The Earl's Inconvenient Wife

‘If I thought you were going to be compelled to supervise me, I would never have asked for Lady Sayleford’s sponsorship,’ Temper continued after he’d set the horses moving.

Giff shook his head. ‘Too late to withdraw now! If I know my godmother, by the time we reach Vraux House she will already have written to summon her great-niece.’

‘I shall be happy enough to proceed, as long as we can convince her not to drag you into the bargain. No point going to market when you aren’t ready to buy anything.’ She sighed. ‘I only wish I didn’t have to spend time in the Marriage Mart, but since I must, I’ll cheer myself with the hope that it might not be for long. With any luck, it will soon be evident that I attract only fortune hunters and fast young men looking to lure the “wanton” into the shrubbery.’

Giff didn’t find that prospect very reassuring. Neither type of man was likely to respect Temper—and the latter could, as his godmother had pointed out, actually pose a danger to her.

Maybe he ought to drop by a few of the entertainments she attended, just to make sure she was safe.

‘It pains me that society will try to paint you in that light. When we both know that neither you—nor your mother, it turns out—possess such a character.’

‘As I told your godmother, people will think what they want, regardless of the truth. But in this instance, I’m glad of it. It should require only a little push to have society confirm that I don’t respect its rules, ensuring that no respectable gentleman will pay me his addresses.’

‘Just as long as you are not targeted by the truly disreputable.’

‘As long as I have a chaperon clinging to my side, I hope I am! Everyone knows disreputable gentlemen are the most charming! Except for you, of course, Giff. You’re respectable and—alluring.’

The change in her tone—from amusement to warmth of a different sort—pulled his gaze from the road to her. The yearning he read in her eyes fired his always-simmering attraction into full-on arousal.

Fierce, intelligent—and so beautiful. He had an almost overwhelming urge to lean down and kiss her.

The curricle hit a bump, jolting him back to the job of controlling the horses. But his palms were sweating and his breathing uneven when he pulled up his team in front of Vraux House.

‘You needn’t see me in,’ she said as his tiger jumped down and trotted over to help her out of the vehicle. ‘I shall try not to be too outrageous, so hopefully your kindness in intervening to help me won’t come back to haunt you.’

He looked at her full in the face this time, struck anew by her beauty—and the softened lips and molten gaze that confirmed the strong current of desire coursing through him was unmistakably mutual. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other.

She reached a hand out, as if to touch him, then drew it back again. ‘Thank you, Giff,’ she whispered, then turned away to let his tiger help her down.

Ridiculous, to feel an instant bolt of envy because that skinny, pock-faced boy was touching her—as he wanted to so fiercely and mustn’t.

Fists clenched on the reins, Giff watched her walk into Vraux House—both regretting and hopeful that his part in the launching of Miss Temperance Lattimar’s Season had just been completed.

Chapter Five (#u99a27dcf-481b-5ead-8d49-e037598bf7bf)

A week later, dressed to attend her introductory tea at Lady Sayleford’s, Temper inspected herself in her looking glass. The afternoon gown, one of the new dresses she’d just acquired, was cut with the wide sleeves, narrow waist and belled skirts of the latest style, done up in a deep blue silk that enhanced her eyes. Not the virginal white of a timid debutante, but the colour suited her—both in looks and temperament.

Telling herself she had no need to be nervous, she was walking down the stairs to collect her cloak and have the butler summon her a hackney when the door opened and Gifford Newell walked in. He looked up, saw her—and stopped short.

She froze, transfixed by the intensity of his admiring gaze, for the first time glad that the exaggerated style emphasised the smallness of her waist while the low bodice exposed her neck and shoulders. Then, telling herself not to be ridiculous, she lifted her skirts and continued downwards, ignoring the accelerated beat of her heart and the queer fluttering in the pit of her stomach.

He was, she discovered when she looked up after descending the last step, still gazing at her. ‘Exquisite!’ he murmured. ‘If being the most beautiful lady in the room means society will exile you, your Season will be over before it begins.’

She shouldn’t feel such satisfaction at knowing he found her attractive—but she did. ‘The colour is lovely, although I can’t admire the style. These sleeves and skirts! Impossible to do anything useful wearing something so wide.’

‘Of course not. As a society lady, you’re supposed to be admired and have everything done for you.’

‘In other words, be vacant-headed and decorative.’ She sighed. ‘Heaven help me survive this Season! You’re looking handsome as always, Giff. Come to find Gregory?’

‘No, I came to collect you. To escort you to Lady Sayleford’s. I’m pleased to find you ready. My godmother detests tardiness.’

‘You’re escorting me?’ she echoed. ‘I thought the tea would be a ladies’ affair.’

‘So did I, but when Lady Sayleford commands, one complies. Unless one is prepared to move to the Outer Hebrides, which would be a rather inconvenient location for a sitting Member of Parliament.’

‘I understand carrier pigeons can travel hundreds of miles in just a few hours,’ she offered, smiling. ‘But I agree, the Outer Hebrides would be inconvenient. Though if it is to be just ladies, I can’t imagine why she would require you to escort me. Surely she knows I’m capable of taking a hackney from Vraux House to hers!’

‘I long ago learned never to question my godmother’s inscrutable ways,’ Giff replied. ‘Shall we go?’

‘Yes. Hopefully once you’ve delivered me, she will release you back to your duties. As a sitting Member of Parliament.’

To her relief, Newell had brought his curricle, requiring him to keep his attention focused on his driving, rather than on her. With him otherwise occupied, she could sit beside him and enjoy the delicious frisson of attraction that sizzled between them without any chance of being tempted further down a road she had no business travelling.

The afternoon being busy and the traffic noisy, she made no attempt to converse as they made the transit. A short time later, he pulled up his team in front of Lady Sayleford’s town house, his tiger springing down to help her out.

They walked in, Harris once again showing them into the Grand Parlour where, this time, Lady Sayleford awaited them.

‘Here I am, ma’am, as summoned,’ Giff said as he bent to kiss his godmother’s cheek after the ladies exchanged curtsies. ‘Was that the extent of the service you wished me to render?’

‘You think I would require you merely to deliver Miss Lattimar, who is entirely capable of making the arduous journey from Brook Street to Grosvenor Square on her own? No, I have other plans, which will put all your wit and charm to good use.’

Motioning them to a seat, she said, ‘As you can see, you’ve been summoned before the other guests. I want you to meet my great-niece, Mrs Angela Moorsby, and instruct you, Gifford, on the role you must play. That first.’

‘What, precisely, would you have me do?’

‘I have invited a few of the most important society hostesses. After greeting them all, I wish to speak privately with each one. Your task, Gifford, will be to assist my niece in keeping the other ladies entertained, the conversation flowing brightly, so none are tempted—or able—to eavesdrop on my tête-à-tête.’

‘What part am I to play?’ Temper asked.

‘You, my dear, will be sitting by me, so that each lady gets a...proper introduction.’

And with that explanation, which explained nothing, I will have to be satisfied, Temper thought, suppressing a smile. Very well. She was quite prepared to recite her few lines while Lady Sayleford directed the overall action.

‘I don’t suppose I’m permitted to ask who, what or why?’ Giff said, posing what, from the frown Lady Sayleford returned him, Temper knew had been a rhetorical question.

‘Ah, here she is! Angela, allow me to present my godson, Gifford Myles Newell, and the young lady you are to chaperon, Miss Temperance Lattimar. Children, this is my great-niece, Mrs Angela Moorsby.’

Sucking in a breath in apprehension, Temper watched a small, plump woman cross the room, her rotund form garbed in a slightly out-of-fashion gown.

‘Mr Newell, well met!’ she said, curtsying to them, her pleasant face wreathed in a smile. ‘And Miss Lattimar! So you are the angel of mercy who is enlivening my dull life by providing me a Season in London. And a complement of lovely new gowns, as well! Thank you! I intend to enjoy myself exceedingly—and, I promise you, to chaperon with a very light hand.’

Temper smiled back at the friendly gaze and open, honest countenance of Angela Moorsby, her fear of having to deal with an incompatible chaperon melting into an instant rapport.

And a sharp stab of guilt, to doom this pleasant, innocent lady to the criticism and censure she expected her presentation would heap on the head of her hapless chaperon. Looking over at Lady Sayleford, she said, ‘Have you warned her what my Season will likely entail?’

‘Oh, no, my child. I thought it better to allow you to do that.’

So you can listen to me explain one more time before giving final approval? Temper would not be at all surprised, should she express something to incur Lady Sayleford’s disapproval, to have the offer of sponsorship revoked on the instant and the great-niece sent back to rural obscurity.