Berkshire, England
1814
If ever a gentleman stood in need of forbearance then this confounded house party surely fit the bill. Jonathan Oliver, Earl of Selwood, stood amid the giddy throng and wished himself a thousand miles away. The perfumed stench of his best friend’s circle of acquaintances—each resplendent in more silk, satin, and sparkling jewels than necessary—choked the very breath from his lungs.
He eased out of the mind-numbingly boring conversation he’d become trapped in and moved away in search of more appealing quarry. Unfortunately, a hand clamped over his upper arm before he’d gone very far.
“I tell you, she’s up to no good, Selwood.”
Jonathan groaned but turned to face his friend, Lord Warminster. A man who was never entirely what he seemed. “To whom do you refer to this time?”
Warminster’s fingers tightened. “Lady Warminster, of course.”
Jonathan glanced down at the hand that held him in place. “How so?”
Warminster released his arm. “Her whole face lights up whenever any gentleman comes into view, has done so all evening too. Can you not see what I mean?”
Jonathan saw nothing in Lady Warminster’s manner to precipitate such a high level of distrust. But then again, he was conversing with the most suspicious man in England and should hardly be surprised by the direction of his friend’s thoughts.
Warminster’s stepmother, widowed these last four years, glided past with a group of twittering acquaintances. Her deeper, earthy chuckle reached Jonathan’s ears as she clung to his sister’s arm, sharing a confidence.
The lady appeared to him as she always had. Utterly breathtaking. He could see nothing wrong with her behavior.
“If anything, your mother appears happy,” Jonathan conceded. “About time.” He muttered the last under his breath, knowing his older friend would likely not agree.
Beside him, Warminster’s scowl deepened. “Step mother.”
A servant passed them with a tray of champagne and Jonathan’s friend scooped up a glass with an extravagant movement, downed the contents whole, and then returned the empty glass to the tray. “I have a job for you, Selwood.”
“No!” Jonathan groaned. Whenever Warminster needed something done, no matter how innocuous the matter sounded at first hearing, Jonathan would certainly face a moral dilemma by the end. He didn’t like to spy on acquaintances, but Warminster often called on him to do so whenever he had state business elsewhere. And his request couldn’t possibly come at a more inconvenient time.
“I need you to keep an eye on her,” Warminster said. “With the house so full of guests, I cannot watch over her closely enough.”
Damn Warminster to hell and back. Jonathan had plans for this house party. Watching over an unattainable woman wasn’t high on his list. His mind was set—fixed—on what he could get his hands on. “She’s a grown woman. Let her have a bit of fun for a change if she wants it. Good God, why must you meddle constantly?”
“Because—” Warminster groaned dramatically—“it appears to me that my dear step mother is intent on flinging away her mourning for my father only to throw herself into some scoundrel’s arms. It is imperative she not form inappropriate—and potentially inquisitive—romantic attachments. I do not need this right now.”
Jonathan turned his gaze to Lady Warminster and he stared. Conducting an affair with the lovely widow was an opportunity no man would turn down. “She’d hardly do what you fear,” Jonathan whispered, breath lost as his pulse beat a sudden gallop.
“Look at her. The clothes, the jewels, the elaborate hair fashion.” Warminster’s glance darted left and right. “Damn it, Selwood, she even commissioned a new scent. I can see a mad scheme as well as anyone.”
Mad scheme or not Phoebe Torrington, Lady Warminster, could tempt any man to consider a dalliance. She might be ten years Jonathan’s senior, but she moved as sensuously as a much younger woman. Her head lifted and then turned in their direction. Pale green eyes held his gaze across the ballroom floor, and her lips curved upward in a polite smile. To his way of thinking, she had done nothing new to encourage a pleasure-hungry bachelor. She didn’t seem a lady in search of a willing bedfellow at all. He couldn’t imagine her throwing propriety aside at any time.
But Lord Warminster had to be dissuaded from including him in this bit of folly. “I’m not staying for the house party. How exactly do you expect me to accomplish this feat?”
His arm was grasped firmly, and they moved them further into the room. “Actually, you are. I had your things brought over earlier tonight. Just look at the image she presents. She’s smiling too damn much. She cannot take Plimms for a lover. He’s riddled with the bloody pox.”
Jonathan let his eyes linger on Lady Warminster again—sleek, supple, and widowed far too young—the golden beauty deserved better than to suffer for her first choice of lover after becoming a widow, if that’s what she intended. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”
“I’m not. I never am.” Warminster flashed his rings before him and made a show of admiring the pieces. “I don’t have that luxury. I cannot interfere in her life now. I’ve done everything I can to keep her apart from my life so she faced no danger.”
Jonathan examined his friend closely. Pale, elaborately curled hair and foppish attire hid a man capable of committing unspeakable acts in the defense of his country. The danger to Lady Warminster had once been all too real. His friend had divided the family and rarely saw them to keep up the charade. The carefree demeanor he had adopted in society concealed his real profession from acquaintances remarkably well.
Jonathan was one of the few to be told the truth, and he had never found Warminster’s intelligence wrong. Not yet at any rate. And if that was so then Lady Warminster was ripe for an affair—with the right man of course. He let out a harsh breath, groaning at his inevitable compliance. “Fine, fine.” He tugged on his dark spotted waistcoat, a dull affair when compared with his friend’s gold-stitched finery. “Where have you put me?”
Warminster’s face creased into a beatific smile. “Why, in the last room available, of course. Next to hers in the family wing.”
Jonathan coughed to cover his shock. “It’s not like you to be so obvious. She will discover you’ve set me to watch her.”
“Lady Warminster isn’t a fool by any means. All you have to do is get between her and her would-be swains.” Warminster’s jaw clenched for a moment, but then he seemed to remember the role he had to play and replaced it with a carefree grin.
No matter how much he wished it, Warminster wouldn’t change his mind. But if Jonathan disagreed then his friend would conscript half the servants to watch the lady for the remainder of the evening, and the remaining days of the house party. That situation didn’t sound particularly enjoyable for her.
Perhaps he could prevent the lady from meeting with a lover of her choice. Since they got along well, she might even listen to his warnings and let him do the choosing. The thought brought a wicked image to mind. Jonathan quashed it. Had he forgotten what he was really here for so quickly?
Jonathan scanned the room again, but his quarry was nowhere to be seen. Again. His future wife must have retired already so he had ample time to investigate Warminster’s ridiculous idea before he had to act the charming suitor.
Warminster stirred beside him. “Now you’ve agreed—and I can see you have—I’ll leave you to your duties. Make sure she remains above reproach. I don’t care how many scoundrels you have to kick away from her door just keep her unentangled.”
With a slap to Jonathan’s shoulder, Warminster moved away but stopped at a cluster of merry guests to join in their discussion with great enthusiasm. That false charm he employed so vigorously got under Jonathan’s skin at times, but at least the opinions Lord Warminster sprouted so often to others were nowhere near what the man himself believed.
Wondering at the strange turn of events, Jonathan prowled the stifling ballroom, nodding to acquaintances while keeping Lady Warminster in view. She stood in a cluster of giggling females and, as long as she remained there, he didn’t have cause to be concerned. It was only if she left them on her own that he would need to keep watch. Sure that all was in order for the time being, he turned for the refreshment table and a much needed brandy.
“Why are you skulking about, Selwood?”
Jonathan turned to find his sister hovering at his elbow. “I do not skulk.”
Lizzy uttered an inelegant snort as she brushed an escaping lock of dark hair behind her ear. “Then this is the finest display of not skulking you have ever done. Are you vexed because Warminster claimed a first dance with Lady Jocelyn before you had a chance to even ask?”
Jonathan scowled. Wonderful. He and his friend had chosen the same chit to woo. Had Warminster sent him off on a fool’s errand so he might have a clear field? Possibly. He couldn’t see them yet, but he wouldn’t be outwitted by an overdressed popinjay. The night was still young.
Jonathan tucked Lizzy’s arm through his and started a slow circuit of the room, hoping to find Lady Jocelyn. “And what is to account for your prickly demeanor this evening? Has someone had the gall to suggest you might stand up with them for a set?”
Lizzy looked about them with such obvious disdain that he laughed.
“A greater bunch of numbskulls couldn’t exist in one place again. Is Warminster acquainted with anyone in possession of more than a feather of intellect in his brain?” She raised her free hand before he could respond. “No, don’t answer that. You’ll only protest his supposed intelligence. I’d rather not argue with you about your choice of friends again. By the way, you should congratulate me. My plan for a singular future is well underway. I’ve barely had to refuse a dance all evening.”
He skirted a trio of fluttering debutants, keeping Lizzy between him and their attempts at flirtation. She was correct in her assessment of Warminster’s guests, a gaggle of numbskulls indeed. Except for Lady Jocelyn, of course. She seemed very promising. “I cannot imagine why the notion of marriage so disgusts you,” he said.
Lizzy dug her heels in. “Well, you’re a fine one to talk. The day you consent to undertake matrimony is the day I might do the same. Lucky for me that day will come when my hair has altered to the brightest silver for I cannot imagine the fastidious Lord Selwood married.”
The same argument. Another venue. He wasn’t as fastidious as his sister claimed. He just required a certain level of intelligence in a woman. Associating with Lord Warminster’s set had not thrown such women into his path until the pretty Lady Jocelyn had come out this spring and appeared a likely candidate for a wife. Like his sister, he required intelligence in a potential spouse. Yet, as Jonathan looked about them, he wondered if there was anyone here he could encourage to pursue Lizzy.
Not Peters. Or Ridgeway. Perkins was an amiable chap. He’d have to have a word later and see if he couldn’t be encouraged to consider her in a favorable light. Then he could work on softening Lizzy to the idea. How did one disembark one’s sister from the family home when she was dead set against the happy union of marriage? The way things were going, she’d still be joining him for breakfast on the day he died.
“Oh, bother—” Lizzy slouched. “—now he is a persistent numbskull. Mr. Perkins is coming this way again. If he keeps this up I’ll have to geld him to keep him at bay. Why will he not take a hint? Au revoir, Selwood.”
“Bonne chance, enfant!”
With a stubborn glare for her pursuer, Jonathan’s long-legged sister bolted from the ballroom. Perkins craned his neck to watch her flight, and he did appear to consider setting out in pursuit, but then he shrugged and limped to a chair, snatched up a glass of champagne from a passing footman, and settled into the cushions.
Why would any gentleman in his right mind seriously consider Lizzy, with her coltish charms, a candidate for matrimonial felicity? She’d be likely to conk the poor gent on the head before the wedding night started.
Depressed, Jonathan accepted Lizzy’s continued presence at his breakfast table for as long as they both shall live.
“Why so great a sigh, Lord Selwood?” Lady Warminster murmured at his side. “Are you searching for a dance partner and unable to catch the lady’s eye?”
Jonathan spun, an honest smile lifting his lips. “I was considering it. Would you care to dance with me, Lady Warminster?”
“But of course.” Her eyes sparkled with humor. “I know you to be a fine dancer, so I have no fear for my toes.”
Jonathan dropped his gaze to the lower edge of her gown. “Such delicate toes. Have they been much trodden on this evening?”
“Perhaps.” She glanced around. “I believe the last waltz of the night is about to play.”
“Perfectly timed then, my lady.” He drew her arm through his. Delicious warmth dragged a deep-seated need to the surface. Her scent—violets if he was not mistaken— lured him to lean close. But true to her words, when the current set ended, the orchestra announced a waltz with a short violin piece. Fate was certainly favoring him this evening with regard to one woman.
Lady Warminster settled into his arms and flowed with him into the dance. Despite the fatigue often displayed at this late hour, she moved lightly, perfectly pliant as they swirled around the polished parquetry. “How has your evening progressed?”
“Oh, as well as ever.”
Jonathan glanced down at her face. Her gaze drifted over his left shoulder, examining the crowd lining the floor. After a few turns he inched her closer, pulling her deeper into his embrace until her gaze rose to meet his. “You appear to be searching for someone, my lady?”
Her face pinked and her gaze fell to his chest. “No. No, of course not.”
With Lady Warminster pressed closer against his body, he could see why her stepson held concerns. The plump curves of her breasts made Jonathan’s mouth water. Any gentlemen would risk scandal to sample the view this daring new gown displayed.
“Liar,” he whispered as her gaze flickered over his shoulder again to the crowd lining the dance floor. “Your attention has wandered from me already. The other gentlemen have surely noticed. Most embarrassing.”
Lord Plimms circled the ballroom floor in puce satin, his gaze lingering—if he wasn’t mistaken—on the shift of fabric over Lady Warminster’s rump. Jonathan maneuvered them further away.
She glanced up. “Whatever do you mean?”
He snorted. “If a lover is what you seek you could do better than inviting Plimms to your bed. The man is certainly poxed.”
Lady Warminster’s cheeks colored a deeper red. “I wasn’t considering him. Not really.”
“Good. There are far more worthy men you should consider for the honor ahead of Plimms.”
Jonathan let the silence lengthen then drew to a halt when the dance ended. He bowed over her hand, but tucked Lady Warminster’s arm through his to lead her from the floor, avoiding the lurking gentleman. Plimms appeared ready to approach, but Jonathan scowled and changed course through the crowd until the reforming dance lines stood between them.
When they stopped, Lady Warminster slipped from his grasp. “You surprise me, my lord. I shouldn’t expect you’d approve of such a decision. Not with you being Warminster’s closest friend.”
He grinned but didn’t answer.
“Ah, I see.” Her mouth twisted as if she’d tasted lemons. “The giggling fop sent you to dissuade me, didn’t he?”
Jonathan laughed outright. “What your son sent me to do—and what I intend—is quite another matter.” He linked her arm through his again and they strolled along the edge of the ballroom.
Lady Warminster settled her hand on his sleeve. “Do you think me foolish?”
Jonathan found an empty corner and settled them onto a vacant chaise. “I believe you’re brave to risk upsetting Warminster.”
She rolled her eyes. “He might hold the title now, but he’s still my son. I know exactly what he’s about with his charade.”
Jonathan absorbed her remark. He’d had a suspicion Lady Warminster had discovered her stepson’s private activities. But he had to tread carefully. The matter wasn’t his to discuss openly. “He’s intent on protecting you.”
She brushed at a pale curl, one newly escaped from her elegant coiffure. Jonathan itched to set the remaining mass free. “Not even his father behaved with such managing control,” she said.
Jonathan settled deeper into the cushions. He really didn’t want to discuss her late husband—a man many years her senior when she’d married him—or whether she missed or did not miss him. He’d rather discuss her intention to take a lover. “What is it you want, my lady?”
“To make my own choices,” she whispered.
He patted her hand. “If choosing Plimms was your choice then I fear you might need some guidance.”
Lady Warminster stared out at the sea of swirling revelers. At first, he didn’t think she’d continue their conversation, but then she took a deep breath, forcing her breasts higher in the gown. “What would you suggest?”
Perfect! He smothered a grin. “I believe you should lay down some guidelines for your lover.”
She turned. “Such as?”
Her pale green gaze fastened on him, kicking his pulse higher. To hide his unsettled state, he offered a lopsided grin. “Well, if it were me, I’d pick clean as a first condition.”
She blinked and looked about them, discreetly checking that they were not being overheard. “And is that easy to discern?”
Her delicate hand landed on the cushion beside his thigh. Just one more inch and she’d have touched him. “Not always. That’s why I’m offering my insights. Gentlemen do gossip.” Jonathan shifted his leg until the material of his dark breeches brushed her fingers.
“Ah, I had surmised as much already.” Lady Warminster withdrew her hand. “Warminster’s tongue is hinged in the middle.” She focused on the dance floor again. “Tell me about the men here.”
Eager for an excuse to touch her again, he climbed to his feet then held out his hand. “Let’s walk for a bit. We’re drawing attention.”
As Lady Warminster slipped her small gloved hand into his, Jonathan tugged her to her feet. They were mere inches apart when her gaze rose to meet his, but he managed to behave and hold out his arm. The temptation to act improperly grew as she licked her lips before curling her arm about his. He guided her through the ballroom, away from any friends’ curious glances.
When they arrived at a less crowded spot, he leaned close to her again. “I assume you also want a man of considerable skill to, ah—” he searched for the right word—“dance with you?”
“That is what I hope,” she whispered.
Her timid admission dragged another bubbling laugh from his chest. “That should be the whole point. Hmm, there are few suitable gentlemen to choose from at your son’s house party. But there are men here who would pleasure you in a chamber lit to brilliance and still proclaim you the brightest star.”
At Lady Warminster’s shocked gasp, Jonathan led her out onto the terrace where darkness hid her embarrassment from any witnesses. “Or would you prefer the comfort of darkness for your daring escapade?”
He drew closer, slid the tips of his fingers along her arm, over the thin strip of skin exposed to the night between her glove and gown to gauge her reaction. She shuddered, her hitched breath loud in the dark night. Unfortunately, his body reacted too. Her velvet skin stirred a hunger in him he strove to control. “You prefer the darkness, I think.” Lady Warminster didn’t answer, but she didn’t move away from his fingers. Jonathan smiled and continued to caress her. “Darkness can be delightful too.”
“You’re trying to make me feel better. How very like you.” Her wine-sweet breath brushed his jaw, and Jonathan’s pulse hammered erratically through his body.
“I aim to please.” Reluctantly, he increased the space between them so anyone stumbling onto the terrace wouldn’t suspect their conversation as anything but polite chatter between friends. He also needed time to master his body before he was fit to be seen. “So, clean, skilled in the bedroom, and not averse to a clandestine tryst. Is there anything else you want from your lover, madam?”
“Yes, absolute discretion,” she said firmly. “I don’t want anyone else to hear of it.”
