A Scandalous Past (Regency Romance, Book 4) (3 page)

Green fire shot from her eyes. “She’s my
dearest friend, and no one would ever have to
force
me to
attend a ball in her honor, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Are you under the impression that
I
was forced?”

“You made the fact perfectly clear when you
said Lady Staveley hadn’t given you a choice.”

She was intent on not liking him for some
reason. Well, that was fine with Brendan. He hadn’t even wanted to
dance with the chit, and wouldn’t have if Caroline hadn’t
forced
him into it. Both attending and dancing, that is.
Brendan decided not to waste any more conversation on the surly
Miss Avery, to wait out the rest of the dance in silence.
Unfortunately, that left him staring at the girl. It was a shame
she was so pretty. She’d probably fool some fellow, blinded by her
beauty, into marrying her. The chap wouldn’t even realize such a
harridan resided under her lovely skin until it was too late.

She did have the most remarkable eyes. Each
golden fleck was mesmerizing in its own way, even as she looked
annoyed with him. They didn’t speak, just glided across the floor,
perfectly in sync with each other. Finally the song ended, and
Brendan wasn’t sure if he was elated or saddened by the fact. If
nothing else, Miss Avery was intriguing.

He offered her his arm and then escorted her
back to Caroline’s side. He bowed stiffly and briefly met her eyes.
“It was indeed an honor, Miss Avery.”

“Thank you, sir,” she responded just as
stiffly.

Wanting to avoid Caroline and any other
dance partners she thought to thrust in his direction, Brendan
quickly made his way to the corner of the room where Robert was
talking with their mutual friend. Chester Peyton, the Marquess of
Astwick, a large, gregarious fellow was always too loud. When
Astwick spied him, his grin grew to the size of his face. “Well,
look, Rob, it’s ol’ Romeo in the flesh,” his voice boomed.

Brendan glowered at the marquess.

Robert simply shook his head. “You’ve always
been too irritatingly cheerful, Chet.”

Astwick brushed off the rebuke.  “I
just don’t know the last time I saw you dance, Bren. Miss Avery
will be the talk of the Town tomorrow, successfully getting Lord
Adonis to waltz with her. Every other girl and her mother will want
to know her secret.”

“It’s obvious,” Robert began, “that my
sister forced it on him.”

Brendan glanced at Masten. Though his words
were true, it was a bit annoying he was so easily read. He
certainly didn’t want them figuring anything else out. He tilted
his head to one side. “On the contrary, I found the girl quite
delightful,” he replied, hoping it made him appear a bit more
enigmatic.

“Bloody hell,” Robert grumbled. “Now she’s
beckoning
me
.”

As Robert started off towards Caroline,
Brendan turned his attention back to the peculiar Miss Avery. Lord
Brookfield, a fellow more than twice the girl’s age, took Miss
Avery’s hand in his and led her back to the dance floor. Brendan
shook his head. Even she didn’t deserve Brookfield’s attention. She
must have a sizable dowry.

“Oh, Brendan!” gushed Astwick’s Scottish
bride, Hannah, coming up behind them. “I dinna realize ye were in
Town.”

“Just arrived this afternoon.”

“Well, it’s so nice to see ye. How is
Rosamund?”

Troubled. Angry. Hard to reach. “Fine, thank
you.”

Miss Avery caught his eye, across the room.
She was miserable, with Brookfield leering down at her. Though why
he should concern himself with the annoying chit, he had no idea.
“Chet,” he began, his eyes still on Miss Avery, “does the name
Eleanor Avery mean anything to you?”

“Hmm.”  Astwick rubbed his chin. 
“Not really.”

“Eleanor Avery?” Hannah asked, with an edge
to her voice.  “She came out the season I was in London. 
Doona ye remember, darling?”

That would have been fourteen years ago.
Astwick furrowed his brow, and then shook his head.  “I seem
only to remember
you
from that year, my love.”

To the casual observer, one might think the
marquess was simply flattering his wife, but Brendan knew better
than most that the words were sincere.  The two had been
reunited the previous summer, after spending more than a dozen
years apart. In all that time, Astwick had never stopped loving
Hannah. 

Since Hannah knew Eleanor Avery, Brendan
turned his attention to her.  “What do you remember about
her?”

The marchioness’ blue eyes darkened and she
bit her lower lip.  “There was nothing particularly special
about her.  Though she was a bit full of herself.  At
least she and Marina Winston made sure I knew they were better than
me—a silly Scottish lass who dinna know anyone.”

Brendan didn’t hear much else after Marina’s
name was mentioned, and his mouth went dry.  His eyes flew
back to where Miss Avery was still dancing a minuet with the
ancient Brookfield.  “Marina?” He softly echoed his late
wife’s name.

Then Astwick’s ham hock of a hand slapped
his back.  “I do remember now.  A rather typical
brunette.  She and Marina were the best of friends.  I
think she married some sort of diplomat and lives abroad.”

A rather typical brunette
.  That
was fairly nondescript. Brendan closed his eyes and tried hard to
remember the girl.  He’d blocked out so much of the first few
years of his marriage, and apparently Eleanor Avery as well. 
She and Marina were the best of friends
.  Perhaps this
Eleanor, wherever she was, might have an idea of what Marina had
done with those damned letters, or what the devil she meant by
the lion holds your secrets
.

Across the room, Miss Avery looked quite
bored with Lord Brookfield’s attention.  Brendan smiled at the
girl.  She had just given him the best lead he’d had in
years.  He just had to figure out what to do with it.

Where was Livvie? Cordie had to suffer
through an awful minuet with Brookfield, and then she couldn’t spot
her friend or Kelfield anywhere. So she strolled the perimeter,
past couples dancing, matrons gossiping, and friends clustered
together laughing and talking with each other. At one point she
caught Clayworth watching her, though why he was doing so she
couldn’t imagine. Though she tipped her nose further in the air,
his eyes never left her. Infuriating man!

“Cordelia Avery!” came a familiar voice
behind her.

Cordie turned and was instantly embraced by
an old friend. Henrietta Scutchings, a fair haired young matron,
smiled sweetly.

“Hen, I didn’t know you were in Town.”

Henrietta quickly linked her arm with
Cordie’s and led her towards group of women. “I insisted that
Edward return me to London when I heard Lady Staveley was hosting
this ball.”

She was quickly surrounded by a number of
other young matrons, all discussing the unseasonably warm summer.
Cordie realized as she looked around her that each of the women
present had all come out the same year she and Olivia had. She was
the only one left unmarried. Why had that not bothered her before
now? Heavens, what if her mother was right? Cordie pushed that
thought away almost as quickly as it entered her mind.  She
refused to believe her mother was right about anything.

“You were at the Prestwick house party,
weren’t you?” May Lismore asked.

The house party where Livvie met Kelfield.
The reason for their rather quick marriage. The crowd around them
quieted when Cordie nodded.

Henrietta nearly squealed with delight. “Oh,
Cordelia, do tell. What precisely happened with Olivia and the
duke? I’m dying to know.”

Cordie frowned. They didn’t honestly think
she’d talk behind her dearest friend’s back, did they? In the first
place, she would never do such a thing. Besides, Livvie was going
through a hard enough time as it was. She would never add to it.
“They fell in love. Isn’t it obvious?”

May pursed her lips, obviously annoyed with
the answer. “I heard they fell into
something
, but I don’t
know that I’d call it love,” she replied cattily.

Cordie’s back stiffened and she leveled the
matron with her iciest stare. “Well, as I was there, and you were
not, I suppose you’ll have to take my word for it. They fell
quickly in love and Kelfield, who is quite an impatient man by the
way, did not want to wait for the banns. And when one is as
powerful as His Grace, one doesn’t have to. I think it’s wildly
romantic.”

“I suppose she must have forgotten she still
had a fiancé,” Henrietta whispered loud enough for the entire group
to hear.

Well there was that. But Livvie hadn’t gone
out of her way to fall in love with the duke. It had just happened.
“I’m certain Major Moore would want her to be happy.”

The women all tittered behind their fans at
her and Cordie thrust out her chin defiantly. At one time she and
Livvie would have considered each of these women to be friends. How
wrong they’d been. Without another word, she spun on her heels and
walked back through the crowd.

Then she spotted Livvie, in the main entry
way, standing with her husband. She caught her friend’s eye and in
no time, the duchess waded through the crowd until they were
finally together again. “Was that Henrietta?”

Cordie nodded. “She’s positively vicious
tonight. I’d forgotten that about her.”

“They were talking about me, weren’t
they?”

Cordie hated to see the hurt in Livvie’s
eyes, so she shook her head.  Her friend had already been
through so much, and there was no point in adding to it. “Of course
not,” she lied. “They ripped my dress apart. It’s terribly plain,
as I well know. But I can’t get away with wearing bold dresses like
you married women do. I think I shall have to get married, just to
be fashionable.”

Livvie hugged her. “You don’t have to
protect me, Cordie. I can well imagine what they think of me.”

They did know each other better than anyone
else. Cordie hugged her back fiercely. “They’re harpies. Pay them
no attention. I don’t intend to.”

***           

Marc brushed past the Staveley footmen,
daring them with his eyes to ask for his invitation. They did not.
Where was Kelfield? Then he spotted him across the ballroom talking
to Lord Staveley, a recluse of the studious variety. Marc never
quite understood the friendship between those two. They had nothing
in common—nothing he could see on the surface anyway.

“I’m certain my sister didn’t invite
you
,” came the voice of an old friend. Luke Beckford, a
reformed rake of the first order, glowered at him. “Caroline’s gone
to a lot of trouble to smooth things over for our cousin. She won’t
want you creating some havoc.”

Marc chuckled. “Relax, Beckford. I’ve only
come to watch the proceedings. This whole Kelfield marriage is
quite entertaining.”

Then he crossed the room to the duke’s side,
only to find his friend scowling at him. If he let all the nasty
looks go to his head, he’d start to feel unwelcome. “Beckford has
certainly gotten priggish since he’s married,” he said in way of
greeting.

Staveley chuckled. “Something my wife thanks
God for every night.”

Marc looked Kelfield up and down.  “And
where is your lovely duchess?”

“Talking with a friend of hers,” the duke
drawled.

Marc stared out at the sea of people. 
“Ah, there she is.
Who
is that delightful creature she’s
talking to?” he asked, with an appreciative grunt. The duchess’
companion was nothing short of stunning.

“Miss Avery,” Alexander answered.  “But
she’s not your sort.”

“Funny.  She looks exactly like my
sort,” Marc replied. From her silky brown hair, luscious curves,
slender delicate neck, and speaking green eyes—she was
dazzling.

“Then I suggest you stop looking.”
Kelfield’s voice interrupted what was starting to be a very nice
erotic daydream. “Lady Avery is a high stickler and won’t
appreciate your attentions towards her daughter.  She hasn’t
even let the poor girl talk to Olivia since our wedding.”

“They’re talking now,” Marc said, his eyes
still fixed on the pretty Miss Avery.

***           

“You are truly happy?” Cordie asked for at
least the tenth time.

Livvie smiled and replied quietly, “You know
that old adage about reformed rakes making the best husbands? 
Very true.”

“Is he truly reformed?” Kelfield didn’t seem
reformed.  He seemed like he’d enjoy devouring Livvie right
there in the ballroom.

“Mostly,” her friend answered with a blush.
“But enough about me, Cordie.  Tell me what you’ve been
doing.”

“I’ve taken to walking Rotten Row with
mother on a daily basis.” She rolled her eyes heavenward. 
“Then she drags me along to all sorts of charitable teas and
luncheons, and lectures me nearly non-stop about my
comportment.”

“All because of me?” Livvie asked softly, as
the first chords of a waltz began.

She hated to see the look of remorse on
Livvie’s face, so she shook her head. “All because I refused
Captain Seaton. Honestly, Livvie, I so envy you.  Kelfield
would never dream of dictating who you could visit, who your
friends were.  I was glad to know that about the captain
before I accepted him.  What a dreadful life that would have
been.  And in watching you and Kelfield, I think I know
exactly what sort of man might suit me.”

“What sort?” Livvie asked, her hazel eyes
wide.

“The sort who won’t restrict me.  The
sort who will give me free reign.  Someone like your
Kelfield.”

A shadow fell over them, and Cordie looked
up into the dancing, light blue eyes of the wicked Marquess of
Haversham. He was tall, with ebony hair that curled at the nape of
his neck. His broad shoulders made him appear strong, as did the
shapely muscles of his thighs. Though Cordie’d never met the man,
she’d seen him at Livvie’s wedding. His presence was one of the
things that had so scandalized her mother. Good heavens he was
handsome! And precisely the person she would conjure up, if given
the opportunity.