Chapter Two
“I have questions.” Gabriel Ashford, Marquess of Hawthorne, stated the words with a lazy tone as he sipped the warm orgeat, wincing at the flavor.
“You and me both, but mine are less questions and rather words I can’t say around the person in question.” Lord Allendale muttered then looked to Hawthorne. “That’s actually a lie; I’ve said all those words in front of my sister. More than once.”
Hawthorne chuckled slightly even as he nodded in the direction of the dancers in the middle of the ballroom.
The lilting tune of a Scottish reel added light to the atmosphere.
“It’s none of my affair,” he started, then frowned a little as he studied Ramsford’s expression as he danced with Lady Peregrine—Henley’s sister. “She does know his reputation?”
Henley gave a low grunt, then nodded. “It’s actually because of that reputation.”
Hawthorne paused, frowned again, and shot his gaze to Henley. “Pardon?”
“You heard correctly.” Henley glanced heavenward, mouthed what had to be a prayer, and selected another glass of wine.
Hawthorne had never known Lord Allendale to be overly fond of wine. His taking a second glass was proof enough that Henley didn’t approve of his sister’s decisions. Not that Hawthorne agreed either; rather foolish if anyone asked him—but so far no one had.
Henley continued, glaring at the dancers. “She has this blasted idea that a rogue would make the best husband, and she isn’t willing to sit on her laurels this season—not that she did last season. That was rather a different story.” Henley twisted his lips.
“It was your story.” Hawthorne gave a chuckle as he sipped his drink.
“Regardless…” Henley waved his hand. “She’s under the impression that this is being proactive.” His expression darkened as if he was reliving a bad memory.
Hawthorne watched in unabashed amusement as Henley drank the wine like it was a shot of whisky and not the good Scottish kind that needed to be savored.
But one that must be endured. Henley was correct; this was one of the worst ideas Hawthorne had heard in recent history, and the fact that Lady Peregrine had come up with it, and was executing it, gave him pause.
She was not the sort who would escape this type of situation unscathed.
No. He looked back toward her. Her mahogany hair up in some sort of confection and her eyes wide with innocence. He had the sinking suspicion that this was going to be single-handedly the worst disaster in London society since, well, her brother Henley.
What was it about this family that seemed to attract scandal and problems?
He should wash his hands of the whole entire thing and simply walk away slowly without looking back, preferably and possibly leaving the ball altogether so that he would not be around to watch the train wreck or potentially be implicated in whatever scandal could happen.
Not that he was opposed to scandal; rather, scandal was delicious to flirt with. However, he had learned at a young age that things were never what they seemed to be, and he was not about to repeat that lesson. Flirtation was far different than intention.
“Your face says far more than your words ever could.” Henley saluted him with his now empty wineglass. “And I agree with everything that you’re thinking.”
Hawthorne regarded him coolly. “I doubt you’d agree with everything.” He gave a wry grin. “It’s certainly not the safest idea I’ve heard; however, it certainly is bold. And your sister has some courage. I will give her that.”
Henley scoffed. “Or insanity; never ever discount the insanity.”
Hawthorne spoke before he could stop the words. “At least she’s honest. And forthright with you.” The words felt raw in Hawthorne’s throat as they came out, and he quickly schooled his features.
No use talking of the past, no use reliving things that wouldn’t fully die.
He gave a dismissive shrug, leaned into the careful facade he’d created for himself for everyone else’s benefit, and added a rakish grin for effect. “I’m sure she will find many willing subjects.”
Henley glared at him. “That is exactly what I am afraid of.”
“Then stop her.” Hawthorne shrugged.
Henley gave another glare, and Hawthorne was starting to become concerned that his face could no longer make any other expressions.
“That, my friend, is like asking the sun not to shine, the clouds not to rain, and for a Scotsman to give up his whisky.”
Hawthorne chuckled. “That impossible, huh?”
Henley nodded. “Yes, that impossible. You know of my sister, but you do not know my sister.”
“If I may ask?” Hawthorne shifted tactics, not sure why he was even continuing the conversation.
It was none of his affair. He had no reason to ask; however, the annoyingly gentlemanly aspect of his character would not let it lie. “What does your lovely wife have to say about this situation? I’m sure she and her best friend have discussed this at length, unfortunately.”
Henley glared, again, as if he lost the ability to do anything but that expression.
“Yes, well, she’s not exactly discouraging, but I will say she’s not encouraging either.
We’ve gone over this actually already this evening, and I am quite done with the entire topic.
” He stopped short, breathed a huge sigh, and said, “Oh, praise God, the reel is done. Now if I can just get her out of this building before she finds another test subject.” Henley glanced about, as if an exit would magically appear.
Shifting his attention back to the couple in question, Hawthorne watched as Ramsford scanned the room and took Lady Peregrine’s hand and placed it on his arm.
He pulled her in a little closer than necessary and gave her a golden smile, one that would certainly be inviting if Lady Peregrine was one of the many merry widows that Ramsford often enjoyed.
Hawthorne studied Lady Peregrine’s response.
She flushed under the attention, but there was not an awareness of the invitation that Ramsford’s expression offered.
Hawthorne released a little bit of tension in his shoulders. “She’ll be fine, thank God she’s innocent. She doesn’t understand what she’s about. It’ll turn into nothing; just watch.”
Henley regarded him with an expression of cautious optimism. “From your lips to God’s ears.”
Ramsford brought Lady Peregrine to her brother and bowed crisply. Kissing the air above Lady Peregrine’s hand, he thanked her for the dance before nodding to the gentleman beside her and leaving.
Lady Peregrine turned to her brother slightly but did not look in his direction. “Stop glaring or else everyone is going to think that you and Lady Anna are having a spat.”
Hawthorne choked on his laugh and tried to recover with a cough.
Lady Peregrine looked to him, annoyed amusement dancing in her bright eyes. “I’m not wrong.”
“No, you are not, and I would never dare to argue or disagree with a lady.” Hawthorne bowed slightly.
Lady Peregrine nodded to him, then glanced to her brother. “You could learn from your friend,” she said with a daring smile.
Hawthorne bit back another cough and laugh only to have a dowager walk by and pause, studying him as if he were carrying the plague. He apologized, trying to ignore the sour expression on the dowager’s face as she regarded him once more, then dismissed him and carried on.
Lady Peregrine glanced heavenward. “I fear I am surrounded.”
“No one is requiring you to stay here.” Her brother added, “In fact, I think now would be an excellent time to leave…”
Hawthorne decided that now would also be a grand opportunity to depart; however, he found he was greatly amused by the antics between brother and sister.
So he decided to stay, against his better judgment, simply for the entertainment of it all.
How much of his life could be summed up in such a statement?
But after all, life was short; he didn’t know when his last breath would be so he might as well enjoy the time that was given.
Even if it was spent in rather shallow ways.
“No.” Henley’s voice was clipped, and he glanced around as if realizing how his tone could be interpreted by those surrounding them.
Pere turned her attention to Hawthorne, the fire snapping in her expression catching him off guard for a moment. She took a step toward him, and though never one to retreat, he was tempted to take a step back but held his ground.
He regarded her, waiting as she seemed to weigh her next words. With a smile, she gave a small wave of her dance card, and waited, her brows raised expectantly.
It took exactly two seconds for Hawthorne to understand her strategy. And one second more for him to decide to use her scheme against her.
“I’d be honored, Lady Peregrine.” He bowed graciously. “If you’d allow me a dance.”
Lady Peregrine’s lashes fluttered as she offered her dance card, the one she’d been waving around just a few moments before.
Hawthorne glanced to Henley, who was watching the whole exchange with tight lips. “If you’ll grant your permission, the supper waltz?” he asked, watching as Henley gave a slow nod, as if trying to figure out what Hawthorne’s angle was in playing along with Pere.
“Excellent. Lady Peregrine, I shall see you soon.” He penciled his name beside the supper waltz and held out her dance card for her to retrieve.
As her fingers closed around it, he held tight.
Her eyes flickered to his, confusion in her expression as he took a small step closer, lowering his tone and gazing into her eyes.
“I’ll be counting the minutes, Lady Peregrine.
” With practiced precision, he allowed a sultry smile to tease his lips as he darted his gaze to her mouth, then lazily raised his attention to her eyes once more, still holding the dance card, tugging her inch by inch closer.
Her eyes darted to his lips then, and he tasted victory. “Until later.” He whispered the words, angling his head as if to kiss.
He was too far away to even attempt it, should he dare, but he wasn’t about compromising her in a crowded ballroom. No, this was to teach her how easily it was for a charming rake to tease her tender sensibilities and ignite passions she didn’t understand.
He was quite certain she didn’t care for him; in fact, he wasn’t sure she even liked him particularly, but it didn’t take love, or even like, to create an enticement. This was a lesson she needed to learn.
And he was delighted to teach her.
“Lady Peregrine?” He caressed her name with his tone, waiting for her to respond, to say something, anything.
He was giving her an opportunity to break the spell he’d woven around them.
She blinked, as if not recognizing her own name.
Abruptly, he released the dance card and walked away, resisting the urge to capture her shoulder when she swayed slightly at his quick change of posture and demeanor. No, she needed to ask questions of herself, and he fully expected for her to question him during their waltz. He hoped she would.
Because it was one thing to be told no by an elder brother; it was an entirely different situation to be warned by another man. And he owed it to Henley, who had no need to befriend him, but who had anyway. It was the least he could do.
And it was the only thing he’d do.
If she disregarded his words, then so be it. His hands would be clean, and his conscience would be as well.
He’d made it halfway across the ballroom when he finally glanced back to Henley and Lady Peregrine.
Henley’s expression had lightened, and rather, it was now Lady Peregrine who held the glare.
Hopefully, this was the tables turning.
For her sake.
He told himself that was the only reason his pulse still drummed a reckless tattoo against his cravat.