His Hand-Me-Down Countess: The Lustful Lords, Book 1 Read online

  As any good officer would, he had a strategy. Find her, claim his dances, and then await each one either on the balcony or on the dance floor, if required. Even the cardrooms at these soirees bordered on disabling.

  He reached for the drapes to his hideaway, but hesitated as two women tittered in the immediate vicinity.

  “Why, Gladys, I heard his name announced earlier. I’m certain Matilda invited Stonemere despite all the gossip.”

  “I simply cannot imagine what she was thinking,” the one called Gladys said.

  “Can’t you? Having one of the Lustful Lords in attendance at your ball? I daresay everyone who is anyone will wish to be able to say they were here. It’s all so deliciously scandalous and yet possible now the unmitigated rake is off the market.” Gladys’s friend sighed with a bit more drama than anyone in their right mind or otherwise would deem necessary.

  “Well, one should hope that man can contain himself what with all these poor young virgins parading around. It would serve Matilda right if he debauched each and every one of them while here under her auspices.”

  “Oh, do be sensible, Gladys. He could perhaps ruin four or five in one night, but all of them?”

  Past ready to find his fiancée and escape his hidey-hole, he stepped out next to the ladies in question, turned to them, and bowed over each of their hands. The shock on their faces far outweighed any notion of good manners on his part. “Why, ladies, you both give me far more credit than I deserve. Even in my heyday of debauchery, I could only service three ladies in a single evening.”

  As the two ladies sputtered, he departed their corner. The temptation to turn and wink at the gossipers won out, which caused another round of tittering and sputtering from behind him. Of course, he was well aware of what proper Society called himself and his friends. But the Marquess of Flintshire, Earl of Brougham, Baron Lincolnshire, and Viscount Wolfington—as well as himself—held little regard for polite society. Each of them had learned the hard way that they had no place amongst their peers.

  All of a similar disposition with regard to marriage and the business of pleasure, they opted to establish their own society and engage in their entertainments at their private homes or establishments such as The Market.

  Of course, his engagement had changed everything.

  Skirting the edges of the crowd, he worked his way around the room until a flash of particularly golden hair caught his eye. He pressed forward into the mass of people to greet one Lady Theodora Lawton, his fiancée.

  Her blonde hair lay tight to her head, tucked beneath a pearl-studded monstrosity that covered its fine golden luster. The wide set of her mouth kept her from being a classical beauty, particularly when her lips spent much of their time compressed as though guarding her words. Her blue-eyed gaze failed to rise above his kneecaps, let alone clash with his own. It had been at least a month since he’d last seen her, last attempted attending a ball. He acknowledged—at least to himself—that her propensity to hide from him contributed to his lack of attendance. “Lady Theodora, you look lovely this evening, as do you, Ladies Coleridge, Carlisle.”

  She glanced up at him and dropped her gaze back to his shoes. “Thank you, my lord. You also look quite fine.” Her soft tones were all but drowned in the cacophony of voices around them.

  “My lord, it is so good of you to join us this evening,” Lady Coleridge intoned.

  “My pleasure.” He restrained his frustration and the urge to sigh. “Have you collected your dance card, Lady Theodora?”

  “Of course, my lord.” She curtsied and extended her program for the evening.

  He took the stiff paper from her and marked his dances.

  He chose two of the three dances he would claim, the opening promenade and the final waltz of the evening. The third, by unspoken custom, was a dance of her choosing.

  She selected an early waltz.

  In the past, she had always chosen the second set of quadrilles. The early waltz was a distinct change in her behavior. Odd.

  “I shall return shortly to collect you for the opening dance.” With a smart bow, he escaped the crush and found the nearest balcony. There, he drew in the sweet relief of the cool night air and relished the welcome space.

  A short while later, he led Theodora onto the dance floor for the opening procession. They refrained from dialogue as the dance made it difficult to sustain a conversation with its intricate weaving patterns. At the end of the set, Stone escorted Theodora to her mother and took his leave to go in search of his own mother, who would no doubt be in attendance.

  Slowly, he worked his way through the morass of bodies—far too many for his liking—as he considered his fiancée. Everything seemed normal on the surface. She barely made eye contact and mumbled a few polite words, but something else bubbled beneath the façade. For the first time, there was something there that actually intrigued him about her. Then again, perhaps the crush was getting to him, pushing him closer to the edge of insanity he’d been fighting for so long.

  A light sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead, and he stopped moving. A quick glance ahead revealed his mother, but another glance to the left revealed an exit. Space. Safety. He closed his eyes and willed his hands to cease trembling as he dabbed the recalcitrant moisture from his forehead. Stolidly, he shoved all the panic right back into the box he kept it in. There would be no spectacle tonight, so he strode forward, into the lioness’s den.

  As he suspected, he found the Dowager Countess of Stonemere lording over her circle of friends. He approached with caution, since one could never be certain what mood she might be in. With this gathering being the first event since coming out of full mourning, her mood promised to be even more unpredictable. “Mother.” He stopped before her and bent over the hand she presented to him. “You are in fine fettle this evening.”

  “Stonemere.” She nodded and eyed him critically. “Quite dapper, I am pleased to see. And your fiancée is also looking lovely. Do be sure to bring her over at some point this evening.”

  “Of course, Mother.” With the pleasantries over, he bade the ladies farewell and faded into the crowd to find his next partner.

  By the time his second dance with Theodora arrived, it seemed certain he appeared as frayed as he felt. No fewer than three partners had trod upon his toes, and the poor girls had been tongue-tied at best when addressed. At least his fiancée was a proficient dancer and he could dispense with the charade of polite conversation.

  * * *

  “Elizabeth, do stop fidgeting. You are a marchioness now. You must act the part.” Theo cringed as her mother once again browbeat her sister. It was all done out of love, she truly believed that, but poor Lizzy struggled under such a heavy burden.

  “Mother, I do believe I see Lady Morton waving to you.” Theo sent her mother off on a wild goose chase, if only to give herself and her sister a moment of peace. “Lizzy, you look unwell. Do you need a moment in the retiring room?”

  “I’m well, but this corset is laced rather tight.” Her sister fidgeted again.

  “Please tell me you do not still adhere to Mother’s philosophy on tight laces? You are a marchioness. You run your own household. If you wish a looser corset, then, by all means, loosen it.” Theo tried to hide her exasperation with her sweet younger sister, but she knew she failed as Lizzy looked at her with big gray watery eyes.

  Dash it. Her head ran away with her mouth again.

  Theo dug deep for more patience. “Go to the ladies’ retiring room and have one of the maids help you adjust your laces. I am sure Lord Carlisle would be most displeased to hear you were so miserable in such lovely finery. The man fairly dotes on you, you know.”

  Lizzy blushed a pretty soft pink across the tops of her cheeks. “I believe I shall.”

  Her sister Lizzy was a slightly shorter, darker version of herself, with her dark blonde hair and big gray eyes. Not to mention her sister had naturally abundant curves, where Theo tended toward more gentle slopes. And then there w
as the distinct difference of personality. Whereas Theo was headstrong and determined, Lizzy was much more amenable. Theo wished, every once in a great while, that she could be so sweet and demure, as her mother had taught them. But then reality would come crashing back, this time in the form of her fiancé.

  Stonemere appeared for their next dance. A waltz.

  “Ladies, are you enjoying your evening thus far?”

  Despite the dread that weakened her resolve to complete the first of two such dances, she needed to speak to him, hence the choice of the second waltz. The usual country dance she chose would not serve her purpose. She ignored the butterflies flitting in her belly as the stoic but handsome man greeted her sister. His dark mahogany locks were shorn near his ears and left a bit long on top, allowing one stubborn lock to flop into his mesmerizing green eyes, as though it possessed a rebellious streak. His large, imposing body, wide at the shoulders and tapered at the waist, allowed him to loom over her despite her statuesque condition. And the man seemed to enjoy looking down the length of his classically Greek nose as though assessing her. But she could never decide if he found her wanting.

  “Indeed, we are,” Theo said, all the while feeling as though her thoughts of the man had conjured him from thin air. Which was a silly notion since his name was scrawled on her dance card.

  “May I have the honor of this next dance?” He bent over Theo’s hand in observance of all the proprieties.

  “Of course, my lord.” She curtsied and allowed him to lead her onto the floor. With a quick glance back, she noted with satisfaction that Lizzy had headed toward the retiring rooms. Now she needed to focus her efforts on her own behalf with her fiancé.

  As the first strains of the waltz sounded around them, she held her breath. The improper thoughts she’d harbored for this man since the first time she’d spied him all but bubbled over after nearly two years. Notions of his lips on her skin—and not just her wrist or hand; no, her thoughts strayed far more scandalous places, such as her neck and her breasts—titillated and caused an uncomfortable throbbing dampness between her legs. In fact, she found it difficult to meet his gaze for fear he might see the truth in her eyes.

  And it was truth, an inconvenient one, but truth nonetheless. She found him attractive, more so than his brother, whom she was originally to marry. She wondered how two brothers could be so different. Where Odysseus had been kind and gentle, a friend even, his brother was quiet, brooding, and rather overbearing. At one point, not long after Odey’s death, she found herself lamenting his loss for wholly selfish reasons. Now? Well, now she’d resigned herself to her fate. Or she was trying to.

  His big, firm hands tightened on her waist and her hand as he stepped closer. The improper proximity of the waltz disconcerted her as he all but pressed her breasts to his chest. It was not the time to discuss their future, considering how addled her thoughts were, yet it had proven to be her only opportunity thus far. The dratted man had failed to linger near her after their first dance, and she expected no less at the end of this set.

  “My lord,” she ventured as he spun her around. “I wish to speak with you about our future.”

  He looked down at her, surprise evident in those glittering green eyes. “By all means. What do you wish to speak of?”

  She swallowed her fear, met his gaze, and pressed ahead. “I believe this marriage contract is as foreign a concept to you as it was to me when my father informed me of its existence.”

  “Indeed, quite foreign.” He looked impassive as they continued whirling around.

  She took a deep breath and attempted to let her sincerity shine through. “While I’d hoped a solution might present itself to save us from this arrangement, I lament the hopelessness of praying for divine intervention that shall never appear.” She bit her lip. Blast it, she was mucking this up as badly as she had feared.

  “It would appear we lack any hope for such divine intervention.” Not a single eyelash flickered on his chiseled countenance.

  He humored her, and the arrogance, the sheer indifference, made her blood surge and her cheeks warm. It certainly could not be from some unladylike attraction to the man. No, she refused to believe it could be anything other than annoyance. “I propose that we use these last few weeks to acquaint ourselves with each other. After all, it would seem there is no other recourse for either of us. I realize that you may well have had another choice of bride in mind since you were not meant to be the original heir. However, under the circumstances, I dread the idea of marrying a complete stranger.”

  “And so you propose, having no other recourse, that we should acquaint ourselves?” The faintest hint of a smile danced around the edges of his lips before it flitted away.

  Really, does the man need to be so maddening? Continually parroting my words back? “That is what I suggested, my lord.” She resisted the urge to cease dancing and stomp her foot. It would make little noise in her flimsy dancing slippers, and only serve to hurt her appendage, as well as her pride.

  “How do you see us going about such an endeavor?” His warm baritone, so at odds with his stony exterior, hummed between them, adding a richness to the music.

  Her heart beat in her chest like a caged hawk moth seeking escape. “I suppose the usual way would suffice. We could take tea together, along with the odd outing to allow us a chance to discover our interests and intellectual pursuits.” She hesitated, suddenly unsure of her plan. “You do have intellectual pursuits, do you not?”

  He stared at her.

  “I-I mean to convey—” Oh, now I’ve done it. “What I intended to ask was, do you have more interests beyond the physical?”

  Both eyebrows shot up to his dark hairline, and he smiled. At her. Though sheltered, she had no trouble understanding how wretched her turn of phrase had sounded. Her face burned with mortification, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.

  “I assume you have interests other than riding horses.” She fought for her former cool façade. The one she had employed since she’d realized how dangerous her handsome husband-to-be would be to her business pursuits. Crushing the initial impulse to simper and fawn had proven a most onerous effort. After that, she managed to contain such odd, debutant-like behavior under her rigid discipline, and by not meeting his gaze. And it had worked, at least until he’d smiled.

  After her clarification, their gazes locked, and the heat in her cheeks migrated somewhere significantly lower indeed. His lids hung at half-mast, giving him a slumberous appearance as he contemplated her with an intensity she had not previously experienced from him or any other man. The music continued to fill the air all around, as well as the silence between them.

  “I have interests other than horseflesh.” His gaze traveled down over her bosom and lower still, to her waist, before returning to her face. Then he appeared to consider her suggestion. “You know, Lady Theodora, you may be on to something here. It is true you are left with little more than the second-choice heir as a husband. As dismaying as that may be, we should certainly consider aligning ourselves so we may better endure our preordained future.”

  “Precisely my thought, my lord.” She offered a stilted nod of agreement.

  “Splendid. Do you have a moment in your dance card to visit the Dowager Countess Stonemere? She wishes to see you.”

  While she liked the dowager countess, at the moment she wished to retreat from her fiancé with her victory in hand. To her consternation, the music ceased and a quick perusal of her card showed her next set open for a short break. “I’d be happy to accompany you, my lord.”

  “Excellent.” With a bow, he presented his arm, and with a deep steadying breath, she placed her hand in the crook and followed where he led. With a few deft maneuvers, he navigated their way through the crowd and before his mother, the rather intimidating Dowager Countess of Stonemere.

  Gray hair was piled high upon her head in a regal display adorned with a simple lavender band, which matched her gown. The woman was still beautiful, in tha
t way of older women who age gracefully and are well aware of it. The dowager presented a picture of serenity that Theo envied in that moment. Stonemere bowed as she curtsied, and then they both straightened.

  “Mother, Lady Theodora Lawton.”

  “Oh, do cease such overdone formality. The chit is your fiancée, and I have met her on several occasions.” She waved her fan in a never-ending motion designed to beat back the heat of the gathering, and possibly the smell. The older woman’s bold stare drilled into Theo as she asked, “Child, is my son treating you well?”

  Theo truly wished someone’s wig would catch fire, or perhaps a dancer would faint to distract both the dowager and her son. Instead, the woman waited with barely feigned patience, as though even having to ask the question was a nuisance. Theo swallowed and offered a smile. There was only one possible answer in this setting. “Of course, Lady Stonemere.”

  The sharp-eyed woman glanced at her son, then back to Theo. “If he fails to uphold the Stonemere honor, you will inform me immediately. Your marriage may not be a love match, but I expect him to treat the future of the family line with care.”

  Theo nodded her assent and prayed for dismissal so the awkward interview could end. But, to her dismay, another man joined them.

  “Lady Stonemere, I heard you had emerged.” The smiling man bent over the dowager’s hand as she presented it.

  “Denton, do not be coy, young man. Have you met Lady Theodora Lawton?”

  He turned his attention to Theo and again bowed over her hand. “I have not made her acquaintance as of yet.”

  “She is Stonemere’s fiancée.” The dowager smiled with a smugness that suggested she might be responsible for this situation, when in fact it had been her husband and Theo’s father who had saddled her so. “Lady Theodora, this is Mister Hugh Denton, Stonemere’s cousin and my nephew.”

  The man turned to Stone. “My felicitations to you both, ’Chilles.”