Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
Hartley wasn’t in the mood this evening to find friends to keep him company, nor did he feel particularly enthused to be at the Kenworthy’s ball, not after his conversation with Lady Isabella, but he’d stay, do his duty as Marquess Whitmore and try to salvage some of his reputation he lost due to his scandal two years before.
He sipped a glass of red wine, watching society mingle about him, but his attention continuously shifted to Lady Isabella Ravensmere. His nemesis and the only woman whom he could stomach a conversation with, even if it were nothing but barely concealed jibes.
Even so, he enjoyed her company, when she allowed him in it, not that he could say the same for her.
She could barely tolerate him, and he could not blame her.
Not if she’d been watching as she claimed this evening to be doing.
If she knew his every move, his occupations when at such events, it was any wonder she disliked him so and saw him for what he was.
A rake.
Not that he did not enjoy the company of women, and for all her prickly skin, Lady Isabella Ravensmere was one of the most fetching women of his acquaintance.
And one he’d only too quickly welcome into his bed.
Not that she returned the desire, but there were some weeks left of the Season, so he wouldn’t discount her just yet.
“Stop. I know what you’re doing. I saw you earlier with Lady Isabella and you need to stop vexing her. She’ll retaliate with you one day and then you’ll be shamed.”
Hartley shrugged at his brother’s words, and continued to watch Isabella dance with the Earl of Tyndall. “I like vexing her. She’s easily vexed, and she looks quite fetching when she’s mad. Taming the shrew.”
Benedict glared at him. “Don’t call her a shrew. She’s not one, and that is unkind.”
“True, and I apologize, and I’ll leave her alone if that will make you happy. I was merely trying to be her friend, since we’re all but related these days.”
His brother’s gaze moved to where his wife stood talking to the Duchess of Ravensmere, a picture of perfection, as all the Ravensmere daughters were.
“I understand Lady Clementine will be making her debut next year now, after coming down with a terrible lung infection this past winter, is that correct?”
“It is indeed. She almost died, from what Angelica said. She’s recuperating at the ducal estate in Hampshire but will debut next year.”
“I’m glad to hear she’s better.” He spied Lady Isabella with the earl once again and noted the gentleman’s hand was particularly low on her back, almost skimming the top of her bottom.
He clenched his jaw, catching the earl’s eye and shaking his head at his familiarity with Isabella.
Tyndall threw him a condescending smirk and Hartley’s annoyance doubled.
“I think you need to have a word with Lord Tyndall. He’s being too familiar with Lady Isabella.
” He gestured to where they were on the dance floor.
“Look where his hand is positioned. That is grossly too low and her reputation could be sullied if one of the matrons of the ton sees what she’s allowing on her person. ”
“I’m certain Lady Isabella knows by now what is and isn’t allowed regarding propriety.”
Hartley could feel his brother’s inspection of him and refused to meet his eye. “What’s your interest in Lady Isabella? Do you wish to court her?”
“Absolutely not.” The words came out far more quickly than he’d thought they would.
“I merely speak to her because she’s Angelica’s sister, and nothing more.
” Which wasn’t entirely true. He did enjoy speaking to her, but that was more because he loved watching her every mannerism.
She was one of London’s most beautiful women, eligible, and rich, and a duke’s daughter, everything a man such as himself wants in a wife.
But she was also so very prickly, had ensured her past two Seasons had been unsuccessful and he couldn’t help but wonder if she had spurned her suitors merely to keep herself unmarried.
Why, however, he could not fathom. Did not all women such as herself wish to be wed, have a household of their own to run, the possibility of children?
Not Lady Isabella Ravensmere from all accounts.
“Do not dally with her. I do not wish to have to answer to Ravensmere and nor do you wish to lose him as your friend. You have very few with all the women you’ve already bed and put your male counterparts against.
Hartley downed the last of his wine, unable to argue that point with his brother, not when it was true. He had put a lot of his friends offside, and mayhap he ought to curve his enthusiasm of the opposite sex.
He frowned at the idea, knowing that it would certainly not happen. He was enjoying life too much to stop rutting about town, which he was very good at.
“I will not dally with her, but I do enjoy vexing her a great deal and she always rises to the occasion.”
His brother sighed, shaking his head. “Lady Isabella needs to marry and you exasperating her will not help her in finding a gentleman she does not despise. God knows, all the others who have asked for her hand have been turned down for the smallest of tribulations. You annoying her further does not help our sex in winning her heart.”
“If she marries, can I dally with her then?” The idea hadn’t occurred to him before, but now that he thought about the prospect he couldn’t see anything but the positives that came with the idea.
She would be married, protected by her husband’s name and therefore any extramarital affairs she took part in would forever be between her and her lover.
A win-win situation certainly.
“Absolutely not.” His brother glared at him, his lips pursing into a displeased line.
“Remember yourself, brother. You’re a Whitmore, and the name ought to be known with pride and respected by all.
If you stooped to such a level you’ll never win back your reputation, which need I remind you you’re still building after you last scandal. ”
“That was over the winter and no one in town remembers what happened.” Not that he could forget almost compromising himself with Lady Aitken after they were caught in a carriage by her closest friend Lady Ponson, whom he was able to keep quiet by doing a similar service for her that he had for her friend.
It had been no trying task, he enjoyed sex and liked to have it as much and as often as he could.
Bringing a woman to climax so she wouldn’t gossip about oneself may be a form of pimping himself out, or blackmail depending on how one looked at the situation, but his troubles were sorted and pleasantly so.
“I remember, and you need to behave.”
“I will try,” he conceded, wanting to change the subject. He looked across the room and caught sight of the earl bending down to speak intimately with Lady Isabella. Whatever the gentleman said brought a flush to Lady Isabella’s cheeks and never had she looked prettier.
He rubbed a hand across his chest, disliking the tightness he felt there and hoped he had not imbibed too much cheese with his dinner before heading out.
“I should hope you shall. For all our sakes.”
His brother started in the direction of his wife, leaving him alone. Hartley took the opportunity to watch Lady Isabella’s mannerisms as she spoke with the earl, and tried to decipher what they were speaking of.
The weather, the state of the roads, or perhaps how much the earl—who was just as bad as he when he was let loose in a brothel—wished to please Lady Isabella. Was he spouting how much he liked her? Admired her and thought her pretty?
Before Hartley knew what he was about, he’d started in their direction. There was nothing wrong in speaking with her again. They were almost family after all, and what better way to be kept safe from rakes than being protected by one.
The Duke of Rolle’s hand clasped his shoulder and he halted his steps toward Lady Isabella. “Whitmore, I couldn’t help but overhear your earlier conversation with Lady Isabella, forgive me but I have a little proposition you may enjoy.”
He turned to face the duke. “Proposition? I’m always up for one of those.”
“Well, as to that,” the duke continued. “Since you bested me last week for several hundred pounds, what if I wagered that sum, doubled it, should either of us win.”
Whitmore studied the duke a moment, liking the sound of him winning a thousand pounds, not merely five hundred. “Continue,” he advised.
Rolle’s attention moved to where Isabella stood, and Hartley’s interest doubled. “Lady Isabella is a woman who knows her own mind. In fact, she doesn’t tolerate fools well, nor you from the looks of it, and so I think a wager on which one of us can gain her first kiss, wins.”
A kiss. With Lady Isabella. Hartley liked the idea immediately and nodded. “I’d say that I would take that wager and wish you well, although I do believe she’s quite enamoured of my charms, as much as she pretends to be otherwise.”
The duke laughed, shaking his head. “I think you’re quite mad, and incorrect, but she has not been as frosty toward me of late, and so mayhap I can win.”
The idea of Isabella kissing the duke made the idea sour a little. “And if she believes us in love with her? That a kiss would equal marriage, what then?”
“I do not think a spinster and certainly not Lady Isabella would kiss any man unless she wished to. I think she will enjoy the interlude and be thankful of it, without expecting anything in return. This being her third Season and all, I imagine she’s quite desperate.”
Hartley’s hackles rose. “She’s a duke’s daughter, I think you may be underestimating her or what she knows to be right when it comes to society and our conduct within it.”
The duke shrugged. “Maybe as we get to know her, in our quest to kiss her sweet lips, which I must say are quite fetching, we shall grow feelings, and marriage will be a possibility, but we shall not know that until we try.” The duke paused. “So, what say you?”
Hartley studied Lady Isabella and knew to his core he’d like nothing more than to kiss her wicked and sometimes cutting mouth. Silencing her for one moment. As for the duke kissing her…that would never happen. “I say we’re in agreement. A thousand pounds to the man who kisses her first.”
The duke nodded, clearly pleased with himself and his wager. “I look forward to my earnings. Good evening to you, Whitmore.”
“Rolle.”