A Diamond in the Rough (Dangerous Liaisons #1)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

D errien yanked the brush through her tangled curls. Odious man, she repeated yet again. If it weren't for her friendship with Hugh she be sorely tempted to abandon the debauched London rake to the hazards of the links and Lord Hertford without a second thought. He certainly deserved as much. Her cheeks flamed on recalling how the viscount had laughed at a racy joke that his friend had recounted as the two of them had walked to the shop after finishing their round.

How dare they speak of such things in the company of a female...

Her fingers paused in teasing out another snarl and she gave a rueful grimace into the cheval glass. In all fairness, he could not be accused of that, she admitted. And honesty compelled her to acknowledge that his comments had not been so very different from those she had heard bandied about by the other caddies on numerous occasions. Still, there were plenty of other sins to lay at his door.

Gambling, for one. He wouldn't be here unless he was a reckless gamester, stupid enough to risk a fortune on the turn of a card.

And likely wenching.

Aristocratic gentlemen like him all indulged in such behavior. For a moment, a picture came to mind of piercing grey-green eyes peering out from beneath dark, windblown locks—and she imagined that he had no lack of invitations from eager partners…

The bristles of the brush dug in deeply enough to cause her to wince.

Whatever was she doing, thinking such ridiculous thoughts—even for an instant!

Men like Viscount Marquand and the Marquess of Hertford seduced women without a care to the pain and suffering they left in their wake.

The reflection in the looking glass caught the hardening of Derrien's expression. Though she felt a simmering anger for the viscount and his undoubtedly rakish ways, her contempt rose to a boil on considering Adrian's coming opponent. Forced to make a choice between them, she had to admit that Lord Marquand was the lesser of two evils. She could only imagine his faults, while those of Hertford were all too real.

For the sake of the unfortunate women who had fallen victim to the marquess’s practiced charm— or brute strength —as well as her dear friend Hugh Philp, she would do her best to see the dastardly Hertford beaten at this particular game, even if it meant helping...

"Derrien?" Her aunt poked her head into the small bedchamber. "My dear girl! The invitation is for eight and you are not near ready. I shall send Lucy in to you right away. She will be able to make short work of that unruly mop of curls."

Derrien glowered at her own reflection. "I would much rather stay home and finish the book I borrowed from Professor McAuley's library."

"That may be so, my dear, but as Sir Joseph is anxious to show the visitors from London that the folk of St. Andrews may be as cultured and hospitable as any people to the south, we owe it to our friend to help make a favorable impression on the English guests."

Ha! There was little chance of that, she thought in silent retort. However, she decided to keep such things to herself. While her aunt knew of her usual masquerade on the links, she was not yet aware of her involvement in training the English lord. And though in general she was the most tolerant of guardians, Derrien decided it would perhaps be prudent not to put the issue to a test.

"For his sake," continued her aunt. "I know you will do your best to be pleasant to Lord Marquand and Mr. Greeley."

Derrien ducked her head, feeling slightly guilty on recalling the numerous snide remarks she had flung at the viscount over the past little while. "Very well," she muttered, rooting in her dressing table drawer for a ribbon to match the trim of her gown.

Glancing up at her reflection, she made another face. Lucy might well be able to coax her curls into some semblance of order, but there was little anyone could about the smattering of freckles across her nose. She couldn't help envisioning a certain creamy complexion, unmarred by any such unladylike imperfection, and for some reason, her mood grew even more prickly.

As she waited in some impatience for her aunt's maid to arrive, she withdrew a small notebook and pencil from a drawer and added it to her reticule.

She had heard that Mr. Gregory had recently received several unusual specimen plantings from the West Indies for his garden, so perhaps the evening would not prove to be a total bore.

"Well now, finally a moment alone." Adrian's steps came to a halt before a wrought iron bench and his gloved hand shifted beneath Honoria's fingers. "Would you care to sit down, my dear?"

"No, thank you. Since Mama was feeling poorly and required me to sit and read to her all afternoon, I think I should prefer to keep strolling, sir— Adrian, that is." The last vestiges of the setting sun suffused the garden with a pale wash of gold, and for an instant, the soft play of light and shadow across her profile and the folds of her ivory silk gown made her appear as one with the carved statue standing behind her. "It is a pretty garden, is it not? Only look at this charming Greek faun standing among a bower of dahlias."

He forced a weak smile. "It is a Roman satyr and the flowers are common tuber roses."

"Oh. How... interesting."

Adrian found his teeth setting on edge. Her air of cool detachment had been one of the qualities that had attracted him to her— she was no voluble schoolroom chit given to wild flights of emotion. But he suddenly found himself wishing she might show a bit more... life. He knew that she possessed opinions and the intelligence to express them in an interesting way, for the conversations they had shared as they became acquainted had assured him that she wasn't a vapid idiot. He would never have been able to tolerate that, not even for a lovely face and generous dowry.

Yet since his intentions had become clear, it seemed that for some reason she was becoming increasingly rigid and remote in his presence, rather than the opposite. He couldn't begin to fathom why. Of late, she looked as though the prospect of their upcoming nuptials was about as palatable as a dose of castor oil.

The thought was rather disturbing.

She must have sensed the stiffening of his arm. Her head turned slightly. "Is something wrong?"

"Not at all," he lied, drawing them a few steps father along the graveled path. There was an arrangement of rather unusual plants behind a large urn that had caught his eye. "And what of you, Honoria? You seem a trifle preoccupied of late. Is there something on your mind?"

"I -I suppose I am still a bit overwhelmed with the honor you do me in asking me to be your future countess. I shall try to be worthy of the choice."

Were her words really as stilted as they sounded to his ears? He drew in a sharp breath, but quickly brushed aside any momentary irritation and forced a smile. "Worthy? Why there is nothing to be nervous about. You are the very model of perfection." Now it was his own phrases that sounded hopelessly contrived. At least she appeared not to notice.

"How kind of you... Adrian. I shall try not to give you any cause for further comment. Mama says that gentlemen dislike above all things being distracted by a fidgeting female."

His brows drew together. "I should hope you would always feel free to discuss with me anything that was bothering you."

"Yes. Of course." She bit at her lip and turned to examine the carving along the rim of the garden ornament. "Actually, sir, there is a matter that I should—" A shriek interrupted her halting words as she suddenly tripped over a figure crouched among the cascading ivy. "Good Heavens!" she cried. "There is someone crouched in the bushes!"

Adrian rushed to steady her. "There is no need for alarm, my dear." His gaze had already raked over Derrien's slightly disheveled gown and the bits of broken leaves that had twined themselves in among her golden curls. "It is only one of the other guests."

Honoria pressed a hand to her bodice. "It is hard to believe that the local young ladies have no more concept of proper behavior than to be sneaking around in the dark, spying?—"

"I was no t spying," retorted Derrien, rising to her feet and brushing a stray lock from her cheek. "As it happens, I was here first."

A faint gasp sounded. "But what were you doing out here if not skulking after His Lordship and myself?"

Derrien fisted her hands on her hips. "I was having a look at the Ananas bracteatus that Mr. Gregory has just received from the isle of Jamaica."

Adrian edged slightly closer to the bed of plantings and stole a quick glance. "And a most unusual specimen it is," he murmured, itching to bend down as Derrien had been doing and subject the multi-colored striated leaves and cluster of spidery stamens to a more thorough examination.

Honoria's eyes widened in confusion. "What?—?"

"Ahh, most unusual," he repeated gruffly. "For a lone female to be outside unaccompanied?—"

Derrien interrupted him with an unladylike snort. "What a silly set of rules your fancy London strictures are. I'm hardly in any danger of running into trouble among people I've known all my life— or of being a threat to any sensible person. It is only a martinet such as you who would kick up a dust."

She turned to Honoria, her eyes sending off more sparks than the garden torches flickering in the salty breeze. "And as for spying on you— if I was going to run the risk of being caught out in such an outrageous breech of manners, I would certainly pick a more interesting couple to eavesdrop on! I vow, the two of you appear to have ice water rather than blood running through your veins. I wish you happy with each other, for I can't imagine any person with a real pulse wishing to cultivate an acquaintance with either one of you."

With a flounce of her unruly curls, she turned on her heel and stalked back toward the stone terrace.

Adrian's lips twitched in some amusement at the whole situation, but he quickly covered the unruly reaction with a brief cough.

Ashen faced, Honoria drew in a sharp breath, and her hands clenched into tight fists by her side. "Everything about this odd country is quite... unexpected," she whispered.

"Pay the annoying little chit no mind. She's obviously naught but a sharp-tongued little hoyden, with none of your ladylike polish," said Adrian, his arm stealing around her rigid waist. But at the same time his gaze couldn't help following the defiant tilt of Derrien's slim shoulders and the lively sway of her boyish hips.

He forced his eyes back to Honoria's pale face. For an instant, he recalled the flashing blue eyes, flushed cheeks and expressive mouth of the other young lady's visage, and for some reason felt a tightening in his chest. He gave another cough, then tried to offer some additional soothing words to his intended, but they seemed to stick in his throat.

"Please, sir." Her eyes pressed closed. "Perhaps it would be best to go back inside, where we will not run the risk of any more... surprises."

He cast one more longing look at the plants, then swallowed hard and offered his arm. "Yes. Of course, my dear." Yet for a moment he didn't move. "Er, was there something you were going to tell me before we were interrupted?"

Her gloved hand tightened on his sleeve. "It can wait," she said softly.

By the time they reentered the large drawing room Honoria had composed herself so that no trace of emotion marred her lovely features. Chin held high, faint smile upon her finely shaped lips, she caused more than a few conversations to falter in mid-sentence as she passed by.

"My dear Lord Marquand, you would not really be so heartless as to deprive the rest of us of Lady Honoria's charm and beauty for the entire evening," called Sir Joseph from a small group of gentlemen who had assembled near the fire.

The viscount gave an inward wince at the man's choice of adjectives.

"Especially since you are to enjoy countless more evenings of the lady's company in the years to come," he added with a jovial laugh. "We have just now learned that congratulations are in order, sir."

With a broad wink, he placed a hand on Honoria's other arm. "So, milord, I must insist that you relinquish your future bride for a bit to others less fortunate than you. I wish to introduce her to a group of our most learned professors." He inclined his head a fraction. "That is, of course, if you are not adverse to mingling with us rough folk, Lady Honoria."

"Indeed not, sir." She readily allowed herself to be drawn away from Adrian's side. "I should enjoy meeting all of the people who have been so hospitable to us strangers. And I am sure Lord Marquand will not mind being abandoned for a short while."

The viscount's eyes strayed back to the open set of french doors. "No, no, not at all. Do go on, Honoria. In fact, there is something I wish to discuss with Rafe before it slips my mind." After a brief bow, he turned and made his way back out to the terrace with a purposeful stride. After giving a furtive glance left and right, he hurried down the graveled path.

It was nearly dark, but by removing a torch from its bracket and holding it carefully to one side, he was able to study the rare plants for some time. It was a shame, he thought with a silent oath, that his snug evening jacket did not allow for the addition of pencil and sketch paper to his pockets, for he would dearly have loved to make a drawing or two, and a notation on color?—

"I guessed you had stepped out here to blow a cloud and thought I'd join you." Rafael stared down at his friend, half hidden in the drooping ivy. "But what the devil are you doing down there? Practicing how to line up your putts?"

Adrian scrambled to his feet, brushing bits of dirt from his immaculate fawn trousers. "Er, looking at a plant. Several, in fact. They are quite rare in Britain, and I don't often have occasion to look at one closely."

Rafael lit up two cheroots and handed one to the viscount. "One might think you would have other things on your mind besides exotic plants, Adrian." He grinned. "Did you and Lady Honoria enjoy a pleasant stroll out here alone?"

The viscount growled something unintelligible, then, dragon-like, let out a puff of smoke. It swirled in a lazy circle, then spiraled upward in the gentle breeze to disappear in the darkness. "Have you been introduced to a Miss Edwards?" he inquired abruptly after a moment of silence.

His friend's brows drew together as he sought to put a face to the name. "Ah, yes. The blond sprite who is niece to the charming widow. She has a very pretty face. With a snip or two of the scissors and decent modiste she would be quite presentable, don't you think?"

Adrian grimaced. "Ha! She would need a good trimming of her tongue as well before her presence would be acceptable in Polite Society. The little hellion has the manners of a Highland savage." At Rafael's questioning look, he went on to explain his comments. "She was frightfully rude to Honoria earlier this evening." He exhaled another wispy ring and watched it float away. "And on our first introduction, her whole demeanor was barely civil. I cannot help wonder why she has seen fit to act in such an odd way."

His friend shrugged. "Who can comprehend the inner working of any young lady's mind? But I shouldn't think overly about some rag-mannered country chit barely out of the schoolroom."

"Don't worry. I shan't." But somehow he could not seem to banish the vision of flashing blue eyes, a pert nose and an expressive —most expressive— mouth. Just as he could not help comparing that animated face to one displaying a good deal more composure and well-schooled control.

He drew in a lungful of smoke. Control? Or, as the little minx suggested, mere lack of feeling? He threw down the cheroot and ground it out beneath the heel of his boot, angry with himself for letting yet another impudent little Scottish brat get under his skin. "Come on, Rafe. We had best return to the party before we offend our host."

As the two gentlemen were making their way back toward the stone terrace and the faint trill of voices, Honoria smiled at yet another of the professors from the University. In response, he stuttered and turned a shade of red that matched his bushy whiskers when she touched her glove to his.

"I hope we are not trying your patience too much," whispered Sir Joseph as he shooed the poor fellow away. "There is just one more member of our faculty that I should like to make known to you. And since he has spent several years in the environs of London, I trust he will show enough polish not to find himself tongue-tied in the presence of a lovely lady."

She touched his arm lightly. "Please do not apologize in the least, sir. Everyone here has gone to great lengths to make us feel welcome and I look forward to thanking as many of them as I can."

"You are as gracious as you are lovely, Lady Honoria. The viscount is a lucky man, indeed," murmured the baronet, bringing a faint flush to her cheeks with the compliment.

He steered them past the ample bulk of two dowagers to where three men stood in a circle, engaged in an earnest discussion on the merits of Byron's latest epic. Without waiting for a pause in the conversation, Sir Joseph tapped the shoulder of the man standing with his back to the rest of the room, "Charles, you have only arrived back from your trip to Glasgow this afternoon, so I don't believe you have had the pleasure of meeting our charming visitor from the south."

The man slowly turned around.

"Lady Honoria, may I present Mr. Charles Ferguson. Though he may appear a mere babe in years compared to the rest of us old coots, I assure you that he is one of our most respected scholars here at the University."

So intent was he on composing a proper introduction that he failed to note all of the color had suddenly drained from the young lady's face and that her hand was clutching at his sleeve as if to keep herself upright.

"Charles, " he continued in the same jovial tone. "I have the pleasure of presenting Lady Honoria Dunster..."

Ferguson bowed. "Lady Honoria," he murmured.

"Mr. Ferguson," she managed to whisper.

Sir Joseph smiled. "And, I might add, soon to be Lady Marquand and the future Countess of Chittenden."

It was the young man's turn to go deathly pale.

Honoria attempted to move, but her knees buckled and she swayed against the Sir Joseph's shoulder.

"Good Heavens! Are you feeling ill, milady?" His arm came around her waist. "Let me see you to the settee. Vinaigrette! Does someone have a bottle of vinaigrette?"

"Please," she murmured. "There is no need to make a fuss. I am merely feeling a bit... faint, that is all. If you would be kind enough to help me to that chair by the door, a breath of fresh air is all that I need."

He helped her sit down as her mother hurried over and clapped her hands to her cheeks on taking in her daughter's wan face. "Honoria!" she exclaimed with some alarm. "Oh dear, what has happened, child?"

"My fault entirely," said Sir Joseph with a baleful grimace. "She was much too polite to tell me the crush of strangers was simply too much to bear." He turned to Honoria. "Can you ever forgive me for being such a nodcock?"

"You mustn't worry about it, sir. Really." Her eyes remained locked on her lap, where her fingers were twined together in a tight knot. "I may have experienced a bout of lightheadedness for a moment, but I... I am quite fine now, I assure you."

Her mother straightened. "Where is Hylton? And where is Marquand?"

"I am here," said the viscount, stepping in through the open doors. "What is the matter?" His gaze traveled from Lady Hylton to Sir Joseph to the face of his intended bride, still white as a sheet. "Good Lord, Honoria," he said, hurrying to her side. "You look as if you have seen a ghost."

"Ghost!" Lord Hylton elbowed his way through the ring of people who had gathered near his daughter's chair. "Don't be absurd, man! Never heard of a ghost who dared make an appearance in a room full of flesh and blood people?—"

"I was merely indulging in a bit of hyperbole, sir," murmured the viscount.

"Eh?" The other man eyed him with some suspicion. "Well, see that you don't make a habit of it," he muttered. "I'll not tolerate any show of dissolute behavior. Can't have you turning out like the present earl." A frown puckered his jowly face as he turned his attention back to Honoria.

"A grim fate indeed, to end up resembling one's father." Adrian spoke so softly that Hylton took no notice of his words, but Honoria cringed, her shoulders pressing hard against the back of the slatted chair.

"Hear now, missy, what's all this sprattle about ghosts and such?"

"It's nothing, father. I'm feeling much better now." She essayed a smile but managed only a wan twitch of her lips.

"Hmmph! Not at all the thing, to have an evening of entertainment where a proper young lady is subject to such dashedly odd happenings," he grumbled. "Your mother and I are taking you home without delay. I'll not have your delicate constitution overset with farrididdles about apparitions and spirits."

"Yes, father," she said in a small voice. "But truly, it is just a case of the room being a trifle... crowded. You know very well I am not so much of a silly widgeon to be spooked by mere talk of specters from the past. Any sensible person knows there is no such things as ghosts."

Yet as she rose, her expression looked nothing short of haunted.