Miss Hillary Schools a Scoundrel (5 page)

Drew had sped back to his parents’ residence as soon as Rich informed him of the dinner party planned for that evening. With his mother in charge, there would be a grand procession, which meant taking a gamble as to which lady he’d escort to dinner.

He would rather navigate through a jungle of quicksand than leave the choice of his dining partner up to his mother. Chances were he knew a fair number of female guests a little too well, and if the lady in question hadn’t given up hope of rekindling their affair… Well, these situations could be tricky. The last thing he desired was a former lover latching on to him for the entirety of his stay.

Drew breezed into his mother’s chambers as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “I can’t believe my own mother wouldn’t find a place for me to sleep,” he teased.

She looked up from the sheet of foolscap she held in her hand. A look of concern darkened her gray eyes. “Don’t tell me Richard refused to put you up?”

Drew bent down to kiss her cheek, enjoying the way she always smelled like flowers. “Of course he did, Mother, but I cannot allow you to turn me away without needling you a bit.”

She smiled ruefully. “Darling, I love you dearly, but why did you show up unannounced? I’ve been working diligently since this morning to rearrange the seating for dinner, and it is no easy task.”

He moved behind her and leaned over her shoulder to view the list she held. “I’m sorry. Allow me to make amends. I shall take on the task of rearranging the guests.”

She jerked the paper away as he tried to take it. “I’m perfectly capable, Andrew. And there’s no need for atonement.”

He sighed, moved to a chair beside her, and dropped down on the thick cushion. “May I at least see the list? Please?”

Her eyebrows shot up as she held it out to him. “Mind you, I’m not making any more changes.”

He scanned the names.

Hell’s teeth.
His promenade partner was Lady Audley. Did his mother despise him? He directed a surreptitious glance at her before shaking off his suspicions. His mother possessed no knowledge of his escapades. He rushed through the list.

No.

No.

Bloody
hell!
There was barely an appropriate lady on the list.

“What if I sat by Phoebe? I haven’t seen her in…” He trailed off when faced with his mother’s scowl.

“I said
no
changes, Drew. Besides, you know your brother refuses to part from her for more than a few minutes at one of these events.”

He sighed again. “Sick bugger,” he mumbled.

“Andrew.”

He bolted upright in his seat. “I beg your pardon.”

A small smile pulled at the corner of her lips as she inclined her head, accepting his apology.

Drew studied the names again. His mother paired Lord Reinhardt with Miss Hillary.

That
old
gent?
His eyesight must be shot at his age. How was he to appreciate the charms of a beautiful lady?

Drew handed the list back and smiled. “I see you have handled everything beautifully, Mother. I’ll see you at dinner.”

***

Drew wrapped the kitchen maid into his arms. The room outside the pantry hummed with activity. With only a sliver of light from where the door stood ajar, he had difficulty seeing her face, but from what he’d glimpsed earlier, she was pretty enough.

“Are you ready, love?” he asked.

“Aye, my lord.”

Drew loved the way women breathed their words when he held them, but there wasn’t much time to savor the experience. He placed his lips over the maid’s for a thorough kiss. A tremor raced through her body.

He broke the embrace then set her away from him. “Don’t forget, you must convince the duchess there is a crisis in the kitchen. I only require a few minutes.”

“I shan’t forget, my lord. And you won’t forget your promise either, will you?”

“I’ve delivered the kiss you requested. Our bargain is almost complete.”

“But, Lord Andrew,” she purred, “it needn’t stop with one kiss. I could visit your chambers tonight.”

He placed a peck on her cheek to soften the rejection. “You deserve better than me, Bridget. Marry that nice boy you told me about earlier.”

“Do you think I should?” Her voice held a note of uncertainty.

How would he know? Only a crackbrain would listen to his advice on marriage. “Depends on if you love him, Bridge.”

“I think I might, but how am I to know for certain? Have you ever been in love, my lord?”

“Never, but the fools who are seem to enjoy it.” He grabbed a jar of something he couldn’t identify and shoved it into her hands. “Run along and try to distract the kitchen staff. I’ll slip out after you.”

About five seconds after the wench left him alone in the dark, a shrill scream pierced the air followed by the sound of shattering glass.

“You clumsy girl,” a woman yelled.

“I saw a mouse.” Bridget screamed again. “Over there.”

More screams erupted. “Catch him, you worthless bumpkins.”

During the pandemonium, Drew stuck his head through the crack in the door to discover everyone’s backs were to him. He crept from his hiding place and escaped the kitchen undetected.

Upstairs, he lingered on the edge of the drawing room, waiting for the kitchen staff to summon his mother. She had almost completed the task of pairing the guests when the butler appeared by her side and whispered in her ear. She arched her neck to see the kitchen maid standing outside the door. A look of panic crossed his mother’s countenance before she bustled from the room.

Lord Reinhardt’s ridiculous wig stood out among the more fashionable guests’ coiffures, and Drew darted toward him before his mother returned to discover his scheme.

He slowed his step as he approached before sidling up to the gentleman. “My lord, I believe you are in the wrong spot,” he said. “You are to escort Lady Audley.”

“Pardon?” Reinhardt bellowed. “Can you repeat that, young man?”

Drew amplified his voice. “I said you are to sit with Lady Audley.”

Miss Hillary leaned forward to see around her dining partner.

Lord Reinhardt scratched his head, upsetting his wig. “Are you certain, young man? I thought Her Grace said I was to escort
this
young lady.”

Drew shook his head. “No, no. I’m positive you are to be with Lady Audley.”

Lord Reinhardt’s face was a picture of confusion as he turned toward Miss Hillary.

She regarded him with rounded eyes, offering a look of innocence no one would question. “I believe the gentleman is correct, my lord.”

“By the saints…” Lord Reinhardt chuckled. “I suppose I should move on to the appropriate partner. I bid you a good evening, miss.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Drew took the spot he vacated and offered his arm to Miss Hillary as his mother hustled into the drawing room without taking much notice of anyone. She assumed her place beside the Duke of Sagehorn, ready to follow his father, who escorted the duke’s wife.

A footman drew himself up to full height. “Dinner is served.”

“That was devious of you, Lord Andrew,” Miss Hillary murmured.

“No need to thank me.”

She snaked her free hand over and lightly pinched the arm linked with hers. “Who are you trying to escape? Lady Audley?”

“We both benefit from this arrangement, Miss Hillary. Lord Reinhardt has a tendency to spit when he talks.”

She leaned her head closer to his, sending a ripple of desire through him. “And
what
, may I ask, is Lady Audley’s foible?” she whispered.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss such matters.”

She reached over and pinched him harder.

“Ouch,” he muttered. “I’m having second thoughts.”

She giggled softly. “As you should.”

When they arrived at their appointed seats, Drew sensed someone’s eyes boring into him. His brother sat several seats down on the opposite side of the table, staring daggers.

Drew shrugged and mouthed the words, “Talk with Mother.”

***

Lana picked at the roasted goose in front of her. Although the meal was lovely, a generous cut of sumptuous golden brown bird surrounded by sliced green apples, she wasn’t hungry any longer. Her stomach performed acrobatics she never knew it capable of doing.

The acute awareness of heat radiating from Lord Andrew’s body didn’t help her frazzled nerves, and she shifted away from him. When his fingers brushed hers, she almost jumped to the ceiling.

“Is my brother’s glaring making you nervous?” Lord Andrew murmured, his warm breath caressing her neck. “I find it very distracting.”

Lord Richard sat beside Phoebe on the opposite side of the table, several chairs away. Whereas the gentleman typically showered his wife with attention, tonight he didn’t shift his gaze from their position for one second, even as he sipped his wine.

“Lord Richard looks angry,” she whispered back.

“I knew he’d be upset about Walter.”

She twisted to face Lord Andrew. “Who is Walter?”

“His pet goose. He cherished that bird, but unfortunately…” He dragged his index finger across his neck then nodded toward her plate. “I believe you have Walter’s left wing.”

She covered her giggle with her napkin. Lord Andrew might be a rogue, but he was an entertaining one.

“That is the silliest story I’ve ever heard, my lord.”

Lord Andrew raised his goblet in his brother’s direction and flashed a smile. “Yes, well, I feel it is my duty to report Rich is quite a silly man.”

Lana laughed fully and sank against the seat back. She hadn’t realized how rigid her spine had been until this moment.

Lord Andrew nodded toward where her mother sat, a wry smile twisting his lips. “Who’s the gentleman courting your mother?”

She stretched her neck to study the flaxen-haired gentleman who had her mother quite animated. “I’ve never made his acquaintance. Do you not know him? He looks like your type.”

“My
type
?”

“Yes, you know, rascally.”

His face lit up and dimples pierced his cheeks. “Perhaps I am of a higher class of rascals, because I’ve never met the man.”

“Or lower class,” she added, smiling sweetly.

“Miss Hillary, your honeyed words and charming smiles will not win me over.”

Lana heated with pleasure when he beamed.

Her mother chatted excessively with her dining partner, gesturing with her hands and glancing in Lana’s direction every few seconds. Lana suppressed a groan. Was her mother husband hunting already? She couldn’t meet the gentleman’s gaze for fear she would see in his eyes the appalled disbelief he surely felt at being accosted by her mother before dessert had even arrived. After dinner, the women adjourned to the drawing room. Taking Lana’s elbow, her mother steered her to a corner. “You’ll never believe what happened at dinner.”

“Mama, thank you for your good intentions, but I am capable of attracting a husband on my own.”

Her mother rushed on as if Lana hadn’t spoken. “The gentleman seated next to me at dinner is Lord Philip Bollrud, great-nephew to Lady Dohve, the baroness.”

“That is fascinating, Mama.” She tried to interject the appropriate level of excitement in her voice, knowing any lack of enthusiasm on her part could precipitate an avalanche of critical words heaped upon her. “I should find Lady Phoebe. It would be rude to abandon our generous hostess.”

Her mother gripped Lana’s arm. “Silly,” she hissed, “that wasn’t the interesting part.”

Lana’s lips stretched into a strained smile. “And I suppose you must share the part you found interesting?”

Her mother puckered her mouth as she always did when displeased. “Lord Bollrud was to accompany his aunt, but she fell ill at the last minute. The baroness insisted her nephew travel without her.”

Lana’s good humor waned. “And being a doting nephew, he left her to fend for herself. You are right, Mama, that is a fascinating turn of events.”

“Honestly, Lana. You try my patience. Perhaps you don’t take husband hunting seriously enough, which would explain your lack of success over the last two seasons.”

Lana sucked in a deep breath, embarrassed by her mother’s blunt manner. She glanced around to see if any of the other ladies overheard, but if they had, they were polite enough to pretend otherwise.

“Here’s the part I found interesting,” her mother said. “Lady Dohve insisted her nephew attend the party without her, because she knows he seeks a wife.”

Perhaps her mother was rushing into an association with the gentleman. They knew nothing about him.

“Mama, where has Lord Bollrud kept himself all this time? I never made his acquaintance in Town. Does that not strike you as odd? One would think he would participate in the season where he’d have more variety with his selection.”

Her mother punched her fists to her hips. “Then lucky for you he has been on the continent.”

Lana drew back. If her mother had slapped her, it would have been less shocking.

“Lord Bollrud has been on the continent for the past ten years.” She leaned closer to Lana and spoke in a hushed tone. “I think this is a sign. You are meant to find your husband here in Northumberland, I’m certain of it.”

Lana sighed. Would her mother truly wish her carried off to the continent? She hadn’t realized how desperate Mama had become to be rid of her. She bit down on her bottom lip to still its slight quiver. “Mama, I cannot ignore Lady Phoebe alone any longer. Please excuse me.”

She released Lana’s arm and allowed her to walk toward her friend.

“I promised your first waltz to Lord Bollrud,” her mother called.

Lana faltered in her footsteps and winced. The poor man likely had no choice in the matter. She just hoped Mama hadn’t browbeaten him too badly.

Drew stood sentry on the fringes of the dance floor as the country bumpkin Mrs. Hillary had recruited to waltz with her daughter twirled the beautiful miss around the ballroom.

Perhaps manhandled would be a better description. Drew had never seen a man as pathetic on the dance floor.

Miss Hillary’s strained visage belied her longing for the waltz to end, and Drew couldn’t agree more. He’d been enjoying a nice conversation with her and Mrs. Hillary before the bumpkin barged in and towed the beguiling redhead away. A moment later, her mother retreated to an alcove, seemingly uninterested in her chaperone duties now that she’d procured a suitor for Miss Hillary.

“Hell’s teeth,” Drew muttered.

Despite what his brother might think of his intentions, he only wished to watch out for the chit. Obviously, her mother wouldn’t provide her with the proper protection she deserved. How could the woman be blind to the fact this man was a fortune hunter? Drew had seen more than his share of down-and-out gentlemen in the hells of London, and Bollrud’s ill-fitted breeches and unfashionable coat gave him away in an instant.

A small group of young ladies, close in age to Gabby, meandered to where Drew stood, blocking his view of the dance floor. One of the bolder ones stepped forward.

“Good evening, Lord Andrew.”

The others giggled and batted their eyelashes.

He spared them a perfunctory glance and followed with a slight bow. “Ladies.”

They didn’t move away as he had hoped. Instead, they loitered, fingering their dance cards.

A raven-haired beauty smiled at him but spoke to her friends. “I have one or two open dances, but my card is filling quickly.”

“As do I,” another added.

They all giggled, some behind fluttering fans.

He sighed. Now he recalled the reason he avoided balls. All that twittering gave him a headache.

As the last strains of the waltz carried on the air, he moved away from the girls to allow for a better view of Miss Hillary. She broke contact and stepped a respectable distance away from her dance partner, waiting for him to lead her from the floor. Yet, the man didn’t move. Even from a distance, Drew could see Miss Hillary’s cheeks turning red as she seemed to vacillate between walking from the dance floor without her partner and standing there in awkward silence. Eventually, she gestured toward the alcove where her mother chatted with several other matrons of the
ton
, paying no attention to her daughter.

When the beginning bars of the next dance began, the man snatched her hands and dragged her into position for a quadrille. Miss Hillary’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened, but she recovered her composure quickly and attempted to fall into step.

Drew’s jaw tightened, and he stalked closer to the dance floor. If the blackguard thought to force Miss Hillary into a
third
dance, he was mistaken. Drew would see this debacle ended on the spot.

As soon as the quartet finished the set, Miss Hillary pushed away and appeared to be begging off. Nevertheless, the man grasped her elbow and guided her toward the punch bowl. Drew followed, closing the distance with purposeful strides.

In the refreshment room, Miss Hillary shrunk away from the bloody bore as soon as he released her arm to retrieve punch.

“I believe Mama said you’re Lady Dohve’s nephew? Lord Bollrud, is it?” Her voice quivered slightly.

The fop bowed with comical flourish as if he were engaged in a parody of genteel manners. “Philip Bollrud, at your service.”

Drew fought the urge to squeeze off the gent’s air supply. He abhorred the insincere gestures and prancing like peacocks most suitors did to gain a lady’s attention. But something deeply bothered him about this particular gentleman.

Drew reached Miss Hillary’s side, smiling when she moved closer to him. “Did you say Mr. Bollrud?” he asked.

“It’s Lord Bollrud,” the man answered with a lift to his nose and frost in his words. Bollrud held out a glass of punch for Miss Hillary, but Drew took it and sipped the drink.

“Much appreciated,” Drew said. “Bollrud? Am I acquainted with your family, sir?”

The man sneered. “Highly unlikely. My father was a Bavarian nobleman, a count, and now I’ve inherited the title.”

Drew wondered if he was expected to be impressed. Much to his pleasure, Miss Hillary appeared unaffected.

“I spent most of my life on the continent,” Bollrud said. “Lady Dohve is my great-aunt on my mother’s side.”

Drew hadn’t realized he’d requested a recitation of the man’s family tree. He collected another glass of punch and presented it to Miss Hillary. She held Drew’s gaze, the slight lifting of her lips and twinkle in her eyes encouraging. Devil take it. Her eyes were blue. He would have bet money this morning they were green. He tore his attention away from her mesmerizing eyes and focused on Bollrud again.

“Pity you’ve been away from England so long,” Drew mused. “I suppose that explains a lot.”

Bollrud scowled. “A pity? I don’t know your meaning.”

“I’m referring to your lack of manners, sir. Perhaps in Bavaria it is acceptable to monopolize a lady’s attention, but you’re far from home.” Drew offered a polite bow to the lady, more than ready to dismiss the gent. “Miss Hillary, do you intend to deny the pleasure of your company to the other gentlemen eagerly waiting to dance with you?”

An impish grin played on her lips as she checked her dance card. “Never think it, Lord Andrew. We have the next dance, do we not?”

Drew started at her reply. Upon his grave, he hadn’t intended to request a dance. Yet, he couldn’t bow out without offending the lady, and he didn’t intend to leave her in Bollrud’s company, not a sweet morsel such as her.

“I believe you are correct, Miss Hillary. You did give your word.”

He offered his arm and led her to the floor, determined that when the dance ended, Lana Hillary would be as far from Bollrud as possible. As they took position for another waltz, he shot a look in his brother’s direction. Less than a day had passed since he had given his word to stay away from Miss Hillary, and here she was in his arms.

His brother’s back was to the dance floor, and he engaged in a lively chat with Phoebe and Lord Henley. Drew couldn’t count on Rich’s preoccupation for long, however, and expected he would receive another dressing down later.

He smiled down at Miss Hillary. “On the ride back to Shafer Hall, please mention to my brother I rescued you from a giant leech.”

She arched a delicate brow. “Who said I needed rescuing?”

“It was obvious to all except the leech. Obligation required me to lend my protection. You are my brother’s houseguest, after all.”

Drew tilted his head and studied her eyes again. He detected flecks of gold, but were they blue or green? It was hard to discern in this lighting.

They glided around the floor in time with the melody, Miss Hillary’s movements graceful as if she floated on a cloud. If he was to catch hell from Rich for dancing with her, he might as well do something to deserve the lecture. Trailing his hand slightly lower on her back, Drew pulled her closer. Her hips brushed against his, and an attractive blush brought color to her face. Yet, she hesitated before drawing back.

Drew swallowed the groan rising in his throat. He’d never been one to find pleasure in denying himself, and he regretted giving his promise to stay clear of Miss Hillary. Given her response to his simple touch, keeping his word could prove an impossible task.

He cleared his throat. “Where’s your bullish brother when you need him?”

“Jake had more important things to do, such as mend a broken leg,” she replied with a touch of surliness.

“How thoughtless of him.”

Her deep-throated laugh inflamed his body even more. “Let me ask you, Lord Andrew, how can you be certain playing the distressed damsel is not a tactic I’m using to catch a husband?”

Drew missed a step and she laughed again. The little vixen mocked him. His grip on her hand loosened and he returned her smile. “So you haven’t forgiven my teasing at the Eldridge ball.”

“Yes, well. I’ve barely given it a thought. Might I add, sir, you were wrong about ladies and our desires.”

“Indeed? How very intriguing.” Nothing would please him more than learning of Miss Hillary’s desires. He hoped they might align with his own.

The waltz ended, but Drew didn’t excuse himself when he escorted her off the dance floor. Instead, he guided her to a corner where they could continue their conversation. “Tell me more of ladies’ desires.”

Color infused Miss Hillary’s cheeks again, but she boldly met his gaze, so unlike the innocents he had encountered in the past.

“You assume all women wish to secure a match, perhaps with a gentleman such as yourself. After all, you are in possession of a modest fortune and noble blood.” She wrinkled her nose and frowned. “Well, my lord, I can assure you, not all women find you as pleasing as you believe yourself to be.”

Her frank assessment made him smile. “I’m hurt, Miss Hillary, for you failed to mention my charm or handsome face while listing my attributes. I believe those add to my marketability.”

She tossed her head, fire sparking in her spectacular eyes, and barreled on as if Drew hadn’t spoken. “Some women possess no desire to marry at all, my lord. Mayhap these ladies in question prefer devoting their lives to academics or a pursuit of the arts rather than wifely duties and such.”

“I see.” Drew nodded, doing his best to hold back his grin.

“Perhaps they wish to invest their funds or take up a profession to support themselves like their brothers.”

Miss Hillary became more intriguing each moment. He had never met a woman who didn’t care if she secured a husband. He found it difficult to believe one existed.

“Do you have something against marriage?” he asked. “Do you wish to remain unmarried?”

“I wasn’t referring to myself—” Her mouth snapped closed and she scowled. “Why is it society finds it acceptable for a man to remain a bachelor, but a woman becomes an anomaly if she wishes to remain unwed; something for young boys to jab with a sharp stick?”

“I see you hail from the rougher section of Mayfair,” he said with a chuckle.

Her face darkened as her eyes narrowed. “Does mocking me amuse you, sir?”

“What do you take me for, Miss Hillary? You think me a gentleman who would take pleasure in the act of mocking you? No, it’s your fiery temper that provides me with much entertainment, and it requires so little effort to stoke.”

She issued a huff of outrage and crossed her arms, pushing her breasts upward.

Determined to ignore her enhanced neckline, he offered his most disarming smile. “Come now, Miss Hillary. Did you not just tease me a moment ago?”

The corners of her perfect pink lips lifted slightly. “I suppose I did.”

Drew studied her. How had she grown more beautiful since that night in the garden? “I suppose you’re avoiding my original question,” he said softly. “Do you truly not wish to marry?”

Her eyebrow arched. “It is every lady’s duty to secure a good match, sir. I will thank you to cease your impertinent questions.”

Drew spotted Bollrud’s towhead moving through the crowd in their direction, and a flicker of irritation ignited in him.

“Come along, Miss Hillary. You’re in need of rescue again.”

As Drew guided the lady toward her mother and Phoebe, his fingers brushed the soft skin of her upper arm. Hell’s teeth, what luxury. It was a shame he would never have the opportunity to discover if she proved as silky all over.

“I thought you were rescuing me,” she mumbled as they approached the alcove.

“I am.” If he stayed in her presence any longer, he would no longer be responsible for his actions. She was as intoxicating as his father’s best bottle of scotch. “Thank you for the lovely dance, Miss Hillary. I trust you will enjoy the remainder of your evening.”

He meet Phoebe’s gaze then flicked his eyes to Bollrud, hoping she understood his warning. In case his message was lost on his sister-in-law, however, he retreated to his side of the ballroom where he could watch over Miss Hillary for the remainder of the evening and held his post until Miss Hillary left Irvine Castle.

Once he saw her safely removed from Bollrud’s clumsy clutches, the tension drained from his body, and he chuckled under his breath. When had Drew become the protector of women rather than the reason they needed protection?

Of course, Miss Hillary’s circumstances were unique. Because of her close association with his family, she earned his loyalty by extension; at least that seemed the most logical explanation. Besides, it was apparent she required protection her mother was ill equipped to provide. Why, the noddy woman had allowed Drew to monopolize her daughter’s attention in a secluded corner of the ballroom for a good ten minutes. Granted, he and Miss Hillary had remained at a respectable distance, but a man of his reputation shouldn’t be allowed anywhere within the vicinity of an innocent unless one wished her name tarnished.

Drew turned to leave the ballroom and spotted Norwick heading his way.

“There you are, chap.” His friend lowered his voice as he drew closer. “What in the devil’s name are you doing in the ballroom? Don’t you know there is a private party?”

Drew raked his hand through his hair, not in the mood to deal with his usual crowd. “You will have to proceed without me.”

Norwick laughed, but when Drew didn’t join in his merriment, the earl’s eyes rounded. “Oh, you are serious. But there will be cards. And brandy. And, and certain
amenable
women.”

“It was a grueling trip from London,” Drew said. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

He scanned the ballroom, meeting eyes with Lady Audley then glancing away before she received unintended encouragement. What had possessed his mother to extend an invitation to Amelia?

Norwick stared openly at Drew’s most recent lover. “Ah, I see now, you scoundrel. You’ve arranged a private party of your own.”

“Stop ogling Lady Audley like a sailor after eight months at sea.”

“As you wish. I wouldn’t think to interfere.” Norwick winked. “You laid claim to her first, my friend.”