Page 25 of Tempting the Marquess

Christ. He sounded complete unhinged.

Pausing, he took a deep, calming breath and continued, “No. The lady in question is Lady Samantha Buchanan. The petite blonde you frightened the life out of at my birthday dinner, remember?”

“A more accurate description would be surprised.”

“I don’t believe young ladies forget to breathe when they are merely surprised, your grace.”

A faint hint of color appeared on Alexander’s cheeks. “Habit. Play the same role long enough, and it becomes your truth. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that. But the chit has my sympathies. Hard to believe she’s Claremont’s daughter. The man’s a disgrace both in manners and the company he keeps.”

“Exactly why we needed to go, a show of strength so to speak. Aunt Jane is sponsoring her,” said William, taking another sip of brandy.

“Good woman. It’s not easy when one’s family is...difficult. But more to the point, what happened at Almack’s that caused you to misplace all composure?”

The thousand guinea question. And of all the people in the world, Alexander was the one to tell. He might mock for a while, but kept secrets like an impenetrable vault.

“Lady Samantha happened. She has no town polish, two left feet, blushes at everything…”

Alexander’s jaw dropped, his face the portrait of incredulous amusement. “You like her. And not in a cordial acquaintance way, but the way Westleigh likes Caroline and Trentham likes Louisa.”

“Nonsense.”

His friend began to laugh. “No. Not nonsense at all, I’d wager. The mighty marquess undone by a petite young blonde who makes up in curves what she lacks in height. How extraordinary. What do Westleigh and the dowager have to say about your fledglinglove?”

“They don’t bloody know,” William snapped, already regretting his candor.

“Hmmm. That answers my questions from your birthday dinner. Caroline made a rather valiant effort to distract the rest of us from your too-long absence, she is an admirably loyal friend to Lady Samantha, but it was obvious. I must say, while there are obvious pitfalls in the Claremonts, and awkward Forsyth House moments with Westleigh, I’m still struggling to understand why you’ve turned into the male equivalent of a harpy. What aren’t you tellingme?”

William briefly closed his eyes, then pinned his closest friend with a look. “Very well. Since you asked, White suspects Claremont is a traitor and has ordered me to find out if Lady Samantha is involved or knows anything. Under the guise of courtingher.”

Sucking in a harsh breath, Alexander held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “In which case I take it all back, you’ve actually demonstrated remarkable restraint. What are you going todo?”

William glared at his empty brandy glass then, settling back in his chair, held it out for another refill. If there was an easy answer he wouldn’t be snarling at underlings or drowning his sorrows, but putting a plan into action. “What can I do, other than obey my instructions? If I don’t carry out this assignment someone else will, and Christ knows how they would complete it. Now hurry up and pour me a drink.”

After three further brandies Alexander took his leave, but William’s head remained disappointingly clear. Sleep also seemed a great distance away, so instead of going home he took a hackney to a smart brick building on the outskirts of Mayfair.

Ensconced in the opulent salon of Madame Lisette’s exclusive gentleman’s club, he tried desperately to be captivated by the scores of beautiful women. While they were all more than happy to keep him and his guineas company, the brunettes were ridiculously tall, the redheads unnaturally loud, and the blondes painfullythin.

As if sensing his irritation, Madame Lisette herself glided up and rested a light hand on his arm. “We have missed you here, my lord, and this evening you look like a man with a great many cares on his shoulders. Unburden yourself for a few hours. Who may have the honor of soothingyou?”

Even the innocuous question annoyed him. Could he not just take a few moments to observe? Perhaps strike up a brief conversation? Immediately though, he sighed at his own thoughts and took a gulp of champagne to clear them. It was a seriously demented man who came to Madame Lisette’s and pondered who to talkto.

Finishing his drink, he bowed politely and reached into his pocket for some money.

“Forgive me, Lisette, it’s been a long day. Your ladies are delightful as always, but I believe I shall retire. Good evening.”

It seemed clearing his mind of Lady Samantha Buchanan would take something else entirely.

* * *

Lord Standish was still avoidingher.

Tears burned her eyes, but Samantha refused to let them fall, not in front of all the strangers at Esther Hartley’s musicale. She’d only agreed to come here because Esther’s father, Lord Anthony Hartley, was a longtime acquaintance of Lord Standish.

But the marquess hadn’t arrived. And she had no one but herself to blame after the disastrous birthday dinner. Wearing that horrid gown, behaving like a complete twit who couldn’t even manage exits and entries like a lady, somehow spoiling the moment when it seemed he was finally going to kissher.

Instead, like the other attendees at this musicale, she was being subjected to aural purgatory. Esther was also twenty, but sweet-tempered, stunningly beautiful with big blue eyes and silken ebony hair, and surely the worst singer in England. Her low notes shook the furniture, high notes nearly shattered glass, and she was forever two beats behind the stoic string quartet. Lord Hartley continually applauded and encouraged his daughter, but everyone else wore frozen smiles as they gulped champagne and brandy to try and ease their suffering.

Next to Samantha, the adventurous and amusing redheaded Louisa Trentham, was staring at Esther in shocked fascination. “I thought George possessed the worst voice in England, but I take it back. He could never best this performance. I should have smuggled in some of dear Sir Humphrey Davy’s nitrous oxide. Might not block the sound, but at least everyone would be merry.”