Chapter Six
T hanks to Jo, Ella, and Ella’s indomitable mother, it only took one week for Maggie’s new plan to make its debut.
Originally, Maggie hadn’t considered making an appearance at Ella’s mother’s ball, but the ladies insisted it would be the perfect opportunity to lay her trap for Michael’s feral feelings. When Maggie had informed Aunt Alice about her change of heart on attending (and asked her advice on what to wear for the night), the older woman had almost fainted from joy. However, excitement soon won over shock, and five hours later, Maggie walked up the stairs to the Viscount and Viscountess Weston’s enormous and glittering ballroom wearing four pounds of feathers on top of her head and petticoats so stiff that she was sure they could walk themselves.
However, she had to give her aunt her due. As Maggie had reviewed her reflection before setting out for the night, she’d been pleasantly surprised by the handsome woman staring back at her. Usually, she had no patience for embellishments, preferring a more efficient and decisive style of dress, but she could appreciate this new version of herself, and even allowed it to bolster her confidence. The crimson satin skirts rustled when she walked, imbuing her with the notion that she was a great ship splitting through dangerous seas. She felt exotic and otherworldly. Didn’t everyone wish to live in someone else’s skin every once in a while?
Ella and Jo noticed Maggie the moment she entered the ballroom and could hardly wait for the butler to finish announcing her before swarming like bees around a fresh bouquet of lavender.
Jo, who usually played her emotions closer to the vest, couldn’t hide her astonished appraisal as she surveyed Maggie from head to toe. Maggie was almost hurt by the amazed approval, though she decided to let it go and take it as a compliment.
“Is he here?” she asked her friends, surreptitiously darting her gaze about the room. She fidgeted with the top of her dress and longed to retrieve her shawl. Thanks to Alice’s low-cut gown, she worried everyone would notice when her bumbling nerves turned all of her creamy skin pink.
“Yes, no, wait, who?” Ella replied breathlessly. The lovely girl’s waist was snatched so tight, it was a wonder she could think or breathe. Maggie blamed the draconian corset on her befuddled answer.
“Michael!”
Jo stepped in, flicking her head toward the far side of the room, past the young couples lining up to begin the quadrille. “I spotted him earlier, pretending to be bored and miserable like all the other urbane gentlemen.”
Maggie resisted seeking him out. She could already imagine the disinterested, haughty expression, the restless movement of his shoulders. It was enough to satisfy. “Are you sure he was pretending?”
Jo rolled her eyes, her irritation evident in the wave of her fan. “Of course he was. All of the men like balls even though they pretend not to. They want us females to believe they’re dark and brooding, all Mr. Darcys, no Mr. Bingleys.”
Ella scrunched her brow. “I liked Mr. Bingley.”
“Not as much as Mr. Darcy, you didn’t,” Jo replied.
Ella’s slim frame deflated. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
Maggie stepped between the two. The suspense of the night was killing her. “Can we focus, please? I can’t just stand here. What should I do? Do I look at him? Do I smile at him? I practiced in the mirror this afternoon and I’m really starting to get how to coquettishly bat my eyelashes. What do you think?”
She leaned toward Jo, fluttering her eyes as seductively as she could until Jo grabbed her forearm. “Please, don’t do that anymore. Ever.”
Maggie retreated, quitting the action. It was probably a good thing, since she worried she’d pull a muscle from all the practicing. “All right, then,” she began slowly. “Why don’t you just tell me what to do?”
Jo faced the dancers, her back straight, her neck effortlessly graceful. Not for the first time, Maggie wondered why the widow hadn’t remarried. Her mourning period had ended. Still young and still beautiful, Jo would be a catch for any man there, though there was the matter of her intense demeanor. “Good Lord,” she exclaimed, “haven’t you been to a ball before? You ignore the man. And then ignore him some more. If Michael comes toward you, walk the other way.”
Maggie wanted to laugh, and then cry. The horses had officially bolted. “I don’t understand. When do I speak to him?”
“You don’t,” Jo cried as if Maggie had just asked when she should strip off her clothes and bathe in the nearest fountain. “Not if you can help it. Tonight is not about speaking to Michael. It’s about making him want to speak to you . How did you not know that?”
Maggie felt like a silly child again. It was like the time she’d asked her mother if she could wear her father’s old trousers and her mother had laughed as if she’d told the funniest joke. Maggie had had to wait to visit her grandmother to try them on for the first time. Her grandmother had taken her seriously and shown no qualms. It had been glorious. “You didn’t mention it,” she replied sullenly.
“It was clearly implied.”
“Not that clearly,” Maggie grumbled. “I could have just ignored him from my home.”
Jo’s long neck fell back, and she scowled at the ceiling. “No, you couldn’t have,” she said, “because you need to be here to dance and appear to be having the time of your life without him. Only then will he realize that he wants to be the time of your life.”
Jo appeared so sure of herself, so in command, but something inside Maggie pinched—and it wasn’t only because of the dozens of pins holding up her hair and feathers. “I don’t know…”
“Well, I do. Trust me. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“And my mother would completely approve,” Ella chimed in. “Although… if that woman has limits, I haven’t found them yet.”
“Fine,” Maggie said. “Oh, did you ever ask your friend for that favor?”
The muscle under Jo’s right eye twitched. Interesting .
“Of course. I wrote to him last night.” Her voice was as tight as Ella’s corset. “He’s agreed.”
Either Ella couldn’t discern the confusing note in Jo’s tone, or she chose to ignore it. “Who is it?” she asked excitedly.
Jo’s muscle twitched once more. “He’s not here… yet. I don’t think.”
Maggie focused on the widow, sadistically enjoying her discomfort. “Are you not telling me his name for a reason? Do I not want to know?”
Jo’s laughter was unnaturally high. Maggie had never seen her like this; it was like watching Aunt Alice giggle like a girl in front of Michael—out of place and off-putting. “I just want you to relax a bit more before I tell you,” Jo explained quickly. “You’re rather highly strung at the moment.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “What’s the matter?” she teased. “Does he only have one eye?”
Ella perked up. “I find eye patches to be most dashing.”
Jo’s lips thinned. “No, though he can be a bit high and mighty at times.”
“High and mighty?” Maggie smiled as Jo continued to squirm. “Is he some German prince?”
Ella clapped her hands. “Princes are so regal!”
“They’re far too common.” Jo clucked in disapproval. “My man—I mean the man I’ve chosen—has more of a… history.”
Maggie sighed. History? “Please don’t tell me he’s old enough to be my father.”
Ella stared off dreamily. “Older men are so distinguished.”
Jo’s gaze remained on the dancers, but the tendons in her neck flared. If Maggie didn’t know any better, she’d think the woman was worried. “Just be careful,” Jo ordered her, shielding her mouth with her fan. “He’s sharp and silver-tongued. Don’t believe a word he says. Always remember—the more truthful he sounds, the more he’s lying.”
“I don’t think I want to meet this man!”
Jo lashed her with a side-eye, but her voice remained weightless, even helpless. “Oh, yes you do. That’s the problem. Everyone always wants to meet him. And his faults only make people want him more.”
Maggie couldn’t contain her irritation any longer. “Why are you nervous? You’re making me nervous. You said he was going to help me and now I’m on edge and on guard like I’m about to be dealing with Calico Jack.” Her shoulders slumped when it came to her. “Please tell me he’s not a pirate, Jo.”
That brought out a laugh, relieving some of Jo’s unnerving tension. “He’s not a pirate… although I think his brother might be one. And he is going to help you; he promised me. The only issue is that I don’t know if he’s capable of helping someone without also helping himself.”
“What does that mean?” Maggie asked.
Jo opened her mouth to answer, but a deep, amused voice from behind them beat her to it.
“Yes, what does that mean, Lady Everly?” the smooth voice purred. “I have to say I’m waiting with bated breath. And by the way, there are some of us who like Bingley more than Darcy. That stodgy fellow acted like a miserable prat half the time. Aren’t you going to introduce your friends? Don’t tell me I left my bed and came all the way out here for nothing.”
The voice should have prepared Maggie for the man; however, she would forever believe that nothing could ever prepare someone for meeting Lord Oliver, Duke of Winchester, for the first time. Tall and commanding, dark and lean, he was the man writers conjured when they wrote about princes in their fairytales. With his ink-black hair and high cheekbones, Lord Oliver brought dreams to reality. He was the cad that made women rethink rules and propriety. He was indomitably impressive… to everyone except Jo.
“Your bed?” She snorted. “You’re never asleep at the time.”
“Sure I am,” he quipped, the smile on his face never budging. “I just haven’t started my day yet.”
Jo tapped her front teeth and turned to Maggie. “Do you understand me now? Pure fox. Poor. Ruin.”
Lord Oliver laughed, a great, booming laugh that brought half the room’s attention their way. “But a quasi-honorable one, at least give me that. I’m a fox who repays debts.”
The tendons strained in Jo’s neck once more. Why was she so angry? The man was clearly a rake, but at least he was an entertaining one. “If you think this makes us even then you are terribly mistaken,” she replied evenly.
Finally, there was a change in the man. A slight alteration in his carefree facade. Most wouldn’t have even noticed it. He cocked his head. “Wouldn’t be the first time, Lady Everly. You and I both know I haven’t had a first time in a long time.”
Maggie gasped. She wasn’t entirely certain what the duke was referring to, although she could guess it wasn’t fit for ladies’ ears. She swiveled to Ella, but the poor girl had already vanished. Probably for the best. “Perhaps this was a bad decision—” she began.
Jo cut her off. “Lady Margaret, may I introduce Lord Oliver, Duke of Winchester.”
Maggie curtseyed. “It’s a pleasure, Your Grace.”
Something washed over him, and in seconds the rakish demeanor vanished, in its place the regal duke. He returned a low, somber bow, placing one hand on his heart. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Margaret. Or Lady Maggie, I thought?”
Maggie couldn’t help her smile—or her giggle. The man could melt ice. “Yes, my friends call me that.”
“Then that is what I shall call you. Because we are friends now, the very best kind, the ones with benefits. Like dancing. Shall we?”
Had the quadrille finished? Maggie didn’t have time to answer her own question before the duke swept her onto the dance floor, where couples parted as eagerly as the Red Sea to Moses. The music surged and Lord Oliver whisked her through the steps, commanding the waltz as he, no doubt, did most things, with utmost certainty and suavity. Maggie had never considered herself a good dancer—proficient, but nothing to write home about; however, in the duke’s assertive and steady embrace, her feet barely skimmed the floor. His confidence rubbed off on her. She couldn’t have been more grateful.
“I… I think I should start off by saying thank you,” Maggie stammered, hoping the duke wasn’t one of those men who preferred his dance partners to be silent. That was not her nature, and now that it was evident that he and Jo had some sort of a rocky history, Maggie couldn’t rely on the widow to be their go-between. Rules and expectations needed to be stated and heard. “I don’t know what Lady Everly did to convince you to help me. In fact, I didn’t know you were acquaintances.”
The duke gazed past her shoulder like he was recounting a sad memory. “Jo and I go back so far that we don’t even remember who we used to be.” His brow furrowed. “Or when she started to hate me. I suppose it’s better that way.”
Maggie doubted that. Women like Jo didn’t seem to forget easily. Or forgive, for that matter. “Well, regardless, thank you.”
The pleasant facade rolled back in like a storm over the ocean. “Not at all. The plays in London are boring at present. So I thought this would be a chance to star in my own. I always thought I would be great on the stage.”
Maggie shook her head. “Oh, no, no, no, you won’t have to do anything. Dancing is quite enough.” Her voice rose hopefully. “Maybe one more dance tonight? And that would be all. I wouldn’t want to put you out.”
“How about two more?”
Three dances! “That might be too much.”
He smirked. “For a duke? Nothing is too much.”
Lord Oliver was like a fairy come straight out of the Green Forest just looking for trouble. Maggie tried again. “I don’t think it will be necessary. Half the room is looking at us—at you—as it is. We’ve made our point.”
“At us ,” he corrected her. “They’re staring at us , and it’s more than half. Much more. But we only care about one person, yes? Is he here? I’d hate for all these feathers to go to waste. By the way, did you murder a peacock before you came here tonight? It’s fine if you did. They’re such vain creatures.”
Maggie blushed, ducking her head. “Yes.” She blinked. “I mean, he’s here. I didn’t murder a peacock, although my aunt may have.”
“Sturdy woman. I’d like to meet the audacious minx,” he replied. “Now, where is he ?”
“In the corner by the door, next to Lady Wendy. No, no, don’t look!”
Naturally, Lord Oliver didn’t heed her warning.
His face screwed up in confusion. “Oh, Christ! Lord Michael! You’re in love with that old bruiser? Look at him scowling over there. Always so serious! And look how hard he’s making poor Lady Wendy work for his attention. Bad form. Bad form all around.”
Maggie’s chest burned so hot she was shocked she wasn’t immolated right there in the middle of the dance floor. “Shh, keep your voice down,” she hissed. “And I’m not in love with him.”
His cool eyes studied her warily. “But you want him to be in love with you so you can break his heart? That’s awfully devilish, my lady. I respect revenge; it’s a lovely way to spend an afternoon or two. However, did you think about just kneeing him in the bollocks once to get this whole thing over with quicker? You’d be surprised by how effective it is. I tell you from experience.”
Maggie tilted up her nose as he glided her into another seamless turn. “Who said I want this done quickly? Besides, you and I both know the heart hurts more.”
The duke’s smile was slow to form, but when it did, it took up most of his face. “You are evil—another thing I respect, by the way.” He leaned back, peering at her with newfound fascination. “By the by, did you ever consider that you should be worried about me?”
“And why is that?”
“Because I like women with a little bit of spirit. If you’re not careful, I might propose by the end of the night.”
Now it was Maggie’s turn to laugh loudly enough to catch stares. “Will you please stop making me laugh? This entire party probably thinks we’re insane.”
Lord Oliver’s eyes sparkled. “Everyone’s insane when they’re in love. So keep laughing, my dear. You hired me for the night and I’m ready to play my part. Let’s give these people something to talk about.”