Till Dawn with the Devil (3 page)

Reign could always count on the Earl of Vanewright to focus on the essential needs of the merry group the
ton
had dubbed the Lords of Vice. “Precisely! Instead we have agreed to join Sin and his
marchioness at Lord and Lady Harper’s rather staid gathering this evening.”

Nicolas Towers, Duke of Huntsley, or Hunter as he was called, overheard Reign’s remark as he joined the two gentlemen. Side by side, Hunter and Vane could have passed for cousins. Similar in height and build, they both had straight, dark hair, though Vane preferred to wear his short, while Hunter wore his long enough to cover the nape of his neck. There was enough resemblance between the two men that Reign would not have been surprised if his friends shared a distant ancestor.

Hunter grinned at his friends. “Come now, gents, you both are made of sterner stuff. An evening of dance and conversation will not cause any permanent damage. Besides, Sin is merely indulging his marchioness. Lady Sinclair’s mother, Lady Duncombe, is good friends with Lady Harper. It would be rude to slip out too early.”

Vane’s gaze warmed with sensual heat as a fetching blonde in green strolled by the trio. The lady glanced back at them, but her elderly companion swiftly urged her charge in the opposite direction. “I can stomach the insult.”

“As can I. You are only amendable to this tedious evening, Hunter, because Sin bribed you with Lord Harper’s fine brandy,” Reign grumbled, annoyed that his friend had the audacity to flaunt his prize in front of them.

Smug bastard.

“True,” Hunter said, smiling as he brought the
glass of brandy to his lips. “If you behave, perhaps Sin can persuade Harper into unlocking his cabinet for you as well.”

“I doubt Harper’s excellent stock is worth more than an hour,” Reign said, feeling that he was being generous.

More than eight years had passed since his wife’s tragic accident. Since that fateful morning when the servants had found Beatrice’s cold, unresponsive body at the foot of her bed, Reign had been subjected to endless speculation about his part in his wife’s demise. It mattered little to the
ton
that the magistrate had declared Beatrice’s death an unfortunate accident. His selfish wife had apparently tripped and broken her neck when her head had struck one of the bedposts. Polite society, on the other hand, thrived on rumors and scandal, and his brief marriage to his countess had provided plenty of fodder. It was one of the reasons why he avoided such gatherings. After his disastrous marriage to Beatrice, he had no desire to seek out another bride.

“I concur,” Vane said, clapping Reign on the shoulder. “If Sin had any sense, he should—” The earl paused as something or someone caught his attention. His fingers bit into Reign’s shoulder as the man cursed.

“What is wrong with you?” Hunter asked, leaning back as he tried to guess the source of Vane’s agitation. “Did one of your irate mistresses enter the room, or perhaps the lady’s husband?”

“Burrard,” Vane said tersely.

Reign flinched as he recognized the name. Viscount Burrard was Beatrice’s father. He assumed Lady Burrard was attending the Harpers’ ball as well. “This is another reason why I abhor these quaint gatherings. There is always the chance that I will encounter my former in-laws.”

Hunter grimaced in sympathy. “It has been eight years, Reign. How long are you supposed to pay for what the magistrate deduced was an accident?”

Reign met Hunter’s somber gaze. “The Burrards believe that I murdered their daughter. I highly doubt an eternity will satisfy them.”

From across the room, Lord Burrard greeted a male companion. Together they disappeared through the open doorway that led into the card room. Reign had been so focused on the viscount’s departure that he had not noticed Lady Burrard. She stood only twenty yards from Reign and his friends.

Out of respect for their loss, Reign had taken great care to avoid Beatrice’s family. He had been aware of the Burrards’ low opinion of him, and assumed the couple was the source of the speculation that whirled about him. However, any hope of slipping unnoticed from the Harpers’ ballroom evaporated as Lady Burrard’s horrified gaze remained on his face.

The viscountess shook her head as if she had glimpsed a terrifying apparition. Several ladies circled around her in a futile attempt to calm their distressed friend.

“Forget Harper’s brandy,” Vane said, nudging Reign toward the closest door. “Sin will understand.”

“Perhaps. It depends on the mischief,” said Alexius Braverton, Marquess of Sinclair, as he and his wife approached.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Juliana Braverton, Marchioness of Sinclair, warmly greeted each man in turn. Reign was the last to receive her extended hand. “Reign, this is an unexpected surprise.” She sent her husband a puzzled glance. “I was told that you were unable to attend.”

Reign bowed, and nodded to Sin. “I am merely delaying my plans for the evening. After all, how could I ignore such a pleasant affair when I was told that Lady Harper is one of your mother’s dearest friends?”

Lady Sinclair’s green eyes gleamed with undisguised appreciation. “It was incredibly sweet of you to sacrifice your evening, Reign.”

“Think nothing of it,” Reign said, following Lady Burrard’s movements from the corner of his eye. The lady had not dashed off to warn her husband of Reign’s presence. Perhaps there was a measure of hope that his evening would not end with a challenge. Burrard could be rather protective when it came to his viscountess and daughter.

From a distance, a cheerful light blue bow caught Reign’s attention as the shifting crowd parted momentarily, giving him a teasing glimpse of the graceful curve of the owner’s neck and shoulder. Every muscle in his body tensed as his view was blocked by several guests.

Without thought, Reign took a step toward the mysterious lady only to realize that Lady Sinclair was observing him too closely and knew exactly what he had been about to do.

Annoyed by his wife’s interest in Reign, Sin cleared his throat. Sin took his wife’s hand and tugged her gently away from Reign. “Earlier, you called me sweet.” He playfully flicked the diamond-and-emerald earring dangling from her ear with his finger.

“Did I?” The marchioness tapped the folds of Sin’s cravat with her finger.

Sin grinned down at his wife, his expression a potent mix of playful outrage and lust. “Yes,” he said gruffly.

Reign silently enjoyed the couple’s teasing discourse.

Lady Sinclair was truly a diamond of the first water. Reign could understand why his friend had lost his wits and married the charming green-eyed blonde. “You are so
sweet
when you are jealous, my dear husband,” Sin’s wife purred.

Almost a year ago, Sin had shocked his fellow Lords of Vice when he had taken Lady Juliana Northam as his bride. Reign had not been optimistic about Sin’s happiness in his love match,
but he had kept his opinion to himself. Their friend Frost had been less circumspect about Sin’s keen interest in Lady Juliana, and their opposing opinions had for a time created a small rift in the two men’s friendship. However, once the couple had married, Frost had learned to hold his tongue, which was rather smart of the earl since Sin would have ruthlessly severed the waggling flesh from Frost’s big mouth if he had persisted.

Vane was growing impatient. “Yes, Reign is sweet . . . Sin is sweet. It’s enough to make my teeth ache.”

Sin’s hazel eyes abruptly faded from indulgence to vague annoyance. “I can think of another way to make your teeth ache, and I can guarantee that I will enjoy it if you continue behaving like an arse.”

Hunter, the selfish bastard, was still not sharing his brandy. Nevertheless, he was watching the crowded ballroom just in case Burrard returned. “Vane may not be the only gent you will be forced to punch if we do not get Reign out of here.”

Sin’s hazel eyes narrowed on Hunter. “Explain.”

Hunter gave a respectful nod toward Lady Sinclair. “Perhaps your lady should check on her mother. Lady Duncombe slipped into the card room the moment you approached us.”

“Good grief!” Juliana instinctively reached out to Sin for reassurance as she searched the ballroom for her mother. “Why did you not mention this sooner?”

Hunter shrugged and took a sip of his brandy.

The marchioness gave the gentlemen an exasperated look. She was aware that something was afoot and the Lords of Vice considered it private business. “Fortunately for you all, you have picked the one person that I cannot ignore.” To Sin, she said, “I may need you. Do not stray too far, my love.”

With a determined look in her green eyes, Juliana marched off to ruin her mother’s evening.

Sin watched his wife’s hasty departure for a few seconds. Once their conversation could not be overheard, the marquess squared his shoulders and asked Hunter, “Why does Reign have to leave?”

Before Hunter could explain about the Burrards, Reign gripped his friend’s arm to silence him. “I am not going anywhere,” he said as he once again caught sight of the lady who had adorned her shoulders with jaunty light blue bows.

“Devil . . .”

Sophia’s eyes opened as the ominous word distracted her from her private thoughts. Weary from the countless introductions Fanny had made on her behalf, Sophia had pleaded a headache, which was not far from the truth. When a mutual friend of theirs, Mr. Tulloch, or Kit as he insisted on being called, had approached them to ask Fanny to dance, Sophia seized her chance to escape the curious scrutiny of Lady Harper’s
guests. Fanny and Kit had escorted her to a quiet alcove that had been created in one corner of the ballroom by huge potted plants filling in the space between the colonnades. Fanny promised to return to her shortly, but Sophia waved her away, telling her friend to enjoy Kit’s harmless flirtations. The cream-colored sofa was comfortable, and the orchestra was pleasing to the ear. It had been a peaceful way to spend the evening until she realized someone was on the other side of the wall of greenery.

“He must have bullied his way in,” one woman suggested, the slight rasp in her voice hinting that she was recovering from an illness. “Lady Harper has more sense than to invite a murderer into her house.”

Sophia warily glanced about her as she silently agreed with the unknown woman’s assessment of their hostess’s intelligence. According to Frances and Griffin, the
ton
was filled with liars, adulterers, opportunists, bullies, and, yes, she conceded, murderers. Although her brothers were reluctant to speak of the ugliness in the world when she was in the room, she assumed that when two gentlemen dueled, a few of them actually intended to kill their foe.

“His title and wealth open doors,” the woman who had called the mysterious man a “devil” explained. “I have heard that each year he secures a voucher to Almack’s—”

“I do not believe it!”

“It’s true!” her friend retorted. “Of course, he never attends. Lord Burrard would never stand for it. Nor would—”

Sophia scowled. The rest of the comment was muffled by the laughter of several guests as they strolled past the two unknown women. Who was this devilish murderer they were discussing?

Sophia worried her lip as she mulled over the question. Indeed, there was a gentleman who many claimed fit the women’s description. And while she had never been introduced to him, his name was as familiar as her own. Gabriel Housely, Earl of Rainecourt. Was he truly here? If her brothers were to learn of her plans to seek out this unsavory gentleman, they would not hesitate to bundle her into the nearest stagecoach headed out of London.

Nor, for that matter, would Fanny and her family approve. Her parents, Lord and Lady Notley, had been the ones who convinced Stephan and Henry that it was time for Sophia to enjoy the delights of Town. The earl and countess would never forgive themselves if something happened to Sophia.

Especially if it involved a Rainecourt.

Suddenly a shadow dimmed her limited vision, causing her to gasp.

“Good eve—forgive me, I did not mean to startle you,” the gentleman said, his voice laced with sincere regret.

“No, no . . . the fault is mine,” Sophia said, hastily rising from the sofa. “I was woolgathering.”

The two women on the other side of the wall of greenery were now silent. Perhaps they had walked away when they realized someone had overheard their conversation.

Sophia cocked her head to the right in an attempt to get a better impression of her visitor. He was older, more seasoned, and well dressed. If she were to guess, she would place the gentleman in his early thirties. His hair was dark and straight, but the cut was short and in fashion. The scent surrounding him was fresh, as if he had recently bathed, and reminiscent of orange and rosemary.

From where he stood, he could see the most of the ballroom. “I must concede Lady Harper’s gathering is a trifle boring,” he said dismissively.

“No, not at all,” Sophia protested, leaning heavily on her walking stick because of her increasing anxiety. It would be bad form to declare to all and sundry that Lady Harper’s lovely ball was dull. She had been introduced to Lord and Lady Harper when she, Fanny, and Griffin had entered the couple’s front hall. “I am just not in a position to fully appreciate the ball as others might.”

The gentleman cursed under his breath. “You are injured,” he said bluntly. “And my unexpected arrival has forced you to stand. Pray forgive me, Miss—”