “Oh, Evie, you are so beautiful,” Henrietta said, her blue eyes glowing with merriment.

  “So are you.” Henrietta was dressed in a peach high-waisted gown, with cream lace trimmings. “I am so happy you managed to come.”

  “Papa was reluctant to allow me, but dear Mamma was determined for me to have a jolly time and has accompanied me,” she said with a light laugh. Henrietta followed Evie’s quick glance toward the shadowed corner.

  “Is someone there?”

  Grinning, Evie looped their hands together, and they descended the staircase toward the heart of the ball. “Lord Richard Maitland. We had an occasion to meet earlier, and just now he was atop the landing.”

  Henrietta frowned. “Oh, Evie, you must be careful. I overheard your mother saying he has the affable charm of a snake.”

  “A very beautiful snake,” she retorted with a soft smile as they reached the last step. “And I can already tell he will be a witty and amusing conversationalist who will not be overly concerned with my sensibilities.”

  “Evie!” Henrietta gasped, her eyes rounding like saucers. “He is wholly unsuitable. I’ve heard whispers he’s a rake. You ought not to favor him with any dances, should he ask.”

  A rake? Earlier when she had been floundering in a sea of doubt and fear, he had been amazing. He’d comforted her instead of acting the scoundrel, lent a listening ear instead of being impatient, and in his eyes, she had seen genuine kindness. His manner had not been as cheerful as her brother’s own; instead there had been a hint of jadedness in Lord Richard’s eyes she’d not understood. Instinctively she recognized that he had many layers to his character, all wonderfully complex. He was so different from her. They were night and day, water and wine, but he was wonderfully, tantalizingly appealing.