“I thought it odd you would engage yourself to a woman with little connections or fortune. Her father, Viscount Marlow, left them with little money, and his heir does not support them. Miss Danvers’s family is beneath your notice,” George muttered. “I cannot credit it is her you would choose to be your duchess.”
Alexander smiled. Who gave a damn? He was interested.
How long had it been since he had thought of or desired the company of a woman? Years.
The marquess sighed and crossed his legs, seemingly admiring the new boots that encased his calves. “I will give it to her— she is nothing if not inventive and original. I hear tell you indulge her shamelessly.” The marquess grabbed the newssheet, a frown puckering his brow as he read the latest on-dits on Miss Danvers. “The hell you say! I cannot credit the romantic nonsense she claims you do. You write poetry? Sing ballads to her? Come, man!”
Pretty little liar.
Alexander reached for the newssheet, snapped the paper twice, and lowered his attention to the article. The sheer outrageousness of it awakened his curiosity to an astonishing degree. A perverse enchantment with her gall scythed through him. Unable to temper the need, he kept reading, baffled at the romantic compliments she attributed to him.
His godmother mad
e another stab at eliciting a reaction. “Please tell me, is it true, Alexander? Are you really to be married to this creature?”
He did not want to lie to his godmother but found that he did not want to reveal how clever and deceptive Miss Danvers truly was. “There is a slight misunderstanding between Miss Danvers and me. When it has been cleared up, I will inform you all of the state of our relationship.”
He chuckled at Georgie’s expression of disbelief.
The man straightened in his chair. “Good God, man, what does that mean? Are you to go to town?”
Alexander had not ventured into the ton for years, not since the last time he had attended the House of Lords over six years past. The ugly memory of his legs giving out while he stood debating the Bank of England’s planned return to the gold standard rushed through him. He almost flinched from it, but he allowed himself to absorb the remembered whispers from his peers who had filled parliament.
Dear God, his scars are hideous.
He is a cripple…
Not the duke he could be…
He had retreated to the country without any attempt to partake in the frivolities of the season. The newspapers had already had a field day with his loss of dignity on the floor of parliament, and he hadn’t cared for the fainting of young ladies or the ton’s endless speculation.
He had worked to strengthen his legs, slowly moving from being able to be out of his bath chair for more than a few minutes until he could stand unassisted for hours. There hadn’t been anything pulling him to the heart of London, for he had good friends to read his arguments and to ensure his will directed the lords in parliament when he wanted a vital bill passed.
But now…Alexander’s growing interest in meeting his little schemer was undeterred by reason or common sense. What he would do with the fair intriguer when he saw her was another question altogether.
…
Pride burst in Kitty’s heart at the radiance of her sister. Anna’s smile seemed to be lit from within as she dipped into an elegant curtsy and stepped into the arms of Baron Lynton. Her emerald ball gown and silver dancing slippers glowed iridescently under the candlelight of the crystal chandeliers in the glittering ballroom. The baron twirled her sister with effortless grace, and to Kitty, they appeared the most charming couple. This was the second time they had danced this evening, and his marked attention to her sister was rather pleasing.
Kitty had ensured Anna attended most of the balls she’d been invited to over the course of the last three weeks, and the first night the gentlemen had crowded around her sister, begging for dances. The plan was working. The only disadvantage was the rakes and dandies seemed to now believe Kitty herself was a conquest.
At first, the attention had flummoxed her; then she’d been amused at their fickleness. She had drawn on a mask of amused indifference, refusing all offers of dancing and riding in the park. Kitty still grappled with the fact she had her own personal carriage pulled by a team of matching bays. It seemed Mr. Pryce had thought of everything, and the little notepad she used to keep track of the sum she would need to secretly pay back the duke held an astronomical figure.
“Annabelle and Baron Lynton are delightful together,” murmured Miss Fanny Morton, another dear friend of Kitty’s and a member of their wallflowers club.
Fanny wasn’t celebrated as a beauty, but there was nothing in the least objectionable in her fair countenance. She had short dark red hair cut in the height of fashion and the most beguiling pair of gray eyes—deep and unfathomable. She’d had the misfortune a few years ago to believe herself in love with a young baronet. After the banns had been called, he’d jilted her in favor of an heiress who commanded fifty thousand pounds a year, and somehow society hadn’t forgiven her for the baronet’s terrible conduct.
“Wouldn’t it be grand if he should offer for her?” Ophelia whispered over the strains of the waltz as she approached with a glass of punch. “He seems halfway in love with her already.”
“I dare hope she waits until after an offer has been secured…or better, after the marriage to declare her own affections,” Fanny said softly, throwing up her hands in affected dismay, shadows of remembered pain in her eyes. “It would not serve her to be too obvious in her affections and then…” She shrugged inelegantly and sipped her champagne.
“I can tell they are a well-matched couple with genuine attachment. Oh, Kitty, your plan is working brilliantly,” Ophelia said with a happy but surprisingly envious sigh.
“And let’s not forget, most marvelous of all, Baron Lynton has ten thousand a year and no less than two estates,” Maryann said, moving toward them, appearing far too breathless. Or was she frightened? Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips appeared bee-stung.
Had she been kissed?
“Your walk onto the terrace seemed invigorating,” Ophelia said, her eyes wide with speculation and wonder. “Were you for once being wicked, Maryann, darling?”