The Marquis At Midnight (8 page)

With his reason for coming to the ball gone,
Morvyn searched out his mother and sister to ask if they needed him
to escort them home.

‘But it’s only eleven!’ his mother cried,
tapping his arm with her fan. ‘Why must you go so early?’

It never failed to amaze
him that his mother could show all the symptoms of an immediate
decline if she was presented with something she was reluctant to
do, but, if she were engaged in something that amused her, had the
constitution of a draught horse. She was closeted with others of
her set, all older matrons who took great delight in performing
character or sartorial assassinations on the
ton
from their seats at the edge of
the dance floor.

The Countess of Tilford, who, like many of
her generation still favored rouge and a patch on her cheek, gave
him what she fondly considered to be an arch smile. Her powdered
white wig was slightly lopsided, a common occurrence thanks to her
habit of scratching the sparse hair beneath and which had earned
the nickname of Tilting Tilly. ‘And when might we expect some happy
news from you, Morvyn? You aren’t getting any younger.’

He resisted the urge to point out that, no
matter how much time passed, he would still be around forty years
younger than she was. Instead, he fixed a smile on his face and
inclined his head politely. ‘You may comfort yourself with the fact
that when I do have any news, my mother will inform you with all
speed.’

‘When he has something to tell me,’ Lady
Morvyn sniffed, ‘I trust I will still be on this earth.’

‘I have every expectation of you remaining
on this earth for a very long time to come,’ her loving son replied
dryly. ‘In fact, you will probably outlast me.’

‘Exactly my point,’ the Countess snickered.
‘Get yourself an heir!’

Was it any wonder he did not socialize?

As he returned home, he
pondered on his next move with Grace Pemberton. Once again, she had
not welcomed his attentions but there had been no denying that
something lay between them. Something unexpected. That
frisson
that had crackled
on the air between them when their eyes had met. It had been more
intense when he’d touched her tonight, as if that soft, silken skin
held some kind of enchantment that dragged him along. Not against
his will, exactly. He
wanted
to see Grace again. No, he’d
needed
to, but it was the surety of
that need that planted a facer.

Morvyn had never been one
to sit around thinking about what his future wife might be like.
One found a suitable candidate, one came up to scratch, and one got
on and married her. Of course, he had always imagined that they
would rub along together tolerably well. They were going to breed,
for God’s sake, so they’d better do so, but there had been no
preconceived picture in his mind, no one woman that he had ever
been able to look and think,
that is the
woman I’ll marry.

Until he’d set eyes on Grace Pemberton
again.

She was far from ideal, he knew that. She
was the widow of his former best friend, for starters. Did she have
parents to speak up for her? Brothers? Uncles? Morvyn had no idea
how she was situated, but he was going to find out.

Because now that he
had
formed a picture of
his future wife in his head, it would not be banished. His meeting
with Grace tonight had only confirmed what he had suspected, but
rejected, since last they had met.

He wanted Grace to be his wife.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t stand him, which
meant that he had work to do.

Tomorrow, he would pay a morning call.

Chapter Five

‘You look ridiculously happy this morning,’
Grace observed, pouring herself coffee.

Hester smiled, the
cat-with-her-nose-in-the-cream kind of smile that said so much
without saying a word. ‘And a good morning to you.’ Grace propped
her chin on the palm of her hand and regarded her friend
thoughtfully, brown eyes steady. After a moment, Hester colored up.
‘Do
not
look at me
like that.’

‘Was there a reason for the sudden turn
around I witnessed last night?’ Grace enquired. ‘Did Porter fall
from his horse and received a head injury? For he certainly seemed
a change man.’

Hester nodded. She had a
slightly flushed, slightly dreamy look on her face that bespoke of
the matrimonial bed being put to good use. ‘He said he was sorry
he’d been acting like such a beast and that I was right, he should
trust me. He had been thinking about our marriage and how lucky we
were to find each other. Not like other marriages. Civil contracts,
he calls them. Apparently it just… hit him out of the blue. How
lucky we are.’ There was a long pause, then, ‘I am a
terrible
wife!’

‘Now, now,’ Grace said hastily, seeing
Hester’s face twist with remorse. ‘We need to talk about what’s to
be done, not drown in guilt.’

‘But I am drowning,’ Hester
sniffed, breaking open a bread roll and buttering it. ‘And the
worst of it is, I keep forgetting all the reasons why I
shouldn’t
be happy. Now
that Porter and I are reconciled, I keep forgetting why I’m in this
mess. And that I have to get out of it.’

‘You do,’ Grace sighed, picking up a roll of
her own. She had spent another restive night, compliments of
Morvyn, tossing and turning while she reasoned and scolded and
rationalized with herself. All to no good. There was no getting
away from the fact that, while her head might detest the man, her
body found him entirely to her liking. ‘I suppose we must talk to
Bertie. Where is Porter this morning?’

‘He had to go to a meeting. The Parliament
is sitting or some such thing. He will be returning this evening,
however, and we have decided to dine in.’

Grace’s lips twitched. ‘Shall I have a tray
in my room?’

‘Of course not. We simply wanted to stay at
home tonight.’

‘And there is less chance of running into
Lovington.’

‘Yes,’ Hester agreed somberly. ‘I shall send
a note around to Bertie’s and ask if he can call this afternoon. Oh
Grace,’ she whispered, ‘I cannot let things go awry a second time.
I swear, if I can extract myself from this, I will never gamble
again.’

‘And if you do,’ Grace said grimly, ‘I will
tell Porter all and let him beat you.’

Hester shuddered. ‘A sobering thought.’

‘Is Lord Lovington likely to call on you?
Here, I mean.’

‘He has done so once, but I am certain he
knew that Porter was absent.’ Hester looked troubled. ‘If he calls,
what should I say?’

‘Nothing. If he calls, tell Marsh that you
are not at home. I will receive him.’

Hester looked worried. ‘We could say we are
both out.’

‘True,’ Grace agreed thoughtfully, ‘but I
think I would like to meet him again. I would like to get the man’s
measure, if I can. A lot can be said in polite conversation.’

‘What? What could you possibly say to
him?’

‘That you are out or otherwise engaged. Then
I will offer him tea.’

‘I cannot be out forever.’

‘Of course not, but for the next few days I
think you should avoid the man.’

Hester nodded, clearly relieved. She did not
want to have to deal with Lord Lovington, but, unfortunately, while
he held her IOUs she had no choice but to do exactly what he
wanted. She was still puzzled as to what that might be. His
insistence that she acknowledge him in public was irksome,
considering Porter’s distaste for the man, but it was hardly enough
to ruin her reputation. Leave it open to question, perhaps, but she
had always made sure to act with proprietary around the man. Well,
as much as she was able.

One way or another, it
could not continue.
She
could not continue, with such a secret hanging
over her.

Grace was watching her kindly. ‘You could
still tell Porter. I would be happy to stand beside you while you
did.’

Hester gave her a tremulous smile. ‘Only as
a last resort. Oh Grace, it was so good to get back to the way we
were again. I would hate to have him look at me as if…as if I had
let him down.’

Which was all well and good, but it didn’t
get them out of the pickle they were in, Grace reflected
grimly.

They had a relatively quiet day, sitting
together by the fire while they embroidered – Grace a handkerchief,
Hester a sampler as she was, theoretically at least, trying to
improve her skills – while outside a sleeting rain hurled itself
against the window. It was hardly a day to go out and about, which
meant that they might look forward to an uninterrupted afternoon.
Really, with the exception of Bertie, there was nobody either of
the ladies particularly wished to see so the weather was certainly
a boon.

When Marsh appeared at the door a little
after three, both women looked at him expectantly, assuming that
Bertie had finally arrived.

‘The Marquis of Morvyn,’ the butler
announced gravely, and stepped back to allow the gentleman to
enter. Grace’s mouth dropped open when he walked into the room,
astonishment and dismay clearly visible on her face. He looked
windswept, a sprinkle of watery diamonds scattered through his dark
locks from the rain. His gray eyes flickered towards her for a
moment, but his expression revealed nothing and he made his bow to
both ladies with all his customary gravity.

‘Lady Woodward. Lady Pemberton.’

‘My Lord Morvyn,’ Hester laid her embroidery
aside and rose to her feet to curtsey. After a long moment, Grace
reluctantly rose as well. ‘This is a pleasant surprise.’

‘I trust I find the both of you well?’ He
glanced at Grace, but she looked away, suddenly interested in the
wall on the opposite side of the room.

‘Oh yes. It’s such a wretched day that we
decided not to brave the weather and go out.’

‘A very sensible decision.’

‘Would you care to sit down, my lord?’

‘Thank you.’

The three of them subsided, Grace
immediately returning to her handkerchief, dark golden head bent
over it determinedly. She had not said a word. Hester gave her a
puzzled glance before turning back to the marquis.

‘Would you care for some tea, Lord
Morvyn?’

‘That would be most welcome.’

Hester rose and went to ring for Marsh, who
appeared almost immediately. ‘A tea tray, if you please Marsh.’

Returning to her seat, she could not help
but wonder at the rather dense silence. A very determined silence,
at least on the part of her friend. Which was most peculiar as
Grace could be relied on to be perfectly charming when people came
to call.

Morvyn was eyeing Grace thoughtfully. ‘I am
delighted to see you are receiving today, Lady Pemberton.’

She glanced at him, dark eyes cool. ‘And why
would I not be?’

‘I seem to recall you told me last night
that you never received morning callers.’

Grace’s soft lips tightened
a little. ‘You misunderstood. I should have said that I never
receive
some
callers. I am extremely particular.’

Hester gasped. This was so unlike Grace that
it was positively astonishing. ‘Grace! I am sure that it was very
kind of Lord Morvyn to call.’

‘I do not think kindness comes into it.
Perversity, perhaps.’ Grace flashed back, then stopped abruptly.
She drew a deep breath. ‘My Lord Morvyn, if you have come here to
see me then it is a wasted visit. I do not believe we have anything
to say to each other.’

‘How can you possibly know?’ he enquired
reasonably, ‘when you will not speak to me?’

‘I know all there is to know, my lord.’
Grace replied firmly. ‘So further discussion is clearly
unnecessary.’

‘Grace?’ Hester was bewildered. ‘Are you
already acquainted with Lord Morvyn? I had not realized the two of
you had met.’

‘Some time ago. He was a friend of my
husband.’

‘I see.’ Hester really
did
not
see, but
she was unsure what to say next.

Morvyn himself appeared both stoic and
determined. ‘Lady Pemberton, I am far from clear why you hold me in
such disfavor. May I ask what I have done to offend you?’

This was too much for Grace, who thrust her
work aside and sat up straighter in her chair to glare at him. ‘You
know perfectly well what you did.’

‘Believe me, I do not. Enlighten me.’

His calm, reasonable voice seemed to
infuriate Grace even further. ‘You as good as killed Justin,’ she
snapped, rising to her feet, ‘and you ruined my life!’

Hester gasped, but Morvyn, who had himself
risen to his feet, remained calm. Annoyingly so, in Grace’s
opinion. She would have preferred to have offended him to the point
where he left her entirely alone. If he left her alone, she could
forget the wretched man ever existed. As far as she was concerned
she’d spent far too much thought on the Marquis of Morvyn. For some
reason, he seemed determined to pursue her beyond what was
reasonable. Did the man possess no sensibility?

Unfortunately, while she might rail at him,
a part of Grace knew that her indignation was fueled by her
incomprehensible fascination with him. It continued to disconcert
her, all the more so when she was forced to meet him. An even
smaller part acknowledge the most disturbing part of all; even
Justin had not sparked the wicked flame of attraction that this man
aroused in her. Based on nothing more than a dance and a kiss,
Morvyn had stirred feelings in her she had never before felt.

The tense tableau was broken by the arrival
of Marsh and a footman, carrying a tea tray. Grace subsided slowly
back into her chair and their guest followed suit. There was
silence as the butler inspected the fire, checked that the maid had
deployed the tray as she should, then departed, closing the door
gently behind him.