Her Untamable Libertine (The Worthington Legacy #10)

Chapter One

Ignoring the glittering sea of silks, lace, and jewels that swirled about Lord and Lady Montague’s cavernous ballroom, Regina Taylor slipped between clusters of guests, her skirts brushing against brocade coats and crinolines as she searched with single-minded urgency.

The air was thick with perfume and candle wax, the mingling scents almost cloying, and the babble of conversation competed with the lively strains of the stringed quartet.

Ordinarily, she might have delighted in the spectacle of fluttering fans, whispered gossip, and shimmering chandeliers, but tonight she scarcely noticed any of it.

Her thoughts were fixed on only one person.

Jane Meyers.

The Earl of Penrose’s only child, and Regina’s dearest friend since childhood.

As little girls, they had played in meadows and whispered secrets beneath apple trees.

As young women, Regina sometimes wondered how Jane had managed without the guidance of a mother, for her dear friend’s romantic notions often needed steadying.

More often than not, Regina felt less like a companion and more like Jane’s guardian.

Tonight was no exception. If Jane truly meant to attach herself to Wayne Worthington, Regina could not stand idly by. Someone must save the earl’s daughter from making the gravest mistake of her life.

Regina hurried her steps, ignoring the curious glances of passing couples.

Her heart thudded in time with the violin’s quickening notes.

The engagement had not yet been announced, thank heaven, but Regina feared Lord Penrose would see this grand occasion as the perfect moment to parade his daughter’s betrothal before the ton. Time was slipping away.

At last, she spied Jane.

Her friend stood half hidden near a towering potted palm, a glass of champagne in hand, the very picture of stubborn defiance with her chin tilted high.

The scowl Jane cast in Regina’s direction confirmed what Regina already suspected.

Her friend was as weary of hearing cautionary lectures as Regina was of giving them.

But friendship, true friendship, was not so easily dismissed.

Regina had weathered Jane’s sulks before, and she would weather them again if it meant saving her from a disastrous marriage.

Regina wove through the final cluster of gentlemen debating horseflesh, and stationed herself next to her friend. Jane tried to feign indifference as her gaze fixed on the dancers gliding across the parquet floor. She even smiled—radiant, girlish, besotted.

Inwardly, Regina groaned. That expression was entirely due to Mr. Worthington, the man Jane had scarcely known a week and already dreamed of marrying.

If only Regina could share her friend’s enthusiasm.

Indeed, Wayne Worthington possessed the kind of looks that drew sighs from impressionable young ladies.

He was broad-shouldered, golden-haired, with a smile designed to charm.

But beneath the polish, Regina’s instincts screamed a warning.

Men such as he valued wealth above devotion, ambition above tenderness.

She knew this truth far too well from her own bitter experiences. The whispers she had overheard of tales of his debts, his restlessness, his calculated pursuit of advantageous connections, were enough to convince her that Jane’s happiness would wither under such a union.

“Jane,” Regina began firmly, though her voice was nearly swallowed by the music and chatter. She stepped closer, lowering her tone. “It is imperative that we talk.”

Jane’s slight frame swayed unconsciously to the rhythm of the violins. Her blonde ringlets bounced as she resolutely turned away, as though Regina were a figment of her imagination.

Regina ground her teeth and tried again, louder this time. “You might as well face me now, because I will follow you wherever you go. I assure you, your shadow will not be as close as I will be.”

At that, Jane shot her a withering glance, her brown eyes sparking. “No, Regina. We do not have to talk. I already know what you will say, and I’m not in the mood to quarrel.”

Regina planted herself directly in her friend’s line of sight, folding her arms in a gesture she knew would infuriate Jane. “’Tis not a quarrel I seek, only a chance to be heard.”

Jane huffed, rolling her eyes in dramatic fashion. “We have been friends since we were five, Regina Taylor. I can read you as plainly as I read the morning gazette.”

“Splendid,” Regina countered. “Then you already understand why I’m determined to speak.”

Her friend’s lips pressed together in a mulish line. “How many times must I repeat it? I have fallen in love with him! When Mr. Worthington and I first met, he had no idea my father was an earl. That alone proves his affection is genuine.”

Regina’s frown deepened. “Or it proves he is clever at pretending ignorance. How could any man of ambition not know your father’s name? Everyone in London does.”

“Not everyone,” Jane said crisply, lifting her chin. “Mr. Worthington is from Devonshire. He is hardly immersed in London Society.”

“And what is his father? A farmer? A shopkeeper? Tell me, Jane, does this paragon of yours not read the newspapers or the society pages?”

Jane bristled. “I doubt his father troubles himself with idle gossip. Mr. Worthington, I’ll have you know, owns several jewelry shops across England. He is a gentleman of industry.”

Regina restrained the urge to laugh outright. “Industry, perhaps. Gentility, I think not. If his fortune were truly so vast, why does he not dress the part? Why has he not been present at other assemblies or soirées?”

“He was invited tonight,” Jane shot back triumphantly.

“Only because you pressed your aunt and uncle to include him,” Regina said swiftly, unable to resist the retort.

Jane’s mouth pursed so tightly that all resemblance of sweetness fled her features.

It saddened Regina to see it, for Jane could be quite pretty when she allowed herself to smile.

Memories tugged at Regina as she stood there, recalling their youth.

Before they had come out for their first Season, the neighborhood boys had flocked to her side instead of Jane’s.

Her father’s lesser title had not seemed to matter when weighed against appearances.

The lads had assured her she was prettier, and they had competed for her attention as though her favor were a prize to be won.

But Regina had long since realized the truth—that most men did not truly see her at all.

They admired the curl of her dark lashes, the shape of her lips, the graceful bounce of her dark-brown ringlet hair, but not the heart beating within her chest. They sought a glittering ornament, not a companion.

For years, she had loathed the beauty she had inherited from her mother, a beauty that had brought suitors by the dozens but precious little sincerity.

Only her mother had been fortunate and wooed by wealthy men, but she chose instead the quiet baron who had adored her.

Regina prayed she might be as lucky one day, though so far, every gentleman she encountered had proven hollow.

She drew in a steady breath, pressing fingers to her temple.

The headache that had plagued her since entering the Montagues’ ballroom throbbed more insistently, worsened by the stifling heat of too many bodies and too much perfume.

Yet she could not abandon her purpose. She would not leave Jane’s side until her friend promised to delay any announcement long enough to truly know Wayne Worthington.

“Jane,” she said softly, though there was steel beneath her words, “you must remember how many times I have saved you from fortune hunters who only wanted your father’s purse.”

Jane’s sigh was heavy, but her brown eyes remained obstinate. “And I do appreciate it, Regina, truly. But that was when I was a girl. I am a woman grown now, and I can very well steer the course of my own life.”

Regina laced her fingers together before her, attempting to be calm. “Then I beg you to reconsider. Do you not recall Mr. Robert Willis? That was but one year past, Jane. He courted you with such gallantry, only to be discovered a penniless scoundrel.”

Jane flicked her hand carelessly. “He does not count. I was infatuated with his smile and had been overindulgent with champagne that evening.”

“Yes,” Regina said pointedly, “and were you not also a little foxed the night you first encountered Mr. Worthington?”

Jane’s eyes flashed. “I have never been foxed. Ladies do not succumb to such vulgar intoxication.” With a haughty flourish, she pressed her glass of champagne into Regina’s hand.

“Since you think me so fond of spirits, pray do me the kindness of finishing this for me before temptation overcomes me yet again.”

Regina bristled at the implication that all this was her fault, but she swallowed her irritation along with the champagne, draining the glass quickly.

Jane arched a brow in triumph. “Splendid. Now you need not worry over me tonight.”

A passing footman relieved Regina of the empty glass, and she resisted the urge to remind Jane of the number of times she had been giddy with champagne at precisely the wrong moment.

No, perhaps that would be wrong. After all, Jane was already cross.

One more remark might ruin their friendship entirely.

Before she could attempt another angle, Jane’s face brightened.

Her eyes sparkled as she looked over Regina’s shoulder.

Regina turned just in time to see four of their mutual acquaintances approaching, all smiles and laughter.

Any hope of reason fled. Jane was now surrounded by admirers and distractions.

Regina closed her eyes briefly, massaging her aching temples. The music swelled, the chatter buzzed louder, and her headache throbbed like a drum. She might have given up altogether had not a gentle tap landed on her shoulder.

She turned and found herself face to face with Rhonda Perry.