Candice Hern (33 page)

"I promise you," Mary said with a grin, "that Lord Pemerton and I will not resort to pistols at dawn."

"But—"

"Olivia, I
like
him," Mary said. And she meant it. She really did like him. Quite a lot, actually. "You know that I have a soft spot in my heart for rogues," she continued. "They are so much more honest in their approach to life than the usual paragons of propriety. Those sober, proper gentlemen more often than not harbor cold hearts and dark secrets."

Only consider my own father
, Mary added silently to herself.

"And most of those fine, upstanding fellows," she continued, "routinely deceive their wives with a string of ladybirds on the sly. I have no patience with such hypocrisy, Olivia. I much prefer the man who is open and straightforward in his dealings with people, even if he does not often stay strictly within the rules of Society. You can trust a man like that."

"That is all well and good," Olivia said, "and might have something to say to the matter ...
if
you were another man. But as an unmarried female—"

"Oh, bother!" Mary said. "Must we go over this again and again? I hold no interest in that way for such a man. They can be comfortable with me. That is why we can be friends. And I am convinced Lord Pemerton and I will become great friends. I liked him at once. He has such a way with a quizzing glass! I wonder if he could teach me how to wield one with such aplomb?"

Olivia let out a long, slow breath and gazed at Mary with furrowed brows. "And so you are to help him find a bride?" she asked.

"Yes! Imagine, helping to select a bride for a notorious rake! This will be such fun!"

"But why you? Why can he not find his own bride?"

"Because the poor man has no idea how to go about it properly," Mary said. "He would settle for just about anyone, you must know, just to get the thing over with. I could not stand by and watch such a fascinating man tie himself to some giggly young fool, just for the sake of the succession. She would either lead him a merry dance or bore him to death. In either case, he would probably ignore her completely or abandon her at the first opportunity, and then two lives would have been made miserable. How much more preferable to find a woman who could accept him for what he is, and with whom he could be comfortable. I can think of many such women. In fact, I have been making a list."

"You haven't!"

"I have." Mary pulled a folded piece of foolscap out of her pocket. "Perhaps you would like to review it with me? I might have overlooked someone."

"Good heavens," Olivia groaned as she reached for the list.

* * *

Jack was stretched out comfortably on the bed. Hands propped behind his head, he stared up at the elaborate tented canopy while running numbers through his brain. He was mentally calculating how the rents from Pemworth might be used to offset the cost of draining the west pasture at Crutchley. Such thoughts were never far from his mind at any time these days. Was it only a year ago that his only concern, aside from the constant search for new pleasures to be experienced, had been the smooth running of his small estate in Herefordshire? Indeed, Broadhurst had never been a cause for much concern, as Jack had a very competent steward who ensured that the estate was run efficiently and profitably.

Yet now, here he was, saddled with no fewer than six large estates inherited from his father and brothers, and not a one of them profitable. In fact, not a one of them was free of debt. Jack had always understood that his father, though a charming raconteur and sportsman, had no head for business. Never, however, in his wildest imaginings would he have expected the man's affairs— now Jack's affairs—to be in such disarray. And all a result, as far as Jack was able to determine, of gross mismanagement.

He mentally ticked off rows of figures until he was convinced that by taking a bit from here and putting a bit over there that he could somehow finance the required drainage project. He breathed a sigh of relief. He must remember to contact Godolphin, his man of business, first thing in the morning to review the plan.

Good Lord, but he seemed to be spending all his waking hours dealing with his blasted, unwanted, unsought inheritance. Well, maybe not
all
his waking hours, he thought as his eyes drifted to the soft, white, naked body curled up at his side. As he watched her sleep, Jack decided that although Phoebe was deliciously voluptuous and incredibly responsive—but of course she was an actress, so one could never be sure about those things—that he really ought to let her go. She was already an expense he could ill afford; and lately she had been tossing out hints about diamond bracelets and high-perch phaetons that caused him to break out in a cold sweat.

Perhaps tomorrow he would buy her some small bauble as a parting gift, and give her her
congé
. He doubted she would have difficulty finding another protector. Dalrymple had frequently shown an interest. Perhaps he would take her on.

Jack wasn't going to waste any time worrying about her. Phoebe, he thought as he brushed a hand lightly along her hip, would take care of herself. She made a small purring sound and curled up closer against his side. He never gave a second thought to what became of women such as Phoebe.

The sounds of movement in the adjoining dressing room alerted him to the presence of Jessop, his valet. For a moment he had forgotten that he was not comfortably ensconced in his love nest on Half Moon Street. The small town house—the scene of many wild and passionate evenings over the years—had been sold some months ago. He could no longer afford the luxury of a separate house kept solely for the purpose of assignations. It galled him to have to bring his ladybirds to his own town house. It was simply not done. The fourth marquess, his grandfather, who had built the spacious Hanover Square house, was probably turning over in his grave at the thought of such women being brought into his home.

Jack gave Phoebe one last lingering look and slipped carefully out of bed. She stirred and made a soft whimpering sound before curling more tightly around the down pillow. He padded across the room and silently entered the dressing room, leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar. Jessop was busy tidying up the various garments strewn about the room. He looked up when he heard Jack enter, stopped what he was doing, and quickly retrieved a dressing gown from a hook on the wardrobe door. He held it out for Jack, who shrugged into it and sank down into a nearby wing chair.

"I will need you in a few hours, Jessop, to get Phoebe out of here before the household wakens."

"Of course, my lord."

"God, how I hate bringing them here." Jack nestled his head back into a corner of the chair and sighed deeply. He had no qualms about speaking so frankly to Jessop. They had known one another for years. Jessop was the son of the head gamekeeper at Pemworth, the seat of the Marquess of Pemerton. Less than a year separated them in age, and as a somewhat ignored younger son, Jack had found a friend in the young Tom Jessop. The two boys had spent many years romping the grounds and shoreline of Pemworth together, getting into all manner of scrapes.

Jack had lost touch with his young friend when he had left home to attend Eton and then Cambridge. It wasn't until many years later that their boyhood bond had been resurrected. Jack had returned to Pemworth for a visit when, one evening, the local prevention men showed up at the Hall looking for Jessop, whom they claimed had been involved that evening with a group of smugglers who had received a shipment of illegal goods in one of the nearby sheltered coves. Jack's father had begun to make some concerned remark when, almost without thinking, Jack had piped up, "Not Tom Jessop."

Suddenly, all eyes had turned to him. Remembering how many times young Tom had taken the blame for some mischief or other, Jack quickly equivocated that Jessop had been with him all evening, playing cards. Jack's father's steely glare had dared the prevention men to question the word of his son, and they had been forced to leave. Later that evening Jessop had presented himself to Jack, pledging his eternal thanks and placing himself entirely at Jack's service. As it happened, Jack had been in need of a valet, and thus a new chapter of their strange companionship had begun.

It had not been long before Jack had discovered that his boyhood friend had become an equally mischievous young man, always game for new adventures, new schemes, or new women. Since Jack had himself, by then, already fallen into a somewhat dissipated way of life, Jessop suited his needs precisely. Yet, through all the years of fast living, gaming, drinking, and womanizing, Jessop had remained steadfast, loyal—and extremely useful.

Jack stretched his arms and shoulders like a cat and burrowed deeper into the chair. "After I let this one go," he said, arching a thumb in the direction of the bedroom door, "perhaps I should take to patronizing Covent Garden nunneries instead of bringing them home."

Jessop, who had resumed brushing and folding the discarded clothing, stopped in midfold and raised his brows in question.

"I know, I know," Jack said. "It has been years since I have frequented such places. I honestly do not think I am up to it. I much prefer to be in full control of the situation—the surroundings, the timing, everything. Can't do that in someone else's establishment."

"That's a fact, my lord."

"Nevertheless, I cannot go on like this forever. And I do not even want to think about what I will do after I am married. I cannot exactly sneak girls up the back stairs with my wife in the next room."

"It wouldn't be right, my lord," Jessop said, shaking his head.

Jack laughed at his valet's serious expression. "No, it would not" He stretched his legs out in front of him and slid down further in the chair. "But perhaps if I find the right sort of bride …"

"If you find the right sort of bride, you will be able to buy another place like the one on Half Moon Street."

"Right you are, Jessop." Jack flashed a grin at his altogether too clever valet. "By the way, did you have any luck this evening?"

"Depends on your point of view, my lord. Daisy, that sweet little housemaid over at Lord Fairfax's, was most accommodating. Only she didn't seem to have any of the information you requested."

"Damn!" Jack slapped his hand on the arm of the chair.

"Sorry, my lord."

"Oh, it's all right, Jessop. Something, or someone, else will turn up. Speaking of which," Jack said as he made to rise from the chair, "I am shortly to have a whole new group of candidates to choose from. I met the most unusual woman, Lady Mary Haviland, who has taken a liking to me and is determined to help find me a suitable bride."

"A matchmaker?" He looked at Jack with an expression of wide-eyed horror.

"No," Jack said, laughing, "I don't think so. I don't believe this is her usual game. She is merely looking for some new kind of amusement. In any case, she could prove to be useful," he said as he walked toward the bedroom door.

"I hope so," Jessop said, though he sounded doubtful.

"Go on to bed, Jessop. I will wake you when it's time for Phoebe to leave."

"Yes, my lord."

Jack entered the bedroom once again and closed the door behind him. He tossed his dressing gown on a chair and slid between the sheets, gathering the sleeping Phoebe close to his side. His thoughts were still on Lady Mary. She was a curious little thing, but really quite delightful. He could certainly understand her search for new amusements. And although it was unlikely he and Lady Mary sought out diversion in precisely the same ways, he thought as he buried his nose in the sweetness of Phoebe's hair, he nevertheless felt she was in some ways a kindred spirit. He liked her.

They had agreed to meet once again at Lady Kenilworth's rout tomorrow evening, at which time Lady Mary promised to bring along her first candidates. He was curious to see what type of woman she thought would suit him. He seriously doubted that she had any understanding of his particular tastes. He nuzzled Phoebe's neck as he felt her foot inching its way up his leg. Perhaps he ought to have been more specific in providing Lady Mary with his requirements, he thought wickedly as he pulled Phoebe on top of him.

Chapter 3

"What do you think, Olivia? Do they not look well together?"

Mary and her companion had paused in their perambulation of the ballroom to watch as Lord Pemerton danced a cotillion with Miss Lillian Carstairs. The dark good looks of the marquess contrasted nicely with the blond prettiness of Miss Carstairs. Mary was quite proud of this particular candidate, the third she had presented to Lord Pemerton this evening. Miss Carstairs, the granddaughter of an earl, was a particular favorite of Mary's. Though already three and twenty, this was only her second Season—her debut having been delayed first by illness and then by consecutive years of mourning. But her maturity was a mark in her favor in regard to Lord Pemerton. A blushing schoolgirl miss would never do for such a man.

"Hmph!" Olivia snorted and then tugged on Mary's arm to continue their stroll. "I do not understand how you could have presented that sweet young woman to that scoundrel."

"Yes, she is sweet, is she not?" Mary ignored Olivia's aspersion on Lord Pemerton's character. "It is most unfortunate that some have taken exception—quite wrongly!—to her passion for antiquities and labeled her a bluestocking. I am of the opinion that it enhances her character and conversation to have interests outside the latest fashions or the current
on-dits
. I am certain Lord Pemerton will also appreciate her wit and cleverness." She turned once again to watch the couple as they moved through the intricate steps of the dance. Lord Pemerton was smiling at something Miss Carstairs was saying.

"Oh, do look at them, Olivia," Mary said, smiling and squeezing her companion's arm. "I tell you, this could be the one! And to think, we are not yet even halfway down my list."

"Oh, but you are wicked, Mary," Olivia said in a hoarse whisper. "To act as accomplice to that... that
libertine
. Actually providing him with a list of potential victims! It has pained me to watch you these past few evenings, using your influence to convince decent, gently bred young women to be presented to that man. Marquess or no, the man is a cad!"