An Unexpected Gentleman (43 page)

Unless he was very much mistaken, her lips twitched with amusement. “No.”

This time, when she pulled at her wrist, he had no choice but to grant her freedom or risk being yanked from his seat.

He squinted at her willowy arms. “Stronger than you look.”

That dubious compliment earned him a bland expression. “I daresay a kitten would give you trouble in your current condition, which is why I need to ring—”

“That’s insulting.” Quite possibly true, but nonetheless insulting. “Unless you are referring to one of those giant breeds of cats? Tigers and such? They have exceptionally large kittens.”

“Cubs, Mr. Dane. And no, I was not.”

“Then I’m insulted.” He made a show of slumping in his chair, but when that failed to lure out a smile, he tried another tack. “Before passing along your next barb, you might consider taking into account the sad,
sad
nature of events which has led to my weakened state.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He wondered if he was, perhaps, not expressing himself as clearly as he imagined. “There’s been a death in the family, you’ll recall.”

It was unforgivable to make mention of his brother’s passing in such a careless manner, and he might have felt a little guilty for it, were he not so damnably angry with his brother just now. And so gratified to see Miss Rees’s expression soften once again. And so stupendously drunk.

But softened or not, Miss Rees appeared implacable in her resolve to leave. “Please understand, Mr. Dane, I am most sorry for the loss of your father. However—”

Baffled, he straightened in his chair. “My father?”

“The gentleman from whom you’ve inherited the viscountcy.”

“Ah, no. My elder brother, Reginald. My father shuffled off the mortal coil years ago.” He gave that additional thought. “Maybe only two. Strange, seems longer. And not long enough.” The viscount’s baritone voice had grown happily dim in his memory.

“I am truly sorry for the loss of your brother,” Miss Rees corrected patiently. “However, I cannot continue to keep company with you in here, like this. I may not come from good ton, but I am an unmarried young woman, and, as a gentleman, you—”

“Good Lord, child, where did you acquire the impression I was a gentleman?”

“Very well,” she conceded. “As a
viscount
, you are expected, at the very least, to make a show of adhering to the strictures governing a gentleman’s behavior, and as such, you
must
respect my wish to not risk being seen in—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he groaned, “just
go
.”

A lecture of what he
must do
was the last thing he wanted to listen to at present. He’d done nothing but follow the mandates of others for the first four-and-twenty years of his life. It had been an appalling experience. He had discovered in the year since that it was far better to be a disappointment than a pawn. Better still if he didn’t have to suffer through someone else’s long-winded opinion on the matter.

Miss Rees glanced at the bellpull, then back to him. “Will you allow me to ring for—?”

“No.” If he couldn’t sit with the pretty lady, he’d sit alone for a bit and find his own way back downstairs.

“As you like,” she murmured, and she turned and walked away with the flowing grace that had helped cement her nickname as the Ice Maiden.

“Like gliding on ice,” he mumbled. “’S not natural.”

Giving no indication of having heard the comment, she reached the door, paused with her hand on the handle, and looked back with a pleading expression. “
Please
allow me to ring for assistance.”

“No.”

“But I—”

“No.”

A small crease formed between the dark arcs of her brows. “You can’t mean to—”

“Unaccustomed to hearing the word ‘no,’ aren’t you?”

Her lips thinned. “I ought to have left you in the hall.”

“Regrets are like mistresses,” he informed her.

“I . . .” Her hand dropped from the handle. “What?”

“Good men don’t have them.”

She blinked at that, then broke into a soft laughter that sent pleasant chills along his skin. “That is the most ridiculous adage I have ever heard.”

“I’m foxed,” he pointed out and shrugged. “I’m cleverer when . . . Cleverer? Is it ‘cleverer’? Or is it ‘more clever’? Whichever. I’m brilliant when I’m sober.”

“And less inclined to announce it, one might hope.” With a resigned sigh, she reached for the door handle again, but this time, she locked the door and dropped the key in her pocket.

“You move like a queen,” he said quietly as she crossed the room and resumed her seat in front of him. “On ice skates. What did you just do?”

“I locked the door.”

“Yes, I know.” He was drunk, not blind. “Why?”

“To avoid another inebriated guest stumbling in upon us by accident.”

“You mean to stay?” he asked, not quite believing it.

Avoiding his gaze, she brushed a smoothing hand down the sleeve of one arm. “You won’t allow me to call for someone else.”

“And you aren’t willing to leave me sitting here all alone? That is . . . unexpected.” He leaned in for a closer inspection of her features. “Aren’t you supposed to be frigid and uncaring?”

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing just a hair. “Aren’t you supposed to be charming?”

He grinned at her, appreciating the sharp retort. “I’ll have you know, I could talk the devil out of his tail.”

“I’m not a devil, Mr. Dane.”

“No . . . I believe you might be an angel.”

“And I believe the reports of your charm have been grossly exaggerated.”

“Was a bit trite, wasn’t it?” He propped his elbow on the table, rested his chin in his hand, and studied her features at leisure. “There
is
something . . . otherworldly about you. The eyes, I think. But they’re not angelic. They’re fae.”

“They’re merely sober.”

“Equally disconcerting. Why is it you never come downstairs with your mother? She throws wonderful parties. You’d enjoy yourself, I think.”

“I doubt it.”

“You’re enjoying yourself now, with me,” he pointed out. Reasonably, to his mind. “The ballroom is brimming with fellows just like myself.”

“Inebriated?”

“Yes,” he allowed. “Also, exciting and charming.”

She eyed him with frank curiosity. “Is that what you’re doing coming to parties like these? Dedicating your life to being exciting and charming?”

“I don’t dedicate myself to anything,” he assured her, lifting his chin from his hand. “Entirely too much work.”

“Being a member of the demimonde isn’t work? Drink and women and scandals.” She shook her head lightly. “Seems prodigiously taxing to me. Why do you do it?”

“Because I can,” he replied with a careless lift of one shoulder. “Because I’m not supposed to.”

She digested that quietly a moment before speaking. “A viscountcy comes with many responsibilities, I imagine. Will you change your ways now?”

“I have changed my ways, sweet. That is how I landed here. And I must say, misshapen furniture notwithstanding, I rather like where I am at present.” He smiled at her and watched the faintest of blushes bloom on her cheeks. “How is it you knew of my nickname, but not that my brother was the viscount?”

To her credit, she merely blinked at the sudden change of subject. “When one spends little time outside one’s rooms, one gains information in bits and pieces. I encountered your name and reputation in passing.”

“Everything you do is in passing. A moment in the ballroom, a mere peek out of the opera box. I’ve never met the man to have spent more than thirty seconds in your company.”

A flicker of unease crossed her features, but it was gone almost the instant it arrived. “Do you mean to brag to your friends to have been the only one?”

“And be banished from your mother’s home?” He made a scoffing noise. “I’ll keep the accomplishment to myself, though it will cost me. You’re the subject of considerable speculation, you know.”

“Am I?” She digested that behind a shuttered expression. “One would think people would have something more compelling to discuss than a woman of whom they know nothing.”

“It’s the mystery of the thing,” he explained. “What will become of the spoiled, reclusive daughter of the notorious Mrs. Wrayburn? Will she follow in her mother’s footsteps and become a member of the demimonde? Will she marry a tradesman with the fortune to keep her in silk and diamonds?”

“Perhaps I’m not as spoiled as people seem to think,” she offered softly. “Perhaps I’ll marry a pauper and reside in a cottage in the countryside.”

“And live off your dowry?” He considered that. “Do you have a dowry?”

“You’d have to ask my mother.”

“Hardly matters,” he decided. “Who are you going to meet, peeking into ballrooms and parlors long enough to give us all a glimpse of your fae eyes and fine feathers, and hiding away upstairs for the rest of the night?”

“I don’t hide,” she replied, a whisper of defensiveness creeping into her voice. “And I’ve met you.”

“I hope you’re not expecting a proposal.”

Her lips curved. “You’re shortsighted to not consider the notion. You could do your duty to the viscountcy and shock good society in one fell swoop.”

“That is an
excellent
point.” Leaning toward her, he offered a lovelorn expression. “Will you marry me, Miss Anna Rees?”

“No, Lord Dane. I will not.”

The quick rejection surprised him into sitting up. There wasn’t a single unmarried woman of his acquaintance who would refuse an offer, even a drunken one, from a peer. “You would turn down the opportunity to be a viscountess?”

“Gladly.”

He pressed his lips together in thought before asking, “Is it because I’m the viscount?”

“No; it is because I have no interest in being a member of either the demimonde or the beau monde. Or being married to either.” There was a short hesitation before she spoke again. “I want the cottage in the countryside.”

“Do you? Truly?” He’d never have guessed it. No one who had caught a glimpse of Miss Rees in her exquisite gowns and sparkling jewels, or listened to Mrs. Wrayburn wax lovingly on about her daughter’s adorable demands for exquisite gowns and sparkling jewels, would have entertained the idea for even a moment. Miss Rees was more of an enigma than any of them had realized. “Fascinating. What else do you want?”

“From my life, do you mean?” One dark brow winged up. “Why on earth would I share my dreams with you?”

“You just told me of the cottage,” he reminded her. “And I’m not out to have your secrets. Merely your interests. It’s a way to pass the time. Unless you’d care to sit here in silence?”

“I don’t . . .” She trailed off, looked away, and was quiet for so long, Max thought perhaps she had chosen to sit in silence after all. Which was all the same to him. There were worse ways to spend the evening than sitting quietly with Miss Anna Rees. He liked looking at her—the high plane of her cheekbones, the soft curve of her jaw. He wanted to reach out and trace the outline of her ear, maybe draw his finger down the length of her pale neck.

“I want a hound,” Miss Rees said suddenly, and even with the layers of drink blurring his senses, he instantly recognized the twin notes of uncertainty and determination in her voice. It took him a moment more, however, to push through those layers and remember what they’d been talking about.

“A hound. Right. You want a hound. Like your mother’s pug?”

“No, not a lapdog. A
hound
,” she emphasized with a hint of excitement. “I want a sturdy sort of dog I can stroll with through a forest or have run beside me when I ride. Something not apt to disappear into a well or be trampled under a carriage.”

He was suddenly reminded of the Newfoundland he’d had as a boy. Brutus. A hulking, slobbering beast of a thing. “I
adored
that dog.”

“I’m sorry?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Won’t your mother purchase a dog for you?”

“A town house is no place for a large animal,” she said quietly and began to trace a narrow scratch in the wood of the table with a long, elegant finger.

“Not a sporting dog, certainly. But something like one of those spotted coach hounds. They’d be happy chasing you and your mother through Hyde Park.” He couldn’t recall having ever seen the lady in the park, but surely she went out for fresh air now and again.

“I’ll wait for a cottage.”

“Why should you?” When she refused to answer, he dipped his head to catch her eye. “Your mother won’t purchase one for you, will she?”

“It is her home,” she said by way of answer and went back to tracing the scratch.

“I see,” he said carefully, straightening. Perhaps Mrs. Wrayburn and her daughter were not as close as Mrs. Wrayburn had led her friends to believe. “I think . . . You’re not at all what you seem, are you?”

Her eyes drifted up from the table. “Beg your pardon?”

“Am I slurring?” he asked and smacked his lips experimentally.

“Considerably, but it’s the yawning that renders you unintelligible.”

“Ah.” He closed his eyes briefly and discovered the room still spun around him, but at a more reasonable speed than before. “God, I am tired.”

“Is there no one I could fetch to take you home?”

The few friends he would trust inside his home were not the sort of men who attended parties thrown by Mrs. Wrayburn. He opened his eyes and gave her what he hoped was a wink, but, under the circumstances, might well have been a slow blink. “No one whose company I should enjoy so much as yours. Are you quite certain you won’t marry me?”

“Yes.”

“Pity,” he replied and meant it. Once his position as Lord Dane became public knowledge, the freedom he’d enjoyed as a less-than-desirable match would disappear. No one was interested in marrying the dissolute younger brother of a perfectly healthy viscount. But a dissolute viscount . . . that was another matter. He was to be prime game for the unwed young ladies of the respectable set until he chose a bride. What fun it would be to disappoint them all by eloping with the lovely, fascinating, and entirely unsuitable Miss Rees. “If you should change your mind—”