A Lady's Lesson in Seduction. Barbara Monajem

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      ‘The young people can be counted upon to enter into the spirit of the festivities,’ Lady Warbury said, ‘unlike some thirty-year-old curmudgeons I know.’

      ‘I’m not yet thirty, nor am I a curmudgeon,’ Camden said. ‘I’m simply, er, past the age of youthful folly.’

      ‘What nonsense,’ his mother said. ‘As I have recently proven, one is never too old for folly.’

      He snorted. ‘I can’t argue with that.’ Her love affair with the Druid was a matter for much ribald jesting in the ton.

      ‘I’m having fun with dear Thomas. Perhaps one of the lively girls I’ve invited will reawaken your spirit of adventure, too. Almeria Dane, for example. Such a pretty girl.’ She threw a teasing glance at Edwin. ‘Don’t you agree?’

      ‘She’s ravishingly beautiful, as everyone knows.’ Edwin, irritable the instant it was suggested he might have a rival, pretended to savour the bouquet of the brandy.

      ‘But so appallingly young,’ Cam said. ‘And giggly.’ Fortunately for him, if not for Edwin, his mother had invited plenty of other men for Almeria to flirt with.

      ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to invite someone for you, Cam?’ Lady Warbury said. ‘Even at such short notice, I can find you a widow to dally with.’

      And she would, if he didn’t put a stop to it immediately. ‘Mama, I suppose you think it’s very enlightened of you, but there’s a difference between turning a blind eye to my peccadilloes and acting as a procuress.’

      Edwin choked on his brandy, but Lady Warbury merely rolled her eyes. ‘I want you to enjoy yourself, Camden. A passionate woman in your bed at night will make up for being obliged to play host to a group of people who don’t interest you.’

      At least she wasn’t matchmaking again. For years, she’d introduced him to one marriageable female after another, but he’d succeeded in fending them all off. ‘I’ll be fine,’ he said, and fortunately a bustle from the front of the house prevented her from making any more unacceptable suggestions. ‘Perhaps our cousins have arrived.’ Or better, Frances Burdett.

      He couldn’t recall a more tangled mess of emotions than what he’d felt after Timothy Burdett’s death: anger, chagrin, guilt… Not that Timothy hadn’t deserved a good tongue-lashing. He’d maundered on in the vilest manner about his disappointment with Frances, his wife of only two weeks. Then Cam, in his arrogant, tactless way—what an ass he’d been—had said he could teach Timothy a thing or two about how to please a woman. Angry words had quickly become blows, and when Timothy had challenged Cam to a curricle race, then and there, Cam had of course agreed.

      And Timothy, made careless by drink and rage, had overturned his curricle and broken his neck.

      In the midst of the ensuing scandal—for everyone who’d heard the quarrel assumed they were fighting over some doxy—a sexually voracious lady, wife of an older man, had approached Cam with the sort of prurient suggestions he’d once enjoyed, and he’d been disgusted with both himself and her. He’d been unable to drum up any enthusiasm for dalliance since.

      Maybe he had been a bit of a curmudgeon lately, but not for much longer. He put on the smile of a delighted host as he entered the Great Hall. The porter was holding the front door wide open, looking perplexed. A petite blonde stood in the entry, divesting herself of cloak and muff, while a middle-aged abigail and two footmen bustled about with bandboxes and trunks.

      ‘Oh, do come inside, dearest!’ the blonde cried, stamping her feet. ‘I shall catch my death of cold. You can decipher inscriptions some other time.’

      A soft voice carried from outdoors. ‘What a pity I don’t read Latin.’

      No, the pity was that the damned family motto, which he’d so badly failed to live up to, was prominently displayed in every single room of his house.

      * * *

      It’s only for a fortnight, Frances Burdett told herself sternly, hovering on the bottom step of Warbury Hall. Snowflakes landed on her eyelashes and nose. She was cold and tired, and after hours in a frigid coach with her prattling cousin Almeria, her head ached abominably. She longed for warmth, quiet and solitude, and the only way to get it was to go indoors, brave the Marquis of Warbury, and ask to be conducted speedily to her bedchamber.

      Instead she remained outdoors, peering at the inscription above the door.

      It was just so awkward visiting Warbury House. The marquis had called on her in London three times right after Timothy’s fatal accident, and three times she’d had him turned away. It had been frightfully ill-mannered of her, but she’d been so sickened and angry that she couldn’t bring herself to see him. Not for his part in Timothy’s death, but because he and Timothy had been quarreling over a prostitute.

      She’d written to the marquis to reassure him that she didn’t hold him responsible for the curricle accident. Not only that, she’d told the world the same thing over and over—that racing whilst drunk was the sort of stupid thing young men did, and Timothy was entirely to blame. If that didn’t make up for her rudeness, there was no help for it.

      ‘Frances, I’m turning to ice in here.’ That was Almeria again.

      ‘In a moment,’ Frances said. Her head pounded wearily, and she frowned up at the inscription, trying to sound preoccupied while she gathered her courage. ‘Secundum…that seems obvious, but…’

      Lord Warbury had made no attempt to speak to her again in the little over a year since Timothy’s death, so the invitation to the Christmas house party had come as a surprise. Only one explanation made sense—that Lord Warbury was romantically interested in Almeria Dane, the young, motherless cousin whom Frances now chaperoned.

      ‘The porter can’t keep the door open forever!’

      ‘Coming, Almeria.’ In her opinion, Almeria was too young and innocent for the rakish marquis, but she was a beautiful heiress, and society considered him an excellent catch. Whether she liked it or not, it was Frances’s duty to promote the match. She took a deep breath and—

      ‘Welcome, Mrs. Burdett, Miss Dane.’ The Marquis of Warbury’s voice made her shiver, and not from the cold. He had always had that strange effect on her, as if the warmth of his voice vibrated through her. He appeared in the doorway and came down the steps toward Frances. ‘It’s the family motto, or at least half of it.’ He turned and stood beside her, gazing up at the weathered stone. ‘Secundum, Non Nocere. Translated, it says, Secondly, Do No Harm.’

      She pulled herself together. ‘That sounds typically motto-like—stern and idealistic. What is the first half?’

      His eyes lit suddenly, touched with mischief. It made something swell within her chest, something she didn’t understand. Relief? She’d been rather afraid he would bear a grudge because of her rudeness.

      ‘No one knows,’ he said. ‘My cousins and I used to make up the first part ourselves. Firstly, Eat Beans, and Secondly, Do No Harm.’

      A bubble of laughter escaped Frances, and Lord Warbury grinned down at her.

      Instinctively, she stiffened. Since her short, disastrous marriage, she avoided men with that sort of grin. Other women might enjoy succumbing to such rakish charm, but for Frances that would only СКАЧАТЬ