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

“My lord,” Livvie coolly greeted him.

A roughish smile lit his face.  “My
darling duchess, I have already asked you to call me Marc.”

Marc?
Cordie sighed.

Livvie shook her head, a false smile
plastered on her face.  “But that would imply that we are
intimates, Lord Haversham, and we are not.”

Though Cordie didn’t know why they couldn’t
be friendly. After all, Haversham was a known compatriot of
Kelfield’s. Any scandal attached to one of them over the years was
attached to the other as well.

“My loss,” he replied with a wink. Then he
focused his icy blue eyes on Cordie, and she felt breathless under
his gaze.  “
We
have not had the pleasure.”

Livvie straightened her back and pursed her
lips.  “If you’re looking for a proper introduction, then I
suggest you find Miss Avery’s mother.”

An anguished squeak escaped Cordie’s lips.
How could Livvie suggest such a thing?  Especially as mother
was occupied quite nicely at the moment, and the marquess was
looking at her like
that
.

The briefest smile touched his lips, though
Cordie felt it wash over her body. 

“I’m rarely proper,” he confessed with a
wink.  “So I think I’ll forgo speaking to Lady Avery. I’m sure
she’d only tell me no, and I have no desire to be turned away from
you, my dear.”

Cordie sighed.  “That’s not the least
bit conventional, my lord.”

He took her hand in his, raising it to his
lips.  A spark of
something
raced down her arm,
settling in her belly. “Conventional is boring.  Might I
entice you to stand up with me?”

“Cordie,” Livvie whispered, “your mother
will have an apoplexy.”

“Let her,” Cordie whispered back. She wasn’t
about to let the marquess step away from her.  She accepted
his arm and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.

Almost immediately, Cordie realized she
might be in over her head.  The marquess held her a little too
closely, and his smile was a little too wolfish.  At the same
time, being in his arms was the most daring thing she’d ever done,
and after being sequestered and made to be her mother’s constant
companion over the last fortnight, Cordie relished the stretching
of her wings. 

“Cordie is an unusual name,” Haversham said,
splaying his hand across her back.

She swallowed hard, making up her mind to
play coy.  “That, my lord, is because we were not properly
introduced. If we had been, you would know that my name is Cordelia
Avery.  Only my friends call me Cordie.”

“Hmm. We weren’t introduced, were we? I
suppose that means I can call you anything I want.  Venus or
Aphrodite, maybe?”

“Not Freya?” she asked with a flirtatious
smile.

Haversham threw back his head and
laughed.  “You didn’t strike me as an expert on Norse
mythology, angel.”

Angel
. She let the endearment flutter
around her heart.

“I confess I only know of her since one of
my brothers spent quite a bit of time in the Scandinavian
countries.”

“
One
of your brothers?” he asked
quietly, letting his masculine voice rumble over her. “Tell me I
won’t be called out on account of this dance, not having been
properly introduced and all.”

Cordie giggled. “You are perfectly safe at
the moment, my lord.  Gregory is watching after the estate in
Nottinghamshire, and Russell and Tristan are in Toulouse with the
45
^th
Foot.”

When his hand moved across her back, Cordie
was in heaven. Every place he touched came alive, and he pulled her
closer to him, scandalously. “So—” his gravelly voice nearly made
her stumble— “they’ve left you unprotected for any scoundrel to
scoop you up.”

She swallowed nervously. “No scoundrel’s
ever tried.”

His wolfish smile deepened. “I’ll have to
remedy that.”

“You flatter me, my lord.”

His hand moved again, stroking her back.
“I’ll do much more than flatter you, angel. Do you think you’re
prepared for that?”

Yes!
She wanted to scream, but she
forced herself to remain calm, at least on the surface. “That
depends on what you have planned.”

He stroked her palm with his thumb, sending
shivers racing up her arm. “Well, I’ve never actually
planned
a seduction before. They just seem to happen.”

“A seduction?” She giggled softly. “You do
seem terribly sure of yourself.”

“When I want something, I go after it.”

“And do you want me?” It was a brazen thing
to ask, but who knew when she might get another chance.

He stared at her for a moment, his light
blue eyes flaming every spot they touched. “More every second.”

Suddenly, a shrill scream echoed from across
the room, and the music stopped. Cordie’s heart stopped beating as
well. She knew that scream, and now she’d never know what the
marquess planned to do with her.  A plum ostrich feather
bobbed over the heads of other guests. So Cordie knew it would only
be seconds before she was ripped from Haversham’s arms. 

She smiled an apology. “I did enjoy our
dance.”

“Unhand my daughter, you blackguard!” Lady
Avery screeched, yanking Cordie backwards and beating the marquess’
chest with her fan.

Her mortification was now complete. Cordie
braved a glance at the marquess to find his light eyes dancing with
amusement. “Angel, the pleasure was all mine.”  Then he winked
at her and turned on his heel, leaving Cordie, her hysterical
mother, and the rest of Lady Staveley’s guests behind him.

As Lady Avery threw her arms around Cordie’s
shoulders, letting out another horrific squeal, Lord Staveley,
thankfully, stepped forward.  “Lady Avery,” he began, with a
calm, clear voice. “Your coach is being brought around.”

***

Brendan stared after the departing forms of
Miss Avery and her mother, just like everybody else in Staveley’s
ballroom. He’d never witnessed a scene such as that before, not
that he could blame Lady Avery for her outburst.  If it was
his sister, he’d have ripped her out of Haversham’s arms too—though
he thought the high-pitched wailing and theatrics could have been
avoided. As a rule,
he
never tried to bring attention to
himself.

One thing was certain—Miss Avery had left
quite the impression. Assuming they’d met before, he wouldn’t ever
forget her again.

“Well,” Astwick said under his breath, “no
one will be talking about Kelfield after tonight, but I don’t think
Caroline had
this
outcome in mind.”

“No,” Brendan replied. “Excuse me.” Then he
started after the Averys, following their path from the ballroom,
down the long corridor, and out the front door—just in time to see
them step into their coach.

The door shut behind the baroness, and then
Brendan saw it…

The Avery crest, emblazoned on the
door.  A roaring lion, golden against green.

He stumbled backwards, steadied by a
Staveley footman. “Are you all right, my lord?”

No. Maybe.
A lion
. Marina was close
to the Averys. Was the answer that simple? “Yes, thank you. I-I
need my coach.”

“Of course, my lord.”

As he patiently waited for his carriage, he
was pushed aside from
behind.           

“Apologies, Clayworth,” Haversham threw over
his shoulder as he bounded down the steps.

Brendan watched the marquess stride down the
street, swinging his cane like a man without a care in the world.
Did he even realize the position he’d put Miss Avery in this
evening?

When Brendan entered Mrs. Lassiter’s gaming
hell in Covent Garden, the last fellow he expected to find was
Haversham. Not that he should have been surprised. Both of them
were fairly skilled at the gaming tables. In fact these sorts of
establishments were where the two of them generally rubbed elbows.
Caroline Staveley’s ballroom was the exception.

The marquess was frowning at the cards in
his hands. Brendan didn’t have to see the table to know Haversham’s
hand was a winner.  He always frowned in that precise way when
he was about to win.

Interesting. Brendan never realized that
he’d noticed anything about the marquess before. To be honest, he
never thought he’d paid much attention to Haversham. They shared
the same vices, both were widowers, and they were of an age.
Society saw them differently however. In Haversham, they saw a
devil-may-care rogue who lived on the fringe of polite
society.  And in Brendan, they saw a heartbroken, noble
widower who’d buried his wife and daughter years before their time.
It was all a lie. The wife was his, the daughter wasn’t—though the
child’s death was the one that still haunted him. No, he hadn’t
sired her, yet if she’d lived he’d have given her his name. No
matter the sins of her mother, the little girl was innocent—just as
he’d been.

So if society was wrong about him, were they
wrong about Haversham as well?

Somehow he didn’t think so. It was one thing
to present oneself in the best possible light, to try to appear
better than one was, but no one who was noble would wear the mantle
of scoundrel willingly—and certainly not as well as Haversham
did.

One of the whores Mrs. Lassiter kept on
staff dropped onto the marquess’ lap and he kissed her neck.
Brendan shook his head. No, society was right in regard to
Haversham, he had no doubt. What was Miss Avery thinking to stand
up with the scoundrel? Was she trying to ruin her good name? He
didn’t even know the girl. Maybe she didn’t have a good name. Why
did he even care?

Because of Marina. If those letters were
with the Avery family, he couldn’t afford for them to hang their
head over their daughter’s shame and return to their country
estate—wherever that was. Nottinghamshire. Caroline said she was
from Nottinghamshire.  He had no connections there, no reason
to be in that county. No, it was best if the Averys remained in
London, at least for the time being.

A spot opened up next to Haversham and
Brendan crossed the room, claiming it. The marquess raised his brow
in way of greeting.

“How odd to keep bumping into you,” Brendan
said, then nodded to the dealer.

Haversham smirked, shifting the girl on his
lap to look at his card. “Indeed, Clayworth. It’s been an age and
now twice in one night.”

Brendan looked down at the upturned nine of
spades in front of him. Could have been better. Haversham had the
queen of hearts. “You made quite a scene with the Avery girl this
evening.”

The marquess met his eyes. “Rebuking me? You
never struck me as that sort.”

“Hardly,” Brendan drawled. He glanced at the
dealer. “Fifty.” Then he tilted his head to one side, studying
Haversham. “I’ve an interest in the girl’s family, is all.”

“Her
family
?” Haversham threw back
his head and laughed. “Are you blind or a eunuch?”

It had been some time since Brendan had
taken a woman to bed, but he still had all his parts, and he was
fairly certain everything still worked. His eyesight was also fine,
but apparently Haversham was blinded by Miss Avery’s beauty. Her
outward appearance was delightful, but he could do without her
sharp tongue and less than scintillating personality.

“My wife was close with the Averys,” he
replied, as if he’d always known that fact. “I’m just looking out
for the girl.”

“Hmm,” Haversham responded, though his eyes
were on what there was of his companion’s
décolletage
. “One
would think that one of her brothers could do that.”

She had brothers? Brendan hadn’t realized.
Whoever they were, they’d been remiss in their duties tonight. “As
they weren’t in attendance this evening, I’m speaking in their
stead.” How many were there?  Hopefully none of them had been
at Staveleys. As Lady Avery and her daughter were the only ones to
leave, he felt fairly safe in that estimation.

Brendan looked at his face-down card. Two of
clubs. That wasn’t awful.

“Are you, indeed?” the marquess asked.
“Funny, she didn’t mention you during our dance.”

“She is a bit headstrong.”

Haversham grinned. “She knows what she
wants. Just like you do, I suspect.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“You obviously are after the girl, same as I
am. So why don’t we play for her?”

Brendan blinked at the man.  Play for
her? How un-chivalrous. “I don’t think that’s proper at all.”

Haversham laughed. “Come now, Clayworth.
You’ll need all the help you can get in regards to my little
Freya.”

“Freya?”

“Which of her brothers was it that spent
time in Scandinavia?”

The blood drained from Brendan’s face. Which
brother? He had no idea. “Um, the oldest of course.”

Haversham’s grin spread across his face.
“You’re an awful liar, Clayworth. Your interest is with the girl,
not her family.  And I must say, your interest in her has
sparked an even stronger one in me.  So we’ll play for her.
Whoever has the better hand will get a fortnight’s advantage. The
loser can’t call on the girl until the fortnight is up.”

Brendan wasn’t sure how he’d gotten himself
into this situation, but he couldn’t really back out now either. He
looked at his nine and Haversham’s queen. He had a two, and could
tell by the frown on the marquess’ face as he looked at his
down-turned card the man had a good hand.  “Very well.”

Haversham turned over his card, revealing
the king of hearts. That was going to be tough to beat. Brendan
turned over his two and nodded for the dealer to give him another
card. The four of diamonds. He nodded again. The three of spades.
He’d most certainly lost, but he could hold his hand and lose for
sure or take another card and press his luck.

The table quieted and all eyes were on him.
Brendan nodded for another card. The three of diamonds landed
before him.