C*cky Marquess by Annabelle Anders

Chapter 7

As it was, this most anticipated excursion into Lady Chaswick’s garden didn’t come about right away. While the baroness led the ladies out of the dining room, the gentlemen took more time than usual lingering over their port.

It went without saying that snifters would be lifted multiple times in honor of Stone Spencer’s recent marriage. And when the decanter of port ran out, the earl of Westerley brought out a flask of whisky, or whiskey—Greys could never be sure which, as the man’s wife was heiress to the American Whisky king—to continue the celebrations

“Fresh glasses, if you please, my good man,” Westerley instructed the manservant standing behind him. “A toast to Lord Manningham-Tissinton is in order as well.” The viscount, Mantis, as they’d called him for years, had married the weekend before Spencer and Lady Tabetha’s nuptials. However, Mantis’s ceremony had turned out rather grisly, and the couple had departed for the country shortly after to enter mourning.

“Ah, but he is no longer Manningham-Tissinton. He is Crestwood now. And to acknowledge the passing of our friend’s father’s title, we might as well fill our glasses to the brim. Bring out my whiskey as well, Caruthers,” Chaswick said.

A few minutes later, amber-filled crystal glasses were clinking about the table in honor of the new Earl of Crestwood, and his countess, formerly Lady Felicity Brightley.

A glance around the room reminded Greys that, although he was not the only bachelor at the table, he most certainly was the oldest.

Blackheart remained a bachelor, of course, but as he was currently performing his butlery duties at Knight House, he had been unable to attend the evening’s festivities.

By the time the gentlemen finished with their port and rose to return to the ladies, they were a considerably less distinguished assembly than they had been when they’d entered the dining room earlier. Greys guessed that the ladies would have forgotten the walk in the garden by now. Even he felt the effects of the liquor as they ambled along the corridor to where the womenfolk awaited them.

However, the moment he stepped into the drawing room, his hopes were dashed by noises of excitement and anticipation humming at the gentlemen’s return.

Ladies fluttered amongst one another, some wearing shawls, others without, but most filled with an energy that would only be subdued by a stroll along the fragrant paths that meandered through the baroness’s gardens.

Dash it all.

“We have tapers for those who wish to carry one,” Lady Chaswick explained to the group of gentlemen. “And the ladies have already sent for their wraps.”

“Splendid, my dear!” Chase enthused, looking more besotted than any self-respecting gentleman should.

Greys resisted the urge to roll his eyes toward the ceiling in resignation. No wonder Diana had been left to bumble her way through society. Her brother was so enamored with his new wife that he was likely blind to all else—including, apparently, any dishonorable intentions some unscrupulous blighter might have while sniffing around his sisters.

Greys spotted Captain Edgeworth, standing beside his two comrades with his gaze fixed on Diana. Greys knew that expression. It was a predatory one. He supposed he’d sported it a time or two himself.

Straightening his shoulders, he turned to cross to where Diana was seated but was effectively cut off when a floral-scented obstacle materialized before him.

Lady Isabella.

“Pardon me.” Greys reached out to steady her, and she, in turn, settled her hand on his sleeve.

“My lord.” She glanced up at him and fluttered her lashes.

Ah, so this collision had been deliberate—one which he ought to welcome.

After almost a full year of research into her family history, he’d convinced himself that this pretty young woman would make for an excellent marchioness. And tonight, he could see the intelligence that lurked in her eyes, along with an obvious willingness for him to begin his courtship in earnest.

“My lady,” he responded, annoyed to catch sight of a most determined Edgeworth disengaging from his fellow soldiers to move stealthily toward Diana.

“I have my wrap already. It’s warm for late April, but one must never ignore the possibility of a cool breeze.”

“Indeed,” Greys mumbled as he shuffled his feet, but he failed to maneuver himself out of this young woman’s determined grasp.

A strong will would come in handy for her if she ever became his marchioness—when he made her his marchioness. But, unfortunately, tonight, he wasn’t inclined to appreciate her persistence.

If he could not make his way across the room alone, he would drag Lady Isabella along with him. Even from where he stood, he could tell by the pink in Diana’s cheeks that she was flustered. And as he and Lady Isabella arrived at her side, Diana sent him a grateful glance.

“Miss Jones, Edgeworth,” he interrupted the tête-à-tête, not caring that the captain looked annoyed or that Lady Isabella looked confused.

Because Diana was looking relieved.

Greys dropped his arm, effectively freeing himself from Lady Isabella’s grip, and then clasped both hands behind his back.

“Captain Edgeworth is eager for a tour of my sister-in-law’s garden,” Diana offered, her eyes bright—perhaps a little too bright—as though she was out of her depths.

The captain coughed into his hand. Because, of course, his enthusiasm was not for the garden, but for the privacy the thick shrubs and trees would provide him.

“Indeed, and so, I believe, is Lady Isabella.”

Lady Isabella’s smile was a smug one. “Oh, yes. I am.”

If he were to tag along with Diana and Edgeworth, Greys surmised, he’d be equally successful as if he prevented the captain from escorting her at all. The military hero must realize he’d need to step up his game if he wished to court Diana Jones.

Because although she lacked the Ton’s whole-hearted approval, she would command respect all the same. He’d make certain of that.

That the captain would be frustrated by Greys’ interference was something of a bonus.

“I admit I’m happy for some fresh air.” Diana moved to place a lace shawl about her shoulders, but the captain beat her to it.

Fast hands.

Could be problematic for a lady. Greys tightened his jaw when he caught the captain’s gaze dropping to Diana’s décolletage.

What was Chaswick doing that he couldn’t watch over his sister’s suitors?

As luck would have it, Violet and Posy chose that moment to join them as well. Greys exhaled a satisfied breath. Excellent.

He’d come to put great faith in his cousin’s ability to chaperone. Anyone who could keep Posy in line could only be appreciated for her capabilities.

“Shall we?” Greys asked and then bit back a grin when Violet took his arm. She was going to protect him from Lady Isabella after all, despite the disapproving stare their Aunt Iris sent from across the room.

A few manservants were distributing flickering tapers, and Greys relaxed his shoulders. Far from presenting the captain with an opportunity for a tryst, this garden stroll seemed as though it was going to be more of a group exhibition.

All but a few elderly guests followed Lady Chaswick out the glass doors opening to a path that led them to the back of the house. The moon’s glow hid most of the stars, and a warm breeze stirred the leaves on the trees, sending fluttering shadows dancing across the path.

Walking two by two, the guests made appreciative sounds when a sweet floral scent floated in the air.

Miss Jones glanced over her shoulder, and he could almost believe she’d evoked the delicate fragrance with her smile. Greys shrugged off the notion the moment it occurred.

“Lady Isabella has her sights fixed on you with more determination than I’d thought she would,” Violet spoke softly beside him.

“I’m almost impressed by Aunt Iris’s machinations—although, I assume Lady Isabella’s parents were involved as well. One would imagine I’d already promised to offer for her!”

“You ought to have expected this, Greys,” Violet reminded him. “Was that not your intention when you expressed your interest?”

Guilt pricked at him.

It had been, initially. But then Diana had somehow managed to convince him to go along with her charade, and he’d become somewhat… distracted.

Although, he’d failed to convince anyone that he was courting her so far—what with Diana allowing the captain to claim her for most of the evening.

“Lady Isabella is an excellent choice for you, Greys, as I’m sure you are well aware,” Violet added when he didn’t answer.

“She is.” And he’d not have to worry about the union being messy or emotional. He wanted a rational marriage—one that suited both his and his wife’s purposes without turning either of them into lovesick imbeciles.

Greys watched as, up ahead, Stone Spencer slipped an arm around his wife and tugged her off the path into the shadows.

Lord Westerley’s fingers threaded with Lady Westerley’s as they walked, and when she laughed, the earl tilted his head affectionately closer to his American wife.

Chaswick’s arm encircled his baroness’s waist, his hand creeping so low that it rested in a barely decent position, just above the curve of Lady Chaswick’s bum.

Dash it all, even Mantis’s union had been a love match.

He was pleased for them, but how long would they know happiness and contentment before the balance shifted? Where love existed, there was always the potential for something so much darker.

Innumerable hazards lurked in their world that might as well have been designed to shatter such precarious bliss. And with such an all-encompassing intimacy, the fate of one partner ultimately determined the fate of the other.

Such relationships confused the original incentives for marriage, which were economics, politics, and an unblemished succession. Companionship came in at a distant fourth.

If it came into play at all.

Greys shook off the last memory he had of his father and turned back to his cousin walking beside him.

“What of you, Violet? Are you still determined never to marry?”

She stumbled beside him and then made a choked laughing sound. “Foolish of you to imagine I’d marry at this stage of my life, Greys.”

“Not foolish. You aren’t that old, Violet. Furthermore, you’re a lady of excellent birth and reputation.” There were benefits to marriage that his cousin might enjoy. She wasn’t too old to have her own child, or children, if she’d like. Two well-matched partners in a marriage could form an excellent team—a synergy—without the trappings of romance.

Rational. Practical. The type of union Greys endeavored to have.

Violet waved her free hand through the air. “Foolishness.”

“You aren’t too hard on the eyes, either, if I’m allowed to say so as your cousin.” Greys twisted his mouth into a wry smile.

“I am quite content in my spinsterhood.” She’d gone somewhat stiff beside him. “I’ve rather embraced the freedoms I have without the encumbrances of a husband. Besides, I knew love once, and that was enough for me.”

She had been engaged for a short while when she had been ten and eight. Greys had been caught up in his own affairs, sowing his proverbial oats, and barely remembered the man who’d gone missing from his regiment. Rumors had run rampant that he’d left England altogether and married a French lady, but it was more likely he’d been killed.

However, Greys could, in fact, easily recall Violet’s devastation afterward.

Further incentive to marry for practical reasons. Best to leave all but one’s brain out of making such an important decision.

Even though Greys gave most of his attention to Violet, he kept his eyes on Diana and her companion strolling ahead. And so, he didn’t miss the moment Edgeworth made his move.

With one hand on Diana’s back, the blighter executed a similar maneuver to the one Stone Spencer had pulled off. Unlike Spencer, however, the captain was absconding with Miss Diana Jones—an innocent young lady who was not his wife and who he had no business hauling into the shadows.

Greys hurried his pace, his gaze pinned on the exact spot where the Captain and Diana had disappeared.

“Pardon me.” With Violet still on his arm, Greys edged around Westerley and his countess. “Excuse me,” he said as he stepped around the elder Miss Jones and Captain Gilcrest.

“Greys?” Violet hissed from behind him. “What is your hurry?”

He caught sight of Posy, escorted by Lord Major Cockfield—a man Greys trusted—and feigned that she was the reason for his urgency.

Violet nodded and then patted his arm. “You are a good guardian, Greys,”

He frowned, because he wasn’t, really.

He’d taken Miss Jones under his wing, and presently, she was nowhere to be seen. “Keep your eye on those two. I’ll return shortly.”

Greys ducked between two lilac bushes, noting recent footsteps. Yes, this was the direction Captain Edgeworth had taken her. A few feet in, and then Diana’s easily recognizable voice floated through the foliage.

“I’m afraid I cannot accept your invitation, Captain. I’ve already promised Lord Greystone I would go driving with him.”

“The marquess? Blasted shame, sweetheart. Tell me you have not promised to drive with any other impertinent fellows the day after?” The captain was persistent, a trait which, under certain circumstances, Greys considered admirable. Not, however, when imposed upon a lady he’d dragged away from the protection of her friends and family.

Greys had heard enough.

“Cockfield is looking for you, Edgeworth,” he called, stepping forward unapologetically. “I’ll ensure Miss Diana returns to the other guests safely.”

The captain quickly stepped back from where he had pinned Diana against the trunk of an old oak. With one hand flattened against the bark beside her face and the other resting on her hip, he’d effectively trapped her.

The military gent scowled at the interruption, but with a jerk of his chin, Greys dismissed the younger man.

“My thanks.” Edgeworth glared but bowed and then disappeared into the trees.

Which left Diana standing where she’d been pinned, leaning against the tree trunk.

Did she realize the picture she made, her hips shoved forward like that, her back arched, and her head tipped just enough so that the moonlight shimmered in her eyes—eyes that were the most magnificent blue…?

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Lie to him?” She raised her brows—too clever for her own good.

Greys smothered the hint of admiration he felt, firstly, that she’d seen right through him, and secondly, that she would call him out for it.

He ought to be annoyed with the cheeky minx.

“Your heroic captain knew very well that he’d gone beyond the boundaries of propriety for taking you off alone, not to mention trapping you in such a vulnerable position.”

“He knew you were lying as well,” she said.

“Yes.”

“But I am in my brother’s garden. The other guests are only steps away,” she pointed out. “I don’t understand why you would say that I am vulnerable.”

Greys exhaled.

There were times when a demonstration conveyed a critical lesson far better than words ever could. Holding her gaze, he stepped through the dirt and rocks. He didn’t stop until he was standing nearly as close to her as Edgeworth had been.

“I’ll show you why.” He raised his hand to the tree, planted it just to the left of her head, and moved even closer.

* * *

Hadshe realized this was what the marquess would do if she questioned his opinion? When she’d pretended not to understand?

Because Diana had, in fact, been uncomfortable when Captain Edgeworth had drawn her off the path. She’d been even more uncomfortable when he’d backed her up against the tree.

And not in a good way.

So why had her heart jumped when Lord Greystone appeared? And why did her lips tingle when the Marquess fixed his stare on them?

“This is not the same,” she whispered.

He moved his gaze back to her eyes and then shifted closer.

That humming—buzzing feeling had returned, possibly louder than it had been earlier, and Diana’s mouth went dry. “When the captain stood this close, I felt caught. When you stand this close, I feel…” She searched her mind to describe the way she seemed suddenly aware of every inch of her skin. Did the right words even exist? Because this was only pretend. Wasn’t it?

“How, Diana? How do you feel?” Warm breath danced over her forehead. How could he sound so controlled and… all-knowing when she could barely put two words together in her own thoughts?

“Like butterflies have been released inside me,” she finally managed. “Or bees.” The fact that she couldn’t tell the difference ought to have served as warning.

He chuckled and then glanced away from her with a frown. “Did he kiss you?” He turned back to read her eyes. Did he think she would lie to him?

“I’ve never been kissed.”

“Good. You should not have been. Has he mentioned speaking to your brother?”

How could he stand so close to her and keep talking about her brother, all the while her chest was being squeezed in a vice and some force of nature had her wanting to press up onto her toes to touch her lips to his?

Was she ill?

Was it because she knew she was safe with him? She gave her head a little shake, hoping that by doing so, she could escape this confusing euphoria.

“My brother?” She focused her gaze on the whiskers just above his lips. What had he just asked her?

“Did Captain Edgeworth mention speaking with your brother?”

“No.” Her voice rasped. “Did you?”

His eyes widened in surprise, and then one side of his mouth curled up. “Your brother and I understand one another.”

“And so.” It was Diana who looked away this time. “Because of this understanding, it is acceptable for you to pin me against a tree?”

Lord Greystone would never court her in earnest. He was only one title away from being a duke. This is only pretend.

So, why was her body responding to him as though it wasn’t?

“Like comparing apples to oranges,” he said. “This is different.”

Precisely what I’ve been saying!

But she was too overwhelmed to attempt to explain. “How?” She wanted to know if he was experiencing even a fraction of the feelings she was.

“If you tell me to move away, I will. And the very second you appear threatened or give me any hint of fear, I will step away and return you to where you feel safe.”

Diana inhaled. That wasn’t the answer she wanted to her question. She already knew she was utterly safe with him.

“And Captain Edgeworth wouldn’t do the same?”

“By not speaking with your brother or ensuring you are well-chaperoned, he’s shown disregard for your well-being and reputation. He’s set a less than impressive precedent for future behavior.”

The marquess leaned forward, and the taste of his breath on her lips reminded her of falling on him in the middle of the lake. At one moment, her mouth had been scandalously close to his.

Only this time, neither of them was laughing.

He was only pretending. This was a game—a scheme.

“And is that the only difference?” she asked. Was that breathy sound coming out of her mouth her voice?

Kiss me.

She tilted her head back and licked her lips. Kiss me.

This wasn’t at all the sort of husband-hunting Bethany had had in mind for her. Wrong man, wrong circumstances, wrong, wrong, wrong.

She wasn’t supposed to invite intimacies with a man who had no interest whatsoever in marrying her.

Besides, he was her brother’s friend, and she’d always considered him stuffy and ancient.

He did not seem at all ancient tonight. His silver gaze focused on her mouth and then lifted again to her eyes, slightly hooded now. Ah, yes, he too felt the weight of this dubious attraction. She might be young and naïve, but she was still a woman. And any woman would comprehend the meaning behind that look.

Diana licked her lips once more. Perhaps she wasn’t so very naïve after all.

She was to be disappointed though, because instead of closing the distance between the two of them, he straightened his shoulders, dropped his hand, and stepped back.

Leaving her feeling oddly bereft and—slightly devastated.

“You don’t want to kiss me?” She wouldn’t ask such an embarrassing question if she didn’t believe that he too had wanted it.

“Be grateful that I didn’t.”

“But you wanted to?” she persisted.

He only raised his brows in answer. And then, before she could ask him to explain, understanding donned.

He considered himself honorable, as did all of her brother’s aristocratic chums. If he were to kiss her, he would feel obligated to make her an offer, one that he most adamantly didn’t want to make—one he couldn’t make—not to someone like her.

Because although he was willing to pretend to court her, marrying a lady such as herself—a bastard—was quite out of the question.

And his friendship with her brother would be at stake.

She ducked her head, ignoring his winged elbow, and stomped in the direction of the other guests’ voices.

She’d never even considered angling for someone like Lord Greystone. Before becoming acquainted with him, she’d judged him as too pompous and lofty to be very likable—the same as every other titled gentleman, no doubt—her brother being the rare exception.

Furthermore, she’d never forget how her own father had treated his wife. Why would she put herself in such a position? She wasn’t a masochist, after all.

Even if she could imagine it being a remote possibility. Which she couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t.

She had brains enough to know that she’d be lucky to land any proper sort of husband within the Ton. The thought was a sobering one.

Best she not allow herself to be distracted from her objective by this… flirtation? Fling? Affair?

Whatever this was between her and Lord Greystone.

Captain Edgeworth had expressed an interest in her. She ought to focus on cultivating that interest—even if marring a soldier meant having to follow the drum.

She grimaced.

“Diana,” Greystone spoke from behind her. Of course, she’d not left him behind. Of course, he would not allow her to make her contemptuous exit with any sort of dignity.

She ignored him.

“Diana.”

The sound of her name on his lips elicited excitement, anticipation, but also frustration and hurt. Annoyed, she halted so abruptly that he practically ran her over.

“Yes, my lord?” Disdain rolled off her tongue. It was easier to be angry than it was to acknowledge rejection.

Because though it was permissible for him to address her by name, he would always be Lord Greystone to her.

And the fact that this bothered her was even more vexing.

He’d taken hold of both her elbows. She inhaled his masculine scent, and her knees went weak…

Again.

What was the matter with her?

“This isn’t real.” His voice rumbled just above her ear, but before she could ask what he meant, he spun her around to face him. Not relinquishing his unique sort of calm, he bent down and claimed her mouth with intense efficiency.

All her thoughts fled.

“Oh,” she barely managed to breathe the syllable, suddenly overwhelmed by the taste, the heat, and the texture of kissing the Marquess of Greystone.

Spicy, warm, and firm but also softer than she’d imagined—because yes, heaven help her, she had fantasized about being kissed by him a time or two.

Despite his age.

Despite his title

Despite his lofty confidence and likely immeasurable stores of experience.

Diana was torn between cataloging every sensation of this kiss—her very first—so that she could remember it long into the future and…

Allowing those sensations to curl her toes.

His tongue teased beyond her teeth to wrestle with hers and…

The toe-curling won.

Delicious.

His kiss was sweet and buttery and spicy and introduced her to a new flavor that she never knew she’d craved.

He had one hand on her elbow and his other at the back of her neck. Other than the kiss itself, no other parts of their bodies were touching.

Would he catch her if her knees gave out now? Her head felt heavy and light at the same time, and before she swooned at his feet, Diana clutched the lapels of his jacket.

She gasped when he broke the kiss and stepped away. “No,” she whispered.

Stunned, Diana dropped her hands and, for a half a second, watched his flickering expressions as he seemed to experience a series of emotions: desire, affection, regret, and then—nothing.

“My apologies.” Was he glancing around to avoid looking in her eyes, or was he glancing around to assure himself that no one had witnessed them kissing?

Diana hugged her arms in front of her. “Why?”

He was uncomfortable. She could feel it, and yet he didn’t appear flustered in the slightest.

“You are a lovely young woman, and I find myself attracted to you. I should not—”

“It was a rather delightful first kiss,” Diana said. “If I had not welcomed it, I would not have kissed you back.”

“But I cannot—”

“I have no expectations of you. This didn’t happen, remember? This isn’t real,” she reminded him.

His gaze focused on her once again, and Diana clenched her fists together to keep herself from reaching up to smooth away a wrinkle that had appeared between his eyes.

His chest rose and then fell. “I will ensure that you find a proper husband.”

Why didn’t landing a proper husband seem nearly as important as it had two days ago?

As it had two minutes ago?

“If I don’t marry, I can always pursue my other interest.”

“And what, pray tell, is that?”

“I can become a dancer.” She shrugged. “Le Théâtre du Ballet Saint-Martin has posted that they are hiring.”

His eyes widened in what Diana could only guess was horror. “That, I can assure you, will not be necessary.” And then he covered his mouth. “Or tolerated.”

“What would be so terrible about that?” She knew, but she couldn’t stop herself from goading him.

He had just kissed her quite thoroughly and was once again his ridiculously respectable self.

“It wouldn’t be proper.”

“Ah, but my lord, you mustn’t forget.” She narrowed her eyes up at him. “Neither am I.”