Page 3 of An Affair with a Notorious Heiress
“Grace was well tutored by our mother.”
“Unusual for a lord to marry a woman who grew up on the streets, but I daresay when I was introduced to the Duchess of Greystone, I could certainly understand her appeal.” His parents rarely attended balls any longer so their appearance at the Lovingdon ball was generally heralded as one of the few times they might make an appearance throughout the Season. Few knew the true reason behind their increasing absences.
“My mother is an incredible woman who rose above her beginnings,” he said a bit more curtly than was polite.
“I hope I didn’t offend.”
At least she wasn’t oblivious to his tone. He rather feared she might be. “Not at all. Having grown up with her during the entirety of my life, I take her for granted, and sometimes forget she was not always welcomed by the aristocracy.” A small lie as he never forgot the impact her previous life had on his. Yet he held the girl blameless for the difficulties he’d endured during his youth. After all, she’d been on the other side of the Atlantic.
“I find your parents’ story to be incredibly romantic.”
“It is that, I suppose.”
“I love romance.”
Dear God, let the music begin as he was not romancing the girl. A dance. An outing to the park. That was it. If he couldn’t get the gents interested in her by then—
Dash it all! He may have just agreed to sacrifice his entire summer to attending balls all for the want of a horse. However, he wasn’t going to just give up if he’d misjudged the ease with which he could lure gents to her side.
The quadrille finally came to an end. He offered his arm to Miss Hammersley, aware her touch was featherlike, practically nonexistent, and escorted her onto the gleaming parquet dance floor. He couldn’t deny she was quite lovely in an elfin sort of way. She had a gamine smile that never faltered during their dance. He was the worst sort of wretch for placing his racehorses above her. He consoled himself with the knowledge he’d spied a couple of gents giving her a once-over. And she was a graceful dancer. Those lessons were serving her well.
When the waltz ended, he began leading her back toward the chairs. “I wonder if I might call on you tomorrow afternoon and take you for a drive through the park.” It couldn’t hurt to allow all the swells to see her in his carriage.
“I’d be delighted, my lord.”
“Say around two?”
“I’ll be waiting with bells on. By the by, I’m staying at Landsdowne Court with my sister.”
He blinked, surprised she lived in such close proximity to the notorious Lady Landsdowne. “Not with your uncle?”
“No. She’s not welcomed within Society so my uncle carts me about, but he is a bachelor whose abode would not suit at all and so I reside with my sister.”
“Then I shall see you at Landsdowne Court.” Once they reached their destination, he again gallantly lifted her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I shall count the hours.”
He was going to burn in hell for that last remark. He didn’t think it was possible for her smile to get any brighter yet it did. Shame pricked his conscience but he tamped it down. With any luck, by the end of the week the girl would have a hundred swains vying for her attention and Rexton would have Black Diamond.
He arrived promptly at two. He’d never been a slacker in any regard. Landsdowne Court was impressive from the outside, even more so from the inside with its cavernous entryway and stairs branching out on two sides leading to the upper floors. He wasn’t certain how Lady Landsdowne had wrested the residence—which had been in the earl’s family for at least a century—away from her husband, but her residing within these walls had resulted in another insult for which Society wouldn’t forgive her.
Extending his card to the butler, he was surprised by the man’s youth. “The Marquess of Rexton calling upon Miss Hammersley.”
“I’ll inform the countess. Allow me to situate you in the parlor.”
The parlor was deep purple walls and furniture in various shades of white. He’d never realized white came in an assortment. Some of it was so pristine as to hurt the eyes, like snow captured in sunlight, some less so, more the ivory of tusks.
Rexton wandered over to the shelves beside the fireplace. Only half contained books. The others held wood, granite, and marble carvings of horses in various stances: leaping, trotting, prancing. Paintings of horses dotted the walls, a huge one hung over the fireplace. Obviously the room reflected the earl’s love of horses. It must have pricked his pride to have had to leave all this behind.
Hearing the rapid patter of heels, he turned, completely unprepared for the hard kick his gut took at the sight of the woman striding toward him with such regal and uncompromising bearing. She held herself rigid and tall, with dignity and a daring that issued a challenge: mock me, mess with me, at your own peril. Nothing about her appeared youthful, yet he doubted she’d yet seen a quarter of a century.
She stopped in front of him, her blue eyes—shrewd, calculating, suspicious—slowly raking over him, taking his measure. Much to his annoyance, he found himself straightening his spine a tad, when he’d thought it was as straight as a poker. With hair as black as midnight, she in no way resembled her sister. This woman was no innocent. She didn’t harbor dreams of love and romance. Poetry interested her not in the least. Pixie dust wasn’t sprinkled about her. She was all strength and vinegar. She wouldn’t break in his bed. He’d wager if anyone were vulnerable there, it would be he. She communicated quite effectively with her narrowed gaze that she would give no quarter.
“Good afternoon, Lord Rexton. I’m Lady Landsdowne. I don’t believe we’ve ever been properly introduced.”
No, they hadn’t. He couldn’t recall ever laying eyes on her. By the time he was occasionally making the social rounds she was persona non grata. “It’s a pleasure.”
Her smile, small and tight, indicated she knew he was lying. The décolletage of her burgundy frock was low enough to modestly hint at the swell of her bosom, only enough pale skin revealed to make a man’s mouth water and his imagination to take flight, but the rest of her was covered as primly as a schoolmistress.
“It seems Gina slept in. She’s preparing herself now. I’m afraid she might be a while. I’d offer to have the maid bring in tea but you strike me as being a whisky man.” She walked over to a table sporting several decanters and winged a finely arched raven-black eyebrow at him over her shoulder.
