Chapter 4
Four
Branford returned to the supper room and approached Alex. She was still engaged in an animated conversation with her companion and took no notice of his presence—or the notes of the scale that announced a new set of dances were about to begin.
The fellow, however, paled slightly and stammered something that caused her to stop in mid-sentence.
Alex turned to look over her shoulder, and it seemed to Branford that he saw a look of irritation flash in her eyes.
“Is it really time for that dratted dance?” she asked.
“Perhaps you could find another partner, milord— at the moment I’m engaged in a very fascinating conversation with Mr. Simpson. ”
“No, Miss Chilton, I could not,” he replied. I’m sure Mr. Simpson will oblige you by waiting to continue his discourse until you return.” Shifting his stance, he cocked a brow at the gentleman in question.
Simpson turned even paler and nodded vigorously. “Of course, of course.” He swallowed nervously. “Be assured, Miss Chilton, I shall be more than happy to wait for you to return.
Alex shot Branford a black look before muttering, “Oh, very well.” But as she began to rise, she seemed to realize that her interest in the conversation had caused her to neglect her manners. “Forgive me,” she added abruptly, “but I have forgotten to introduce the two of you.”
Mr. Simpson’s eyes widened and he looked as if he would have been far more pleased if she had not noticed the omission. “I am sure that His Lordship doesn’t wish to bother with…”
Ignoring his nervous mumbling, Alex continued. “Milord, may I present Mr. Josiah Simpson.”
The man shot to his feet and bowed low.
Branford inclined a curt nod.
“Mr. Simpson, this is the Earl of Branford. You know—the one who is a bit confused about what grows in his gardens.”
The poor fellow looked ready to expire on the spot.
She turned back to Branford. “Mr. Simpson is Secretary of The London Botanical Society, milord, and is extremely knowledgeable. He is giving a very informative series of lectures on native English shrubs next week. Perhaps you would care to attend?”
Simpson was now turning beet red and making choking sounds. Branford had to stifle a laugh. The young lady was utterly outrageous, but not in any of the ways he had been led to expect. As far as he could recall, nobody had ever dared to challenge his intellect in so brazen a manner!
“Perhaps I will,” he replied politely. “But now, if you will kindly excuse us, Mr. Simpson …”
The man bowed once more, then sank back into his chair in relief, using the large damask napkin to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead.
Branford took Alex’s elbow in a firm grasp and guided her out to the dance floor. A slight buzz ran through the room. As he rarely danced at society balls—and never twice with the same lady—it seemed that people were curious …
Branford ignored the subtle stares and concentrated on turning the conversation to his own purpose this time around.
“Tell me, Miss Chilton, what do you do in Town for amusement?” he asked before she had a chance to speak.
Alex looked at him blankly.
“Do you ride?” he pressed. It was considered quite fashionable for ladies of the ton to meet their admirers for a canter along Rotten Row during the late afternoon, thus such an activity would provide an excuse to spend more time with her.
“I enjoy riding in the country, but we do not keep much of a stable in Town,” she replied. “It’s too expensive. We just have a pair for my aunt’s carriage and Justin—that is my younger brother—has his saddle horse, as, of course, a young man must.”
An opening was there for him to take. He decided to cast subtlety to the wind and find out exactly where things stood.
Lowering his lashes, the earl summoned his most seductive voice and leaned in a little closer. “In that case, perhaps you will allow me to mount you.”
Her face betrayed no understanding of what he had just implied. “I’m sure that is most kind of you, sir,” replied Alex earnestly, “but I couldn’t possibly ask my aunt to incur the expense of stabling a mount solely for my own pleasure. She does enough for me and brother as it is—”
She stopped abruptly, a look of embarrassment flitting over her features. “But of course that is no concern of yours, milord. Forgive me for mentioning personal matters.”
Bloody hell. Branford felt a sudden surge of anger as he realized that she was definitely not the jaded wanton he had been led to expect.
No lady with any interest in a dalliance could have failed to catch the suggestive innuendo of his last remark.
And despite what Society thought of him, he did have a strict code of honor—the idea of ruining an innocent was something he found beyond contemptable.
His jaw tightened …
“Is something the matter, milord?” asked Alex.
He forced his attention back to the moment. “W-What?”
“Your expression is awfully frightening,” she observed. “You look as if you are about to pounce on some poor creature.”
Yes, someone shall soon feel my claws, he thought to himself. Unclenching his teeth, he gave an apologetic nod., “My apologies, Miss Chilton. My thoughts were momentarily elsewhere.”
She looked at him thoughtfully. “I can hardly blame you for that, sir. These glittering entertainments are all so utterly boring and superficial, aren’t they?”
The young lady had done it again. She had him smiling in spite of his dark mood. One thing was certain—a conversation with Miss Chilton was most definitely not boring.
Once again, the music ended sooner than Branford expected. He escorted Alex back to a chair near her aunt, but made no move to walk away. “You seem to have a great knowledge of botany,” he remarked.
Alex lifted her chin slightly. “I do, milord.” There was a glimmer in her eyes that seemed to challenge him to ridicule her. “In fact, I am working on a book on native wildflowers and hope to have it published.”
It was obvious she expected him to turn on his heel, or mouth some platitudes about the unsuitability of a young lady seeking to do such a thing. Instead, he pursed his mouth in thought. “How interesting.” A pause. “What do you think of the work of Hopkins?”
“Y-You have actually read Hopkins?” she stammered.
He repressed a smile at the look of surprise on her face. “I have a modicum of education, Miss Chilton. Ignorance is one of the few things of which I have not been accused.”
She colored. “I did not mean to imply …”
“Of courses you did,” he interrupted. “You have been doing it all evening. Perhaps your own opinions of the opposite sex are as fixed as those you choose to rail against.” He knew he was being harsh, but he was curious as to how she would react to such a set-down.
Alex sat for a long moment in silence. “Perhaps you are right, sir,” she admitted. “I hadn’t thought of it quite like that.” A pause. “I shall endeavor not to act on such preconceptions in the future.”
She looked up to meet his gaze. “Now, do you truly care to know what I think of Mr. Hopkins, or was that merely a ploy to set up your lecture?”
The young lady had real spirit and grit, he thought with grudging respect. Most men would have quailed at his cutting words. “I am most definitely interested in your thoughts, Miss Chilton.”
Alex proceeded to elucidate on them in great detail, though his own answering observations and questions revealed that he, too, was quite familiar with the man’s work.
“You are extremely knowledgeable on botany sir,” she exclaimed, unaware of the pointed glances she and the earl were beginning to attract. “Do you keep specimen plantings at Riverton?”
“The gardens at Riverton are known for their variety…” Branford stopped abruptly, feeling a clench of pain at the thought of the beautiful estate and its grounds.
Was it his imagination, or did he catch a momentary flicker of sympathy in her eyes before she looked away?
“I have heard they are very beautiful,” she said softly. “And they appear to be in very good hands.”
Damn the chit! How the devil had she sensed what a painful topic the Branford ancestral estate was to him?
“Yes, they are beautiful,” he growled, then quickly shifted the conversation to a less fraught subject. “But speaking of truly remarkable specimen plantings, you have no doubt seen the latest arrivals from the East Indies at Kew Gardens?”
“Oh, I’ve heard they are quite marvelous!” She let out a wistful sigh. “Aunt Aurelia’s coachman has terrible rheumatism so I feel too guilty to ask him to drive all that distance. However, my brother has promised that he will try to get his friend Baron Rutledge to drive me there later this month.”
“I believe I am free considerably sooner than that,” responded the earl. “Say on Thursday?”
Alex’s eyes widened in surprise.
“I shall call for you at ten as that will allow you ample time to explore the grounds as well.”
“Truly, sir? You would really take me to Kew Gardens?”
“I am not in the habit of making idle promises, Miss Chilton. If I say I shall do something, you may count on me to do it.”
Her smile was radiant, transforming a merely pleasant face into one that was … captivating. “Why, Lord Branford, you are …you are exceedingly kind!”
Few people would have credited him with possessing such a quality.
Then her face took on a pinch of concern. “I must admit, sir, I’m still trying to learn all the rather silly rules which govern a lady’s behavior in Town so I do not embarrass my aunt or my brother. Is it permissible for me to drive out with you without a chaperone?”
“As my tiger will accompany us and we shall travel in an open phaeton, it is quite acceptable.” He closed his eyes for an instant. How the deuce had he just engaged himself to spend the entire day with a young lady he hardly knew?
“Thank you, milord. I shall …”
Alex was interrupted by the arrival of a young man. After casting a dark look at Branford, he reached for her hand. “Come, Alex. You are promised to me for this set.” He nearly yanked her out of her chair in the haste to be off.
“Justin! Where are your manners? You will have Lord Branford thinking that we were both brought up in a barn.”
Ah, the younger brother.,
The young man’s scowl deepened as she hastily introduced them, and he barely managed a civil bow before whisking his sister off to the dance floor.
The earl no longer had any interest in remaining at the ball. He turned and strode out of the room. There was a far more important matter to attend to at his club.
The porter took one look at the earl’s expression as he stormed through the elegant entrance portal of White’s and quickly retreated after taking the earl’s overcoat.
Indeed, the angry tattoo of Branford’s evening shoes on the polished floor as he stalked through the rooms of the club left no doubt as to his black-as-Hades mood.
On reaching the side alcove of the games room, he came to a halt in front of the podium where the betting book lay open and picked up the pen that lay next to it.
After dipping it into the bottle of ink, Branford turned back a page or two, frowning as he scanned the entries. He paused momentarily and then with bold, angry strokes he slashed through one of the entries again and again, until only an illegible black blot was visible on the page.
He returned to the main sitting room.
“Whitleigh!”
The gentleman in question tightened the grip on his glass of brandy, his knuckles turning white. Whitleigh’s three friends sidled a step or two away from him.
Branford fixed his quarry with an icy stare. “You and your friends were grossly mistaken as to the subject of our wager.”
Whitleigh’s mouth tremored as he sought to find his voice. “I … I never …”
“It was created under false pretenses, and thus I feel no compunction to honor it. You will inform the rest of your cronies that as of now, the wager has ceased to exist. If they have a problem with that, they may call on me.”
“Of course, milord.” The relief was evident in Whitleigh’s voice. “My … my apologies for any misunderstanding. I am sure—”
“Oh, and one other thing.” Branford’s voice was pitched low, but the fury in it was unmistakable.
“I am not in the habit of blackening an innocent’s reputation.
If a whisper of this wager is ever breathed anywhere, I shall know where to look for satisfaction.
” A grim flash of teeth. “I take it my meaning is quite clear. Be so kind as to also inform the rest of your cronies of that detail.”
Whitleigh swallowed and could only nod—not that Branford took any notice. Muttering in contempt about gentlemen who had no sense of honor, he had already turned away to quit the club as quickly as possible.