Chapter 8 #2
He turned to where Jordan and his wife were finding seats around the card tables. “Speaking of newspapers, Jordan, I brought a number back from London for you. I’ll have them brought in now. I have an interesting article to show you.”
Felicity’s knees went weak. Her column. It had to be. But if he’d seen it, why would he want his friends to read it?
Thankfully, Emily protested Ian’s suggestion. “I thought we were going to play cards. That is why you suggested we go to the card room, isn’t it?”
Ian had suggested it? Oh, of course. Her heart plummeted as she noted the servants who scurried about lighting candles and making the room comfortable.
The party’s move to the card room had been no sudden impulse.
He’d planned this “accidental” encounter, the devil.
He must have discovered her whereabouts from a servant during dinner.
So this truly was it. Their next battle. And she wasn’t ready.
“Well, isn’t it, Ian?” Emily repeated. “I do so want to play whist. I seldom get the chance.”
Jordan laughed. “You see what happens when you expose a country girl to some fun? She can hardly get enough of it.”
With a cross look, Emily retorted, “You know that’s not the only reason. There’s never enough people here in the country to play, since Gideon dislikes the game so.”
“Confoundedly stupid game,” Gideon muttered. He sat in a wingback chair near the fire warming his hands.
“Unfortunately, we now have too many people to play,” Ian said. “We wouldn’t want to leave Miss Taylor out.”
“Oh, don’t trouble yourselves over that,” Felicity said. “I’ll simply continue reading. You four go on with your game, by all means.”
“Impossible,” Ian remarked. “We’ll be noisy, and that’ll restore your headache.”
Glaring at him, Felicity gritted out, “Then perhaps I should retire.”
“No, I insist we cancel our plans. I won’t be responsible for depriving everyone of your company, especially when you’re returning to London tomorrow. Besides, I think you too will find the newspaper interesting.”
His amused gaze met Felicity’s baleful one, and she wanted to strangle him. What was he planning, drat him?
The others didn’t seem annoyed by his insistence on dictating their entertainment. Even Emily graciously conceded it would be unfair to leave Miss Taylor out. Nor did anyone protest when he sent a servant to fetch his newspapers.
After the servant had gone, he took a seat on a spindly chair, dwarfing it with his large frame.
When he leaned back, legs splayed and thumbs tucked into his waistcoat pockets, he wore the smug air of a man who always got his way.
“Now we can all join you in reading, Miss Taylor. I brought copies of Ackermann’s Repository for you females.
” The smile he fixed on her was as insidious as coal dust in a chimney.
“And for Jordan, I brought the Gazette. He’s a great admirer of Lord X’s column. ”
She swallowed. This made no sense. Why would Ian want his friends to read her column about him? Was it simply his obnoxious way of leading up to exposing her?
She forced a note of contempt into her voice.
“Isn’t Lord X that man who writes the gossip?
” She strolled nonchalantly to the opposite side of the room and perched herself on a silk-upholstered settee.
“Lord St. Clair, I can’t believe you criticized my preference for fiction when you read a rumormonger like Lord X. ”
“Ian doesn’t read him—he hates the fellow,” Jordan interjected. “But I admit to admiring the writer myself. His biting comments are a tonic to all the hypocrisy among our peers. Lord X is quite a wit, even if he does take a poke at Ian occasionally.”
Ian’s gaze was riveted on her. “Yes, he’s a wit. At other people’s expense.”
A slow churn began in her stomach. Why the devil wouldn’t he get it over with, this stupid game of his? If he wanted to expose her ...
“That’s not true,” Emily remarked. “The man’s judicious in his wit. He only sharpens it on the pompous, cruel, and unthinking. Only last week he championed young women who ignore their parents’ greed to elope with the men they love.”
The young countess’s unexpected defense lifted Felicity’s spirits.
Then she noted the sudden tension in the room. Jordan cast his wife a reproachful glance. “You shouldn’t mention elopements around Ian, darling. He’s not so fond of them as you.”
Emily colored. “Goodness gracious, I forgot ... that is, I ...”
The newspapers arrived at that moment, sparing Lady Blackmore any further embarrassment.
Now scowling, Ian flipped quickly through them, then drew out one that looked like the Gazette and tossed it to Jordan.
“Well, there’s no mention of elopements in Lord X’s latest column.
But I dare say it will interest you and Emily all the same.
It seems the rumormonger hasn’t tired of me as a subject. ”
“What?” Jordan looked genuinely surprised, a reaction that seemed to be shared by everyone else. Felicity prepared herself for doomsday, unable to think of any way around it now that he had her trapped here.
Oblivious to the import of his actions, Jordan shook open the paper and began turning pages. “Ian, I thought you intended to find out Lord X’s true identity. Don’t tell me you couldn’t convince the man to keep quiet about your affairs.”
Felicity sucked in a quick breath as her gaze shot to Ian.
Ian took his time about answering, obviously delighting in the power he held over her. “I had some trouble tracking down a man named Lord X. But I did talk to Pilkington. Though he wouldn’t reveal the identity of his correspondent, he told me something very interesting.”
Felicity’s stomach began to rival a butter churn for activity.
“Pilkington?” Sara interjected. “But Ian, isn’t he the man you mentioned when—” She broke off, her gaze flitting from Ian to Felicity.
Felicity couldn’t meet her friend’s gaze.
“Pilkington is the Gazette’s publisher,” Jordan explained, oblivious to the new tension in the room. He scanned through the paper for the column. “Wait, here it is.”
“Read it aloud,” Ian commanded, shooting each word at her like a dratted archer.
Felicity truly felt ill now. It was one thing to write the words while alone in her room, bolstered by her anger. But to hear them read by Ian’s own friend ...
Drat it, she wouldn’t let Ian provoke her guilt!
She’d had every right to retaliate after his nasty tactics on the balcony.
If her column embarrassed him before his friends, then he shouldn’t make them read it.
Besides, it didn’t begin to compare to the utter humiliation he’d heaped upon her that night, the way he’d made her respond to his kisses, then taunted her about her response before Sara and Lady Brumley.
She balled her fists in her lap as Jordan’s amused voice rumbled across the room:
Take heed, my friends, lest you invoke Lord St. Clair’s ire by reading this column.
He was unhappy to be mentioned here last week.
It seems the good viscount would have us believe that the woman on Waltham Street is not his mistress, but his wartime compatriot’s sister to whom he’s providing friendly aid during a time of difficulty.
If this be true, his behavior deserves praise, not censure.
Your faithful correspondent, however, finds the possibility dubious, especially his assertion that he fought in the war.
Has anyone heard of his feats or seen his bravery in battle firsthand?
If so, let the Gazette know at once. We would be most happy to print tales from his lordship’s years abroad fighting Napoleon.
Yours truly suspects, however, that the viscount’s “war years” are as questionable as his “benevolence,” in which case his claims insult the bravery of all those men who truly fought for our country.
Jordan tossed the newspaper down, eyes alight with anger. “I take back every compliment I’ve ever given the man, Ian! This is libelous! You should bring suit against him! He can’t defame you like this—he must be forced to retract this insult or provide you with satisfaction on the dueling field!”
Felicity made herself continue to hold Ian’s gaze. His lack of expression amply demonstrated that he awaited her reaction. No doubt he expected her to blush or flinch or show other evidence of shame.
He wouldn’t get such from her, the scoundrel! She didn’t regret a single word she’d written! Truly, she didn’t!
Well, perhaps that last little bit was excessive.
She probably shouldn’t have asserted her doubts so boldly.
But she’d been angry, after all, and with good reason.
He’d humiliated her as publicly as she had him.
No, she didn’t regret what she’d written.
He deserved everything she could throw at him.
“What I don’t understand,” Emily put in, “is how Lord X knew what you’d told us about your friend, Ian. I swear I never said a word to anyone outside this room.”
“Nor did I,” Sara chimed in.
Felicity listened in disbelief. What? It couldn’t be. The two countesses must have told others. Sara had told her. And surely Ian’s reason for lying to them in the first place had been to make sure they cleared his name among the gossips.
Ian flashed Felicity the barest taunting smile. “It’s all right, Sara. I know you probably told quite a few people in my defense. I don’t blame you for that.”
“But I didn’t!” Sara protested. “You asked us not to say anything, and I upheld your wish!” Her gaze turned to Felicity, confused, upset.
The roiling in Felicity’s stomach now threatened to make her faint. He’d asked them not to say anything? Good Lord. How had he known that Sara had told her and only her? What sort of devil was he, anyway?
“You or Emily must have said something,” Ian replied in apparent innocence. “You couldn’t have known it would be passed on. Pilkington himself told me that Lord X has a woman helping him gather information. No doubt she heard the truth from one of you at the ball.”