Chapter 27 Derek
Derek
Derek steered Miss Forester and her aunt through the crowd of guests in the Rutledge drawing room toward Lady Rutledge. He barely suppressed his grin at the wonder that lit Miss Forester’s eyes as she took in the room.
He’d escorted them to the Rutledge dinner party—shown up when he was expected.
He wasn’t failing to keep his word again.
His stomach tightened, and he balled his fists.
He didn’t fall into melancholy like a few days earlier often.
But, bloody fucking hell, he couldn’t believe Miss Forester had seen him like that.
At his weakest. Most vulnerable. The Marquess of Dunmore did not do vulnerable.
Yet…he wasn’t as embarrassed as he’d thought he’d be.
But his insides were doing something. And he didn’t like it.
It'd been a huge risk, Miss Forester visiting him. Like she’d said, it wasn’t the first time she’d done something potentially perilous because of him.
But it was the first time she had without any incentive to herself.
Simply to see if he was well. It was like…
she was kind for the sake of being kind. It was very strange. Who did that?
Derek pressed his lips tight, his body attempting to hold back the frustration building inside him.
Because it was a bloody shame. That she had been correct in her little tirade the other night.
The fop Warren was probably her best option.
Unless she somehow impressed on someone better, which she could only do if she pretended to be someone other than herself.
And was that better? No one cared in this fucking world they lived in.
They were all self-serving bastards, only out for their own gain.
They didn’t even care about their own children.
Miss Forester lacked title, lacked wealth, even lacked a pedigree of successful breeding.
The only thing she had of value to society was her beauty.
The only thing. He scoffed inwardly. It was an outrage to think all she had was her beauty.
The calculated chameleon. Because her colors were stunning, and she deserved someone who appreciated them from the start.
He swallowed roughly. But he understood.
They had to make the most of the hand life dealt them.
And just like she had in the gaming room, she was playing strategically, working with the cards she was dealt, aware of the ones already played, of the ones that remained.
I don’t want to be alone. I shouldn’t have to be alone.
He understood what it felt like to be alone. Christ, he did. And this bright, beautiful, brilliant woman in front of him definitely didn’t deserve the same fate as a cold-hearted bastard like himself. He’d do everything in his power to make sure she achieved her aim.
“It’s absolutely splendid,” Miss Forester whispered, and her aunt chuckled.
“It is amazing to see such fine things,” Lady Elliot murmured.
“Oh, it is not that,” she squeaked out in delight. “It is the people, Aunt Mellie.” Her hand came to rest over her bosom—her delicious bosom—rising and falling in her excitement.
Derek’s blood thrummed. If she got this exhilarated from a dinner party, he couldn’t wait until he got his hands on her.
He might be set on making sure she landed her beau, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to shag her first. Honestly, he was doing her a favor.
He was sure she was destined for a life of disappointment in the bedroom with that soft-handed fop.
It was only sporting of Derek to show her true pleasure before she sentenced herself to a life like that.
That was the only reason.
A mocking voice cackled in his mind.
He told it to shut the bloody hell up.
She gripped her aunt’s arm as she bounced ever so slightly on her toes. “I believe I just glimpsed Mr. Frederick Hodge!”
Derek’s lips curved. He’d known she’d be excited when she found out who was in attendance tonight. Not just the Dowager Duchess of Ironcrest, who he planned to introduce her to, but academics. People who spoke Miss Forester’s language.
“Is that a smile, Lord Dunmore?” a soft, feminine voice murmured from his side.
He cleared his expression and met a pair of sparkling hazel eyes.
“Lady Rutledge,” he greeted with a bow. “It must be your delightful gathering that had me nearly losing my senses. My frown is now firmly back in place.” He said the last for her ears alone, and she hid her smile behind her fan.
He cleared his throat. “You remember Miss Forester from our sojourn at Hyde Park? And may I introduce her aunt, Lady Elliot.”
He stepped away as the ladies exchanged pleasantries and made his way over to the sideboard to greet Lord Rutledge.
“Rutledge.”
“Dunmore.” Rutledge nodded in greeting. He handed Derek a scotch without a word, and Derek gladly took it. He tossed it back, reveling in the smoky burn down his throat and the warmth spreading through his stomach.
Lord Rutledge—Rupert—was the one other person besides Rafe who had been by Derek’s side going all the way back to their days at Harrow.
Though their friendship hadn’t always been an easy one, thanks to Rutledge’s cursed mother.
Fortunately, Rupert’s marriage to Lady Rutledge had brought about a significant change in the man’s life, including his involvement in the foundling home and the strengthening of his and Derek’s friendship.
“Another great turnout. Should be interesting conversation tonight,” Rupert murmured.
“Isn’t it always?” Derek cocked an eyebrow, thinking of the diverse array of scholars, businessmen, and nobility that made up the Rutledge’s dinner parties.
Rupert chuckled. “Not in the usual way.” He subtly inclined his head to the left.
Derek barely contained his groan when his gaze alighted on the person holding Rupert’s focus. “I see now what you mean. You couldn’t convince the wife not to invite her bosom chum?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Rupert sighed. “But I could hardly argue. Poor Lady Pennington has to live with the man. The least we can do is endure his company for one meal.”
Derek observed Lord Pennington over his glass of scotch as the man surveyed the room.
Pennington’s gaze lingered on something.
Derek followed the man’s stare—and his entire body tensed.
Miss Forester. She stood alongside her aunt, conversing with some of the scholars in attendance.
Unbeknownst to her, a reprobate had set his sights on her.
Derek had wanted to wring the man’s neck at his treatment of Miss Forester in Hyde Park.
And Derek didn’t miss the loathing the man was directing her way right now.
Pennington had been made a fool. Men of his ilk didn’t take well to that.
“Can we?” Derek murmured, his words rumbling from him with a growl. He wasn’t so sure he could tolerate the man. Even for something as short as a dinner. If the man kept his lecherous gaze on Miss Forester, he wasn’t going to make it to dinner. Derek’s hands curled into fists.
“I suppose we’ll find out. Dinner is ready to be served. Just try not to skewer him with the carving knife. It wouldn’t be fair to the maids to have to scrub the Aubusson clean of blood.”
Derek grunted in response, and they made their way through the guests toward the doors that led to the dining room.
“Oh, did you speak with Ironcrest about the foundling home’s expansion?”
Derek’s heart sank. Fuck, he’d forgotten. Guilt slithered through him. He’d been too preoccupied with himself. With Miss Forester. The children didn’t deserve that. “I did. As of right now, there will be no second home.”
Rupert stopped in his tracks. “Pardon?”
“There were massive fires at Ironcrest Castle, extensive damage. Ironcrest can no longer fund the project. It’s where he is now, assessing the damage.
I need to start looking for ways to raise capital, but it’s a hefty investment.
” Understatement. It was a fucking immense amount of money.
The new building was set to be large enough to house hundreds of children, hundreds.
“Bloody hell,” Rupert muttered. “We already have forty children relying on that home. We need to think of something. Maybe we can find an investor in tonight’s attendees.”
Derek scoffed. “With most of the academics hurting for money themselves, and the businessmen more interested in filling their pockets than a child’s belly, I’m not optimistic.
” But they’d figure something out. They had to.
Wentworth’s proposal nagged at his mind, painfully persistent.
Not yet. They weren’t at that point yet.
They reached Lady Rutledge, who was conversing with the Dowager Duchess of Ironcrest, and a little of the gloom surrounding him dissipated upon seeing Dorothea.
Derek offered his arm to Lady Rutledge, ready to escort her into dinner as the highest-ranked gentleman at the gathering. Rutledge stepped up to the dowager.
“I see you are alive and well,” Dorothea remarked, studying Derek enough to make him squirm. “I was beginning to wonder, as you haven’t graced me with your presence in quite some time.”
Despite her chastisement, she released Lord Rutledge and reached out to squeeze Derek’s hand, her slight frame belying the strength in that white-gloved grip.
Rafe may be dubbed the Iron Duke, but he wasn’t the only one who possessed an iron core.
Surviving whatever demons lay hidden in their past demanded as much.
He arched a brow. “I visited you a little over a fortnight ago, Your Grace. If I remember correctly, you maneuvered—quite deftly I might add—His Grace and me into escorting you to the Chesterfield Ball.”
She waved away his response. “That was ages ago. I expect you to visit on the morrow.” She retook Lord Rutledge’s arm and, though the man did his best to escort her, she led him into the dining room.