Compromising the Marquess (All for Love #4)

Prologue

“The Duke and Duchess of Troubridge and Lady Ava Layne,” announced Lady Castlereagh’s butler in stentorian accents.

“My God, I wouldn’t have recognized her!” said Deodonatus, Earl of Pendrell, absently accepting the champagne glass Jerome DeVere, Marquess of Ravenshaw, pressed upon him. “Stunning, absolutely stunning.”

Jerome privately agreed as he watched Ava descending the stairs flanked by her brother Robert and her mother Jocelyn.

She was wearing an exquisitely tailored dress in jonquil silk under a sheer net overlay with tiny, puffed sleeves, a fashionably low cut, princess-line bodice, a blue satin sash—the exact color of her gorgeous eyes—beneath the bodice.

Her shining gold hair was piled up on top of her head, revealing her elegant neck, about which a single string of pearls hung.

She was smiling, and every eye in the room had turned to watch her descent into the ballroom.

This, her first official public appearance in London at the first major ball of the season, was an occasion, and Jerome, Deo, and Emrys—Robert’s friends, who had all known Ava since they were schoolboys and she was a little girl—had all agreed to attend in support of the occasion.

It was hard to credit that this was the tearaway hoyden he had rescued from numerous trees when her ambition had outstripped her capabilities; whose determination to champion the cause of strays, the unfortunate, or the ostracized landed her in numerous scrapes, several of which it had been his privilege to extricate her from; whose tender heart caused her to rescue innumerable dogs and wildlife from all sorts of threats—from cruel little boys to ferocious bloodhounds—at the risk of life and limb; and whose hair was always tumbled, dress was always torn, and knees were always scraped.

But somewhere between fourteen and eighteen, she had turned into a beautiful, poised, and elegant young woman who could take a man’s breath away.

Jerome had long regarded Ava in a similar light to his nieces, who were of an age with Robert’s sisters, of which Ava was the eldest. But watching her now, he was overwhelmingly struck by her transformation from hoydenish schoolgirl into beautiful woman.

Ava had grown up, and wrong as it was, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Realizing Deo had addressed a remark to him, he dragged his gaze away from the golden glory that was Ava and said, “Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing important, I was just saying I don’t know why I bother with the season. In ten years, I’ve never met the woman I’m looking for. Probably never will.” Deo looked so gloomy, Jerome patted his arm consolingly.

“Maybe this year?” Deo was taller than him by about four inches and correspondingly broad through the shoulders and chest. His size, coupled with rather harsh features and a habitually fierce expression, which were further accompanied by flaming-red hair and freckles and a socially awkward manner, tended to make him less popular with the female contingent of society.

Jerome, on the other hand, was not so socially disadvantaged.

He stood just over six feet in height with an athletic frame, due to his addiction to sport.

He had dark hair and blue eyes and prided himself on always being immaculately dressed.

A polished manner and a reputation gained in his youth for ruining unfortunate debutantes who sought to trap him into marriage made him, paradoxically, extremely popular with the ladies.

It was a mystery why a man with a shocking reputation was so attractive to the female sex, but there was a time he had taken shameless advantage of that fact.

He shut down that uncomfortable train of thought before it could take him places he didn’t want to go. Especially tonight.

Emrys Fitzgerald, Viscount Ashford, joined them at that moment, with his pretty little wife Caroline and his friend Baron Greathouse.

Jerome suppressed a mild shudder at Emrys’s appearance.

The man was always deplorably untidy. His unruly brown hair was too long for fashion and not even neatly confined in an old-fashioned queue—which it should be if he insisted on being so out of the mode.

His linen was slightly wilted, his cravat tied in a deplorable knot, and his clothes ill-fitting, as if he had shrugged himself into his coat.

Emrys, unlike the rest of them, had never outgrown the scrubby schoolboy look.

“Going to be another squeeze,” remarked Emrys, retrieving a glass of wine for his wife from a passing waiter.

Jerome greeted Caro and Greathouse and turned to reply to Emrys. “It is.” He noted that Robert had shepherded his ladies to a spot across the room from them with a couch to sit upon and suggested, “We should show our support, don’t you think?” He nodded across the room.

Robert was the second tallest of their quartet, with dark-brown hair and regular features.

Like Jerome, he had been the target of ambitious damsels and their matchmaking mamas for over a decade and, having just come into his father’s title last year, was an even bigger matrimonial prize now.

He was also set on finding a bride this season, and owing to the parlous state his father had left the Layne finances in, his choice needed to land on a woman of substance.

The lady he had an eye on was Miss Sarah Watson.

Jerome had been included in a party to Vauxhall with the Ashfords, Robert, Miss Watson, and Miss Watson’s chaperone, Lady Daphne Holbrook, last week.

Jerome’s role at that affair had been to distract and entertain Daphne, who proved to be a lonely widow and not at all aged.

Jerome was quite good with lonely widows and had continued his acquaintance with the lady after that evening.

Robert’s friends descended on him in a group and Jerome bowed over the duchess’s hand and kissed it, saying, “You are looking in high force this evening, Your Grace. You will be setting a fashion with that delightful cap.”

The duchess pursed her lips at him. “Your flattery will get you nowhere, Jerome.”

He shrugged and smiled. “I live in hope, Your Grace.” Of Robert’s friends, he knew himself to be her least favorite.

She remembered all too clearly his behavior in his early twenties and hadn’t forgiven him—in particular, for Miss Charis Dunsenay, whose mother, Lady Mostyn, was a friend of hers.

He hadn’t forgiven himself either. With an internal wince he pushed thoughts of his disreputable past away.

He had vowed this year that he would not dwell on what he couldn’t change.

He’d spent countless hours in regret, and it got him nothing but pain.

He turned his attention to Ava and immediately solicited her hand for the first dance. The duchess had made it clear Ava wouldn’t be permitted to waltz until her come out ball next week, but this first dance was a quadrille, perfectly respectable.

She flushed a pretty pink when she put her gloved hand in his and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.

Her eyes glowed with happiness, and her skin was flawless.

Her features had lost their girlish roundness and developed the contours of extraordinary beauty, from her lovely, slightly retroussé nose to her lusciously kissable lips and determined chin.

She was a foot shorter than him and her figure, he couldn’t help noticing, had filled out becomingly.

She was exquisite, and he was alarmed by the sudden thrill of heat that invaded his body when he caught a whiff of her lovely scent, rose water and something else, distinctly Ava.

“That is a very fashionable rig, Ava,” he said with a teasing smile, determined to keep things on their old friendly footing.

She flashed him a sideways smile from beneath her lashes, which gave him a serious jolt. Where did she learn that trick?

“I thought so, too,” she said. “Mama was a bit worried about the bodice, but Madame Thérèse insisted it was all the crack, so Mama gave in.”

“I’m surprised Rob let you out of the house,” he said frankly before he could stop himself.

She giggled, which reassured him a bit that she wasn’t too grown up yet. “He didn’t see it until we were about to depart, and it was too late to object.”

Conversation was truncated by the steps of the dance, and he contrived to behave with perfect propriety for the duration of the number, at the end of which he returned her to her mother’s side with a bow and a kiss of her hand, as befitted a grown-up young lady.

Her hand was sought for every dance after that, and he was happy to prop the wall and watch her success. Rob, who wore a harassed expression, buttonholed him at one point and said, “I’ll thank you to stay away from Ava.”

Jerome eyed him with a lazy smile and said, “Keep your shirt on, Rob, there is no harm in a little light flirtation. She has to try her wings sometime. Better me than some unscrupulous type.”

“Since when have you had scruples?” demanded Robert.

Jerome stiffened, touched on the raw. “She is your sister, Rob. I’ve known her since she was a lass. I might be all sorts of a blackguard, but absolve me of that, please!”

Robert flushed and apologized. “What were you doing squiring Lady Holbrook and Miss Watson to the recital last night?”

“Daphne had a fancy to hear the performance, so I obliged.”

“Daphne, is it? I know it’s none of my business—”

“You’re right, it isn’t,” Jerome snapped, nettled.

Robert raised his eyebrows at him, and Jerome flushed faintly.

“Don’t get your tails in a twist, it’s just a harmless flirtation, nothing more.

You wanted me to keep her entertained at Vauxhall, I did.

Even older ladies are entitled to a little fun, don’t you think?

I’ve done nothing more than make her feel young again.

” Which is perfectly true, but why do I feel the need to justify myself to Robert?

“You needn’t worry about Ava. I’ll keep an eye on her.

You go worry about Miss Watson,” he said cheerfully.

Rob smiled ruefully, acknowledging Jerome had hit the nail on the head, and went off to pursue his own agenda. Meanwhile, Jerome crossed his arms and watched Ava dancing down the line of a country dance with some pimply youth who wore a dazed expression.

Ava’s effect on the male population was significant enough to cause comment, as he overheard several remarks from jealous matchmaking mamas and appreciative gentlemen alike.

*

Ava, enjoying her first official London ball, was in a buoyant mood.

Her hand had been solicited for every dance, her partners were fulsome in their admiration, and she couldn’t help feeling a little thrilled by her obvious success.

But even so, none of it topped the felicity of Ravenshaw condescending to dance with her as a grownup.

Finally, she had the satisfaction of knowing she had caught his attention.

The man was every schoolgirl’s dream, of course.

Devastatingly handsome, his fashionable and perfectly fitting evening dress of plain black satin showed his excellent figure to advantage.

And he had been her particular dream since she was fourteen.

But he had always treated her like a little girl.

Tonight, she thought, with an exhilaration that made her want to laugh for sheer joy, he finally saw her as a woman.

She had caught the slight glow in his eyes, and even though he tried to hide it behind gentle teasing, she wasn’t fooled. He liked the adult version of her.

She knew he had a shocking reputation, though what he was supposed to have done to earn it she didn’t know, and no one at home would tell her.

But now she was in London, she could very well find out what dark secrets his past held and why he was considered too dangerous for respectable young ladies to know.