Miss Hillary Schools a Scoundrel (8 page)

Lana squealed and spun around to discover Lord Andrew resting in a wingback chair. “You scared me to death.”

“I had no idea you startled so easily, my sweet.”

A thrill of excitement accompanied his use of the endearment, but Lana knew “my sweet” meant nothing to a man like Lord Andrew.

Her hands landed on her hips with a huff. “Who wouldn’t be startled given the circumstances? What are you about, lurking in the dark?”

His warm chuckle made her knees wobble. She had never been one to require smelling salts, but she became a blasted ninny in Lord Andrew’s presence.

He sampled the amber liquid from the tumbler he held. “Am I lurking? I thought I was enjoying a nightcap.”

Lana pulled her wrapper tighter around her middle, painfully aware of her thin attire and the man’s intense inspection. “I-I didn’t expect anyone would be sitting in the dark. I’m surprised to see you returned tonight.”

His gaze strayed to her bare feet and back again. “Why wouldn’t I return, Miss Hillary? Shafer Hall boasts beds as good as any at Irvine Castle.”

“Oh,” she said. The scoundrel teased her. She could tell from his lopsided grin. “Yes, well. I was under the impression the beds at Irvine Castle might hold greater appeal for you.”

“As did I,” he muttered, scowling. “But there’s nothing of great appeal to me anywhere except here, it seems. I did happen upon a game of faro, but unfortunately the cards didn’t play out as I had anticipated.”

Now she understood his soured expression. “Oh, dear. I do hope you didn’t lose an excessive amount, my lord.”

“Just my senses. Nothing to fret over.”

“Jake always feels rotten after a rough evening at the tables.”

Lord Andrew rose from the chair and sauntered toward her, brushing past to reach the sideboard housing the decanter of spirits. “Your brother is a sore loser, Miss Hillary.”

Lana whipped around, gasping with outrage. “How dare you speak ill of Jake? Why, he’s a wonderful man with no faults deserving ridicule from anyone, least of all you.” She looked down her nose at him as she’d witnessed her mother do when chastising her father. “You, on the other hand, are a scoundrel.”

He didn’t appear insulted in the least by her comments. Instead, he smiled then poured himself another drink. “I admire your honesty. And your loyalty is commendable.”

Why did Lord Andrew have to compliment her? It was easier to stand before him in her nightrail with anger emboldening her. “I-I call things as I see them, sir.”

He sloshed liquor into a second tumbler and handed it to her. “You evaded my original question, as you are wont to do. Are you having trouble sleeping? Perhaps a few sips of this will help.”

She sniffed the strong concoction but didn’t sample it. “Thank you, but I find occupying my mind is usually an effective remedy. I’m seeking a book. Do you have any recommendations?”

“Does reading typically result in slumber for you?”

She shrugged. “Not always. Sometimes I get swept into a story and find I cannot put it down. I’ll read into the wee hours on occasion.”

“I see.” He returned to his chair and lowered into the cocoon it provided. “Care to join me in conversation instead?”

“Are you insinuating your discourse will cure my insomnia?”

He cocked a brow. “If not, I’m sure I could employ other methods.”

Other
methods? Her breath hitched. “I’ll find a book. Thank you.”

“What if it keeps you awake all night? Surely, you don’t wish to be worthless during tomorrow’s activities.” He gestured toward a chair. “Come on. I’ll be good.”

No doubt, Lord Andrew would be good at anything he tried. Being on his best behavior, however, likely wouldn’t be one of those things.

She remained standing, rolling the glass back and forth between her hands. “I’ve always wondered… How does one play faro?”

“You want me to teach you faro?
That
is a novel request.” He sounded much too pleased.

“Oh, never mind. I’ll simply go to bed.” She prepared to scoot from the library before she got into trouble, but Lord Andrew bolted from his seat and grasped her elbow.

“I’ll teach you, Miss Hillary. Come, have a seat at the table while I locate a deck of cards.”

He guided her toward the table, sat down his drink, and pulled the seat out for her.

She placed her own glass on the table and folded her hands onto her lap while he foraged through side table drawers. Waving two decks in the air, he returned to the table.

“Now, I have to arrange the cards like so.” He stood beside her and sorted through the deck, setting aside the spades. Once he had the king through ace cards, he laid them out in two rows. Then he reached for a small paperweight, turned her hand over, and placed the paperweight in her palm, closing his fingers around hers so she gripped the object. “Use this as your marker. Decide which card you think the dealer, that is me since we have to improvise, will turn up first and place your marker on it.”

She balked. “There is no skill involved in this game at all?”

“Of course not, peach. Faro is all about chance, though a good memory does afford some advantage. Never knowing what might happen. It’s exciting.”

“Foolish is more like it,” she scoffed.

He pulled a chair close and sat, bumping his knees against hers, but she didn’t shift away as she should. The scent of sandalwood filled the air, leaving her light-headed and trembling. “May I ask a favor, Miss Hillary?”

Her breath caught in her chest and her heart galloped. She nodded as if in a trance, feeling powerless to deny him anything he requested.

“Will you please stop referring to me as Lord Andrew?”

“Oh.” She had not expected this to be his request. “But that
is
your name.”

“I prefer Drew. Would you do me the honor of calling me Drew?”

“It would be improper, my lord. What would people think?”

“I didn’t take you for one who worried about convention, but nonetheless I understand your concern. Perhaps only in
private
you will call me by my preferred name. Could you do that for me?” He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, the warmth of his fingers branding her skin.

“Yes,” she replied, breathless from his touch, “all right,
Drew.
” She didn’t point out they shouldn’t be sharing private moments.

“My God, peach. Your hair—”

They both heard the slap of a slipper on the foyer floor at the same time. Drew launched from his chair and dove behind the couch a heartbeat before a noise sounded in the doorway. Lana twisted around to find Lord Richard hovering on the threshold of the library.

The poor man jumped and tugged his dressing gown snugly around his body. He appeared to sport scarlet cheeks, probably as red as Lana’s were. “Miss Hillary, it’s you. I saw a light… I thought maybe you were…”

“My apologies, my lord. I’m afraid I couldn’t sleep.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” A slight crease lined his forehead as he craned his neck to inspect the table. “Are you playing faro?”

“Oh, dear heavens. Am I?” Lana hoped she sounded sufficiently scandalized. “But my brothers said this was a form of Patience.”

Lord Richard attempted to suppress a smile. “My mistake, Miss Hillary. Please stay as long as you like.” He made to leave, but his gaze landed on the two tumblers in front of her and he frowned.

Lana shrugged, supremely embarrassed to have him think her possibly foxed. “I hope you don’t mind, my lord. I thought a splash of brandy might help my insomnia, but I overestimated the dose required. I believe one will do the trick after all.”

He cleared his throat. “Very well. Just leave the other on the table. The staff will dispose of it tomorrow. Carry on with your game of Patience, Miss Hillary.”

Once Lord Richard disappeared from earshot, Drew sprang from the floor, came to her, and squeezed her shoulder affectionately. “Sorry to have deserted you, peach, but I fear my continued presence would have led to your ruin.”

“Indeed. A prudent choice.” She forced a shudder of revulsion. “How horrid that would have been.”

He smirked. “I suppose I should be thankful you don’t wish to marry either. Perhaps you would have given up my location otherwise.”

“Don’t be silly, Lord Andrew. I have no desire to be forced into marriage any more than you.”

She tried to ignore the lump forming in her throat. She truly did not wish Lord Andrew forced into marriage with her. Such a match would lead to her heartbreak. Blast it! What was she doing playing with fire again? Had she learned nothing from her failed betrothal?

“I believe I shall retire, my lord.”

“We do have a demanding day ahead of us tomorrow.” Lord Andrew squeezed her shoulder once more. “That was a magnificent performance, peach. Run along to bed.”

Lana whisked from the library without a book, but it didn’t matter. Sleep would evade her. She would think of nothing but Drew’s touch and what a foolish girl she was.

Drew stood on the lawn of Irvine Gardens with Gabby. He searched the perimeter and, seeing no one stood close enough to overhear him, he bent forward to meet his sister eye to eye. “You know the plan, correct?”

Gabby huffed and crossed her arms. “Must you treat me as if I’m an imbecile? Of course, I know the plan. You
just
shared it with me.”

He patted her head. “That’s a good little girl.”

She slapped his hand away and glared.

“Remember, I’m doing a favor for you, too. Mother is almost convinced you are ready to come out next season.”

Gabby’s face brightened and she clutched her hands to her chest. “Oh, do you speak the truth? Please, tell me. What might I do to sway her?”

“Stay out of trouble, especially when I’m not around to chaperone you for this short time.”

Drew had several misgivings about leaving Gabby unsupervised, even for a short while, but he spotted none of the worrisome rakehells wandering about the grounds at this hour. Likely, they would not wake from their drunken slumber for several hours.

“Perhaps I should call a halt to this,” he said.

Gabby’s eyes rounded, and she spoke in a harsh whisper. “No. Miss Hillary hasn’t given you a second look these past four days. I fear she has set her sights on that deplorable Lord Bollrud, but the man is an embarrassment.”

He frowned, disliking his fears validated by his sister. He’d thought he and Miss Hillary were getting on nicely in the library, but now she spent most of her time with that bumpkin Bollrud. For a lady who claimed a distaste for matrimony, she seemed much too amenable to Bollrud’s clumsy courtship. Perhaps Drew could talk some sense into her, if she stopped avoiding him.

“Very well, but I mean it, Gabby. Stay out of trouble.”

Drew gave her the sternest look he could muster, but found the glower difficult to maintain when she bubbled with undisguised excitement.

Gabby’s innocent eyes glittered with adoration. “I promise to behave, Drew.”

“Goodness, princess. I almost believe you.”

His sister howled in protest and swatted his arm.

“Gabrielle,” their mother sang out from the veranda where she conversed at an outdoor table with two other women.

Drew chucked her under the chin. “Don’t ruin everything with your temper, princess.”

Her gray eyes narrowed, but she didn’t strike him again.

Drew peered beyond her shoulder. “I see Bollrud. Keep your eyes open for Miss Hillary while I speak with him.” He hugged her on impulse. He would have to be sincere in his campaign on her behalf with their parents. It seemed only fair given the lengths she would go to in order to help him spend time alone with Miss Hillary.

Lord, help him. His obsession with the woman was worse than the pox, and probably more lethal.

“Thanks, Gabby. I mean it.”

Her frown melted, and she tossed her arms around his waist and squeezed. “Drew, will you help me distract Mama when I want to be alone with the man
I
love?”

Not
on
your
life.
“Of course, princess.”

“You
are
going to profess your love to Miss Hillary, aren’t you?” Gabby beamed and her voice jumped an octave. “Will you offer for her today?”

Gabby’s high-pitched squeal made him cringe. What in the devil’s name had given her the impression he intended to offer for Miss Hillary? Either his ability to orchestrate situations had reached perfection, or his sister truly wasn’t ready for society.

“I would prefer to speak directly with Miss Hillary on the matter. I’m certain you understand. If you will excuse me.”

One last task and his plan would be in place. Drew approached his target.

Bollrud hunkered over a plate loaded with pastries, eggs, and thick slices of ham. The man shoveled food into his mouth as if he didn’t know when he might partake of another meal. How he remained thin was a mystery.

“Mind if I join you?” Drew asked.

Bollrud’s cheeks bulged with food. His eyes narrowed to slits, but he gave a sharp nod.

Drew flopped into the chair facing him. “Thanks, chap.”

“I’m not your friend.” Bollrud spewed crumbs as he spoke.

“I’m certain the fault lies with me, old man. May I ask a question?” Without waiting for a reply, Drew continued, “Do you fancy Miss Hillary?”

“What do my affairs concern you?” His voice resembled a growl, reminding Drew of a hound with a bone.

“I’m a close friend of Miss Hillary’s brother,” he lied. “We attended Oxford together. Of course, Hillary is laid up with a broken leg, so I promised to help look after his sister.”

Bollrud clamped his lips together and glared.

Damnation, the man had no cause for such hostility. Drew didn’t intend to steal the lady out from under him. He simply wished to borrow her for a time, and if she didn’t wish to return to Bollrud, how could Drew be to blame?

“Miss Hillary has grown close to my sister,” he said, “so I’m certain you can understand my protective instincts. I can’t bring myself to disappoint Hillary or my dear sister.”

Did he spread it on too thick? Bollrud gave no outward signs of awareness that he might be the victim of a deception.

Drew leaned forward, his jaw hardening. “Now, sir, I will ask you once more, what are your intentions with Miss Hillary?”

Bollrud’s gaze shot around the terrace.

“Are your intentions honorable, sir?”

The man’s eyes flicked back to hold Drew’s stare. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I will marry her.”

Drew bolted upright. Hearing Bollrud say these words aloud sent a bolt of anger to his core. The man must be incredibly dense if he thought Miss Hillary would accept his proposal. Bollrud wouldn’t suit her at all. She hadn’t given her promise yet, had she? Drew might become sick at the thought.

“In case she hasn’t told you, sir, the lady is set on remaining unwed. I’m afraid you are fighting a losing battle.”

The gentleman balked. “She never mentioned she has no intentions of wedding.”

“Has she indicated she will marry you?”

Bollrud’s mouth thinned and a glower darkened his face. “Not in so many words.”

Drew repressed a show of relief. “Yes, well. Why would Miss Hillary confide in you? She has barely made your acquaintance. Unless you’ve declared your intentions, she would have no cause to speak of her wishes. It’s a pity. She’d make someone a lovely wife some day.”
Just
not
for
this
bugger.
Drew drummed his fingers against the tabletop. “You wouldn’t want the chit refusing your proposal outright. A man does have his pride. Listen, Bollrud. I might be able to assist with your dilemma.”

The man scoffed. “Why would you help me?”

“I wouldn’t. I barely know you. Nevertheless, Miss Hillary doesn’t realize the foolishness of her decision. She needs to make a match before it’s too late, so essentially I’m helping
her
. At this point, her prospects are dwindling.”

Trickery had become a way of life for Drew. It was useful at the gaming tables. Yet, he didn’t know if he could pull off this particular lie. Anyone with eyes could see Miss Hillary would have no trouble attracting a mate, aside from the impediment of her mother. But Drew hardly viewed Miss Hillary’s relations as an insurmountable obstacle. He cared nothing about her mother’s eccentricity, and his only point of contention with Mrs. Hillary was the lack of attention she paid to chaperoning her daughter. Of course, her distractibility worked to Drew’s advantage at the moment.

Bollrud still regarded him through slits. “What are you proposing, Forest?”

“If you intend to offer for Miss Hillary, you need to find another way to win her approval. I say you should go through her mother.”

“Her mother?”

“Miss Hillary will be unable to resist the pressure her mother will surely put on her if she has a serious suitor.”

“You suggest I go through her mother?”

Drew nodded slowly, fighting to keep his expression neutral.

“How would I go about such a task?”

“Spend as much time with Miss Hillary’s mother as you can, and show her what a charming husband you would make for her daughter. No mother wants her daughter to marry a scoundrel or a ninny. Show her you are an upstanding member of the
ton
.”

Would Bollrud take the bait? If this toad-eater occupied Mrs. Hillary, Drew could spend more time with her charming daughter, and all without arousing the woman’s suspicions, possibly resulting in an unwanted match between Miss Hillary and him. It was perfect.

Bollrud scratched his head, appearing more perplexed than usual. “You’re sure this is the way to proceed?”

“I realize things may be done differently in Bavaria, gent, but in England everyone knows to court the mother first. It’s the only way to get what you desire.”

Bollrud pressed his lips together and nodded as if this argument made perfect sense. “Courtship is much different than I had been told.” He crammed another bite into his gaping mouth.

“It’s a complicated maze to navigate. I wish you luck.” Drew pushed from the table. Everything was in place.