C*cky Marquess by Annabelle Anders

Chapter 5

“Are you aware that Lady Isabella and her parents are attending Chaswick’s dinner?” Violet asked, eyeing Greys from where she sat while the two of them waited for Posy and their Aunt Iris to join them.

Greys glanced away from the window where he’d been appreciating a surprisingly brilliant London sunset from the comfort of his drawing room. With a near cloudless sky, the midnight hours ought to be excellent for viewing the stars.

Violet sat knitting as they waited, working her needles so fast that they were practically a blur—no doubt making mittens for some homeless orphan or widow back home. She always had been a good sort.

“How did you come by this information?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

When Greys had accepted the invitation, Chase had promised it was to be a small family affair to welcome Spencer and Lady Tabetha home after their short wedding journey. Greys had been looking forward to it.

“Aunt Iris,” Violet answered. That it had been his aunt should not have come as a surprise. “She told Lady Chaswick last week that you would be grateful for it.” His cousin winced with an apologetic shrug. “And I believe Lady Chaswick desires to be helpful. You know how these happily married people are—wanting to see all of their acquaintances in equally satisfying relationships.”

Violet was like a sister to him, even though they hadn’t seen much of one another after reaching their majorities. Of the same age, and with neither having siblings, his cousin likely knew him better than most.

Undoubtedly, she was aware that he did not appreciate being managed.

Tonight, he’d had no intention of beginning his pursuit of Lady Isabella—certainly not at a dinner where the woman he was going to be pretending to court was related to the host and hostess.

Greys tugged at the lace on his sleeve, annoyed at his aunt’s audacity. “I wish she hadn’t.” However, the circumstances weren’t impossible. He could finesse his way through such a predicament, although he’d rather not have been forced into it.

Greys propped his hip against the narrow table placed behind the leather settee and studied his cousin. Violet was rather a lot like him. Not in looks, but in personality—dutiful, proper, and diligent—and just sarcastic enough to not be boring.

Furthermore, although more modest than most ladies, she wore fashionable and expertly tailored gowns that perfectly suited her tall, slim figure. Her attempt to coax Posy into doing the same, unfortunately, had been unsuccessful.

If Violet wished to find a husband, Greys did not doubt that she could land a proper gent even at the ripe age of nine and twenty. He assumed, however, that if she had any desire to marry, she would have done so by now. And her decision to remain a single woman had worked out for his benefit, in that she’d tended to their niece, Posy’s upbringing and education.

She lowered her lashes, and Greys reconsidered. Was it the other way around? Had it been Violet’s dedication to Posy that prevented her from seeking out a husband? He ought to speak with her about it before she and Aunt Iris returned to the country. If his cousin wished to marry, indeed, there must be something he could do.

“I assured our Aunt that you did not require her assistance. I told her you were a grown man who would court the lady of your choice when you saw fit. But you know as well as I that she isn’t going to listen to me.”

“Aunt Iris does as she pleases,” Greys said. “But I appreciate your efforts,” he added, teasing. Because Aunt Iris was likely more stubborn than the two of them put together.

And, of course, she did not know the promise he’d made to Miss Diana. Had that been a mistake? He’d found himself annoyingly distracted by the transparency of her gown after their ducking.

“It’s fine.” He reassured his cousin.

The door opened just then, and Blackheart ushered Aunt Iris into the drawing room.

“Thank you, young man. I can’t imagine where I left that blasted cane.” Aunt Iris leaned heavily on the duke, but her bright grey-blue eyes were as alert as ever. “Good evening, Greystone, Violet. Posy is complaining of a megrim, but I’ve told her she’s coming anyway. She promises to be down in ten minutes. Megrim, my eye!”

Violet pinched the bridge of her nose. “She told me the same, but I, too, insisted that she could not cry off this evening. Gwen promised me she’d have Posy dressed and ready to go in time.” His cousin shot an odd look toward Blackheart, but then flicked her gaze back to Greys. “That girl is going to be the death of me. I’m beginning to believe coming to London was a mistake.”

“She’ll be fine.” Then Greys’ thoughts shifted to another impetuous young lady. Miss Diana Jones was similar in age to Posy, but she seemed older—more mature than his niece. Whereas Posy meandered through life following whims, Chase’s sister had focus. Yes, she sighed over officers and enjoyed a rather peculiar manner of dancing, but behind her eyes, he’d noticed a determination his ward lacked. Miss Jones deemed herself responsible for her own future, and even with the support of Chaswick and his baroness, the uncertainties that developed with an upbringing such as hers weren’t easily erased.

Her lovely youthfulness and wary courage made for an intriguing combination.

“I hope you are right,” Violet grumbled.

“I’ll talk with her.” But he wasn’t going to force Posy to find a husband if she didn’t want one. Not when he was able to provide her with everything to live comfortably long after his demise.

“That one is going to require a strong man to take her in hand,” Aunt Iris harrumphed and took a seat. His mind went immediately to Miss Diana before he realized she was referring to his niece.

“I disagree,” Blackheart inserted. “She needs a gentleman to take her by the hand, not in hand—one to protect her but also allow her to blossom into the woman within.”

Iris turned to stare at Blackheart, who was going about his business collecting the few empty glasses sitting on a low table and making it appear effortless even with one arm in a sling. “You certainly are opinionated for a butler.”

“Merely stating the facts, my lady.” And ignoring her expression of outrage, Blackheart slipped silently out of the room.

“If he weren’t so efficient and easy on the eye, I’d advise you to sack him and hire a more biddable butler, Greystone,” Iris said.

Greys bit back a grin. “Best butler I’ve ever had.”

“Your future Marchioness might beg to differ.” Iris pursed her lips. “Which brings me around to inform you that you’ll have an opportunity to pay your addresses to Lady Isabella this evening. Such a lovely young woman.”

“Posy will have plenty of company her age then,” Greys responded without committing to initiating anything with Lady Isabella that night. He should never have informed his aunt of his intentions—not, at least, until he was prepared to act on them.

Forty minutes later, Greys wondered if he ought to have feigned a megrim himself.

Not a minute after Iris, Violet, Posy, and he were ushered into Chaswick’s front drawing room, Lord and Lady Huntly pounced with Lady Isabella dutifully in tow. Greys required all his diplomatic efforts to extricate himself to offer the guests of honor his congratulations.

Stone Spencer, the second son of the Earl of Ravensdale, had surprised every member of the Ton by marrying Lady Chaswick’s younger sister: a young woman who’d been utterly transparent at the onset of the Season that she would only marry a duke.

But damned if the two of them didn’t appeared utterly delighted with the unexpected turn of events.

“We’re only in town for a few days,” Spencer was quick to inform him. “My bride and I have decided to extend our honeymoon throughout the summer. So, after my mother’s ball next week, we’ll be heading down to Brighten to see how Peter’s doing and then perhaps travel along the coast.”

“Was this Mrs. Spencer’s idea?” Such levels of besottedness mystified Greys. He’d never expected any of these men to fall so completely in love with the women they married. And despite his cynicism, he couldn’t help but believe their unions would be happy ones.

He hoped, anyhow, for all their sakes.

“Not Mrs. Spencer.” Spencer shook his head. “I might think you were referring to my mother. My wife is Lady Tabetha Spencer.”

“But not a duchess,” Greys pointed out.

“Thank God.” Spencer laughed, but then his expression softened when he caught his wife’s gaze from across the room even as a few other familiar faces approached to offer the newly hitched gentleman their congratulations. Greys greeted the newcomer and then excused himself.

What with Westerley, Chase, Stone, and even Mantis caught up in wedded bliss, Greys ought to feel perfectly comfortable in his own decision to marry.

And yet, he didn’t.

Nor was he in any hurry to.

Greys glanced across the room to where Miss Diana, Miss Jones, Posy, and Lady Isabella clustered around one another giggling, and he felt a tightening in his chest.

As though sensing his regard, Miss Diana cast her gaze in his direction and caught him staring. The upward tilt of her mouth had him remembering the moment she’d asked him if ducks could fly, and for no reason at all, his chest loosened.

If not for the shuffling at the door, he might even have found himself grinning back at her foolishly.

The new arrivals, all dressed in military colors, were welcomed by their host and hostess and, after graciously accepting drinks, with far less subtlety than Greystone, turned to also observe the group of unmarried ladies.

Most notably, Miss Diana.

She blinked in confusion, and Greys recalled his duty to assist her in her husband-hunting endeavor.

If she forgot what they’d discussed and she threw herself at Captain Edgeworth tonight, she’d undo all their good work from earlier that afternoon.

Before she could muck her prospects up, Greys set his drink aside and crossed the room. As he interrupted the feminine gathering, Lady Isabella curtseyed with a simper, Posy rolled her eyes, and the elder Miss Jones sent her younger sister a curious stare.

He greeted each of them appropriately and then turned to address the lady for whom he’d promised to feign affection. “A moment of your time, Miss Diana?”

Four sets of finely arched brows rose simultaneously, and then those same ladies shared furtive glances. Greys fingered the lace at his wrists as he awaited Miss Diana’s response. He hated that Lady Isabella looked hurt by his request, but… He would offset her displeasure in due time—after he ensured Chaswick’s sister was settled with her military gent.

He couldn’t very well court one lady while pretending to court another, could he? Curses on his Aunt Iris.

“Certainly, my lord.” A pink flushed her cheeks, and for no identifiable reason, Greys enjoyed the effect.

He offered his elbow and led her to the far corner of the room. She craned her neck in the soldier’s direction. “Don’t stare after him,” Greys whispered near her ear as he escorted her away from the door.

“It’s the uniform,” she sighed but was looking straight ahead now. In this, she was like so many other debutantes.

“Was it you who invited him?” He scowled.

“My brother did.”

“Ah…” Lord Greystone glanced over toward the soldiers. “I suppose we’ll want to make the most of the evening then.”

* * *

Diana wriggled her shoulders,her enthusiasm deflated by her conversation just a few minutes before.

“How can you pretend to court me when Lady Isabella is expecting you to court her?” The younger lady had just informed Diana, Collette, and Posy that she would be betrothed to the Marquess of Greystone in a few weeks. And then the marquess, himself, had joined them, looking incredibly handsome even in comparison to Captain Edgeworth and the other military gentlemen.

And he had singled Diana out.

“Dash it all. Can no one in all of Mayfair be trusted with a confidence? Who told you this?”

“Lady Isabella herself. Is it true? She is the lady you intend to court?”

“Emphasis on intend. I’ve spoken with the lady’s father but made no promises as of yet.” The marquess looked more annoyed than usual, which was saying something considering he seemed at least partly annoyed most of the time.

Diana wondered at the sort of buzzing in her chest. It had begun as a low hum when he’d arrived and grown louder as he’d drawn her aside to speak—just the two of them.

Rolling her lips, Diana pondered his explanation. “I never realized the importance of gossip until I met Bethany. I knew it existed. My father mentioned it often, in fact, but I didn’t realize society was literally built on something so disingenuous,” Diana grumbled and then tilted her head back to study his eyes. “I don’t want to make trouble for you. If you wish to take back your promise, I won’t hold it against you—”

“I am not a man who goes back on his word.” Silvery specks stood out in his eyes, which tonight, appeared more charcoal than grey.

“But if you like, I can be the one to release you from our agreement. I’m more than happy to do so. Isn’t that why you wanted to talk to me?”

“Not at all.” He took her hands in his and leaned down. “I wanted to speak with you before you did anything that might set back your campaign to land your captain.”

“Oh,” Diana muttered, distracted by the sensation of the heat from his breath near her ear. And that buzzing feeling? It was even louder now—stronger.

“Good idea,” Diana added. “Seeing as we failed to discuss our plan in any detail at the party this afternoon.” And with a glance around the Marquess’s shoulder, she ducked and dipped her chin. “He’s looking now. What should I do? What if he comes over here?”

“Excellent.” Lord Greystone’s voice sounded low and satisfied.

More buzzing. More vibrating.

“Smile,” he ordered. He dipped his chin and ever so slightly brushed his jaw along the side of her head. The touch was brief, so much so that she could almost believe he’d done so on accident. It wasn’t so fleeting, however, that she didn’t feel the tug of his whiskers catching in her hair.

Was her inability to inhale a full breath due to her proximity to the marquess, or was she suffering it because she knew Captain Edgeworth was watching?

What if their scheme didn’t work? What if it did?

“Take one step backward,” Lord Greystone instructed.

“But—” Wouldn’t that relay the opposite of what their pretend attraction was supposed to convey?

“Trust me.”

Not understanding his reasoning but also conceding his superior expertise in this circumstance, Diana took a half step back but couldn’t go any further as the wall was directly behind her.

And rather than maintain the slight distance she’d added between them as she’d expected, the marquess took a half step forward. A little light-headed now, she was grateful to lean against the wall, caught between it and his astonishingly masculine chest.

She dare not look up at him. He was too close—too overwhelming. At the same time, she reminded herself that this was all for show.

How was it possible that she felt the heat of Lord Greystone’s body without him even touching her?

But then his fingertips brushed her chin, barely grazing the sensitive skin, and she tilted her head back, unable to avoid his penetrating gaze even a second longer.

Nothing about her reaction, her feelings, made sense. Lord Greystone was a decade older than her. He was one of her brother’s titled friends. He was a marquess, for heaven’s sake. And yet, that buzzing flowed through her veins like a fiery liquid. She clenched her thighs together and drew in a deep breath.

Before she could utter anything intelligent, however, the marquess began slowly counting backward. “Five, four, three, two…”

“I believe it’s time to go through for dinner.” A voice materialized from behind the marquess. “May I have the honor of escorting you, Miss Diana?”

Captain Edgeworth did not acknowledge the marquess, nor did the marquess so much as afford the captain a glance.

Lord Greystone kept his gaze fixed on hers.

“We’ll finish our… discussion later. Until then,” Lord Greystone finally stepped back and bowed over her hand. He smirked. “Diana.”