Beguiled

“Why not?” Cardemore gave a shrug of his massive shoulders. “Like the rest of your kind, you’ve been taught from the cradle how to manipulate others. There’s very little you can’t manage if you put some effort to it. And don’t think I don’t know it. I come from the same sort of people, with all their ancient titles and ancient blood and ancient emotions.” He sat back comfortably in his chair. “The Walfords go back to before the days of the Romans, so far back you’d think we’d have water in our veins by now instead of blood, we’ve been stretched so thin. Some of us are half-mad,” he said with a grin. “Some of us are nearly inhuman. I happily abandoned my family when I was fourteen and never would have gone back if my brother hadn’t had the bad manners to get himself killed without leaving a son to inherit the title and estates, and if Lily hadn’t needed me. I’ve loved few souls in my life, Graydon,” Cardemore said softly, intently, “but Lily is the most precious among them. I’ve held her safe from every harm these past many years, keeping her in the country, as far from fashionable society’s vultures as possible, but now I think perhaps I’ve done her a disservice. She’s twenty-one years of age and as vulnerable as a newborn babe. Coming to London is as a dream to her. An answer to all her prayers. I’ll not allow her to be disappointed. Understand that.” His expression took on a hint of menace, as gentle and firm as his voice. “Lily will have all the things she’s dreamed of. Exactly as she’s dreamed of them. You’ll make certain of it or lose everything you hold most dear. I give my word of honor on it.”

“Why?” Graydon asked, shaking his head. “There must be dozens of better men you could have chosen.”

“Hardly,” was the casual reply as Cardemore opened a desk drawer and pulled out a single sheet of paper, which he scanned. “I’ve been informed by my sources that you’re a notable sportsman, a leader of fashion, highly admired among the nobles as a rising power in Parliament, considered the catch of the ton by the mothers of marriageable females and, according to my mistress—” Cardemore glanced up at him “—handsome enough to make young girls faint should you happen to smile at them. Not that I want you felling Lily, of course, but she’s far too level-headed for that sort of nonsense.” Leaning, he offered the paper to Graydon, who read it through with narrowed eyes. “Is it all correct?” Cardemore asked.

“Quite thorough.” Graydon passed the paper to Lord Daltry. “Right down to the name and location of my mistress.” He smoothed his fingers in a relaxed gesture over the folds of his cravat. “I’d ask how you came to know so much about my sisters, even their dates of birth, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t like the answer much.”

A chilly smile lifted the corners of Cardemore’s mouth. “No, I’m afraid you wouldn’t.”

“Dear me,” said Daltry, tossing the paper onto the desk. “Even my name’s listed as one of your frequent companions. Never knew you’d be such a dangerous fellow to associate with, Tony.”

“There’s one pertinent bit of information missing from your collection, however,” Graydon said. “I spent most of last season openly courting Miss Frances Hamilton, and it’s well-known among the members of the ton that she and I have an understanding, despite the fact that I’ve not yet made her a formal offer. I cannot possibly do what you ask without starting a great many unpleasant rumors flying, perhaps driving Miss Hamilton away even if I should be able to explain the matter to her.”

Cardemore’s expression sharpened. “You’ll tell no one of the understanding between us. Either of you.” His dark gaze fell briefly on Lord Daltry, who smiled cheerfully at him in turn. “If Lily should ever hear of it I would be most displeased. I don’t care what you do with Miss Hamilton. In my mind, she doesn’t exist as a problem. The only thing I’m concerned about is that Lily enjoy her first season in London and that she be spared any unkindness on the part of fashionable society. If she wants to attend parties, you make sure she attends them. If she wants to dance, you make sure she dances. When she leaves London to return to Cardemore Hall, I want her doing so with a smile on her face.”

“If you love your sister so dearly,” Graydon remarked, “then why don’t you squire her yourself?”

Cardemore stood, setting his hands palms down on the desktop. “That’s a foolish question, Graydon, even for you. If I took Lily about she’d be treated with respect for no other reason than simple fear, while behind her back all those sharp-tongued matrons of the ton would gleefully wreak havoc. If the most notable gentleman in London shows a keen interest in Lady Lillian Walford, however, society will welcome her with open arms.” From his great height, he gazed down at them much as a waiting panther might look with satisfaction upon its helpless prey. “Lily and Isabel will be arriving in three weeks, with my sister-in-law, Lady Margaret. Their first outing will be to Almack’s, where I have already secured vouchers for them. I advise that you make yourself known to Lily then, Graydon, for a month after that I’ll be holding her and Isabel’s comeout here at Wilborn Place and I’ll expect to see you leading Lily out for the first dance.” To Lord Daltry he added, “If you bear your friend any affection, then do what you can to aid him in his endeavors. Otherwise you’ll find yourself lending him comfort as he serves his time in debtor’s prison. It will be, I promise you, a lengthy period of time in which to prove the mettle of your friendship.”

Chapter Two (#ulink_5a246c99-7671-5467-9d9b-f6cdb46a162d)

“That can’t be the girl, surely.” Lord Daltry frowned. “I didn’t expect her to be beautiful, what with having Cardemore for a brother, but I didn’t think she’d look more like a man than a woman. Are you sure there isn’t any way for you to get out of this?”

“I’m sure,” Graydon replied grimly, clasping his hands behind his back as he contemplated the tall, dark-haired young woman standing at the other side of Almack’s. “Cardemore headed off every attempt I made to retrieve my debts. He’s evidently got his own personal army of cutthroats. My tailor was so upset when I tried to pay him personally that I thought the poor man would have a seizure. It was the same everywhere else I went. People, it seems, are rather in awe of Lord Cardemore.”

“You’re going to go through with it, then?” Daltry asked, eyeing the young lady doubtfully. “With her? Only look at those shoulders. Looks like she could take on every man in the room and come out the easy winner. Gad. She gives new meaning to the notion of country girls being healthy.”

Graydon chuckled. “She’s not that bad, Matthew. Perhaps not beautiful, certainly nothing like Miss Hamilton, but handsome enough. As long as she’s well mannered I don’t suppose I’ll mind escorting her about London.”

“Handsome,” said Daltry. “Huh. If that’s what you like in a female.”

“I rather fancy tall women, and she looks to be even taller than Miss Hamilton. And look at that smile. Stunning. See how she’s charming old Hanby there? Don’t think I’ve ever seen him laugh before. Wonder what she’s telling him?”

“Probably ‘Laugh or I’ll give you a black eye, you skinny whelp,’” Daltry suggested dryly. “God’s feet, there goes Curtis taking her a glass of punch. The chit’s got more men fluttering around her than a horse does flies. Whatever was Cardemore worrying about? Doesn’t look like she needs helping. You ought to go back to that hell house of his and tell him that his sister’s doing fine on her own. What?” He looked over as Graydon’s hand gripped his sleeve. Seeing the expression on his friend’s face, he repeated, “What?”

“There.” Graydon nodded across the room. “Sitting right behind where Cardemore’s sister is standing. See her?”

Tilting his head to see through the swirl of dancers on the floor, Daltry looked, and after the initial shock wore off, announced, “She’s mine. You’ve already got Lady Lillian to look after, as well as Miss Hamilton to keep happy.”

“She’s fantastic,” Graydon murmured, staring. “I’ve never seen hair that color, so blond it’s almost white. She looks like a painting of an angel come to life. Who do you think she is?”

“Doesn’t matter, old boy,” Daltry assured him, smoothing both hands over his elegant black coat. “She’s all mine. You go take care of Lady Lillian. I’ll take care of the angel. Do you think she’s been given permission to waltz?” He looked about. “Where’s one of the patronesses?”

“There’s Lady Jersey,” Graydon said, smiling at that lady in his most charming manner as he sketched her an elegant bow. “Ah, that did it. Here she comes.”

“There you are, Graydon, at last,” Lady Jersey said without preface as she neared them, adding in a lower voice, “I’ve been waiting an eternity. I assured Lord Cardemore that his sister would be well taken care of even before you arrived, but, try though I might, none of the gentlemen I’ve introduced her to will ask her to dance. I don’t know what Cardemore expects if it’s not a miracle. Of course, if you’ll dance with the girl, the rest will follow. Come and be introduced to her sister-in-law. You, also, Daltry.”

Exchanging glances, the two men obediently followed as Lady Jersey led the way.

“Lady Margaret!” Lady Jersey greeted enthusiastically, holding out a hand to a tall, elegantly dressed woman who stood in the midst of a group of similarly aged ladies, chatting amiably. She was a stunningly beautiful woman, with dark red hair and large green eyes, and Graydon found it impossible to gaze at her without a surge of masculine admiration.

“My dear,” Lady Jersey said, pulling her forward, “I want to introduce you to two favorable gentlemen. Anthony Harbreas, the Earl of Graydon, and Matthew Rowling, Viscount Daltry. My lords, this is Lady Margaret Walford, the Countess of Cardemore.”

They exchanged polite greetings before Lady Jersey confided to Lady Margaret, “Lord Graydon has expressed a desire to dance with your sister-in-law. If it is acceptable to you, I’ll introduce them and give her my permission to waltz.”

Lady Margaret’s steady gaze fell upon Graydon, so cool and contemplative that, after a moment of silent perusal, he began to feel uncomfortable. He realized that she must wonder at the normally inflexible Lady Jersey’s obsequious behavior. He was rather amazed, too. In the wave of selfpity—and rage—that had engulfed him during the month since his meeting with Cardemore, it hadn’t occurred to Graydon that others might be affected by this peculiar nightmare. But here was Cardemore’s animated, redcheeked sister, his angelic niece, his beautiful, wary sister-in-law and even the indomitable Lady Jersey, all caught up in the same roiling mire that Graydon was. All victims of Cardemore’s whim and power.

“I should be grateful, my lady,” he found himself saying, feeling a sudden kinship with the woman. The idea of having his revenge at the expense of Cardemore’s sister had appealed to him a time or two, but now, staring into Lady Margaret’s green eyes, all such thoughts permanently fled. It wouldn’t do to take out his anger on these innocent women.

Lady Margaret’s gaze didn’t waver, but she nodded and said, “If Lily is willing, then I give my approval. You shall have to ask her, of course.” To Lady Jersey she added, “I’m grateful, my lady, for your kindness.”

And so Graydon found himself following both ladies, with Daltry in tow, across the room. When they were nearly there the buzz of gentlemen surrounding the dark-haired girl parted and the young lady herself emerged, coming at them with such a charming, dazzling smile that Graydon felt a sudden shock of appreciation. She was tall and, as Daltry had said, healthy. Her smooth, tanned skin was dotted with freckles, her eyes sparkled like blue sapphires. Her hair, which Graydon had assumed was black, was actually a deep auburn, with a multitude of shining red strands glimmering beneath the light of Almack’s chandeliers.

“Mama!” she cried, clasping one of Lady Margaret’s hands. “It’s the most wonderful thing! Lord Hanby’s brought several of his best hunters to town, and he says we may go riding with him one morning, whenever it would please us to do so!”

“That’s very kind of him, my dear,” Lady Margaret agreed, adding, when the girl opened her mouth to say more, “Isabel, I’d like to introduce you to the Earl of Graydon and to Viscount Daltry. My lords, this is my daughter, Lady Isabel.”

“My lady,” Graydon greeted with a polite calm that was fully at odds with the way his head was spinning. Bowing over the sturdy hand Lady Isabel offered, his gaze fell upon the young woman sitting almost directly behind her. That, he realized, was Cardemore’s sister. The very beautiful Lady Lillian Walford. And he was the lucky man who was going to have the pleasure of escorting an angel about London for the next three months.

Oh, no, Lily thought with a groan. Not him. Anyone but him, please, Aunt Margaret.

She wished she’d never come to London. What had ever possessed her to think that she would be able to fit in here, among people who didn’t allow themselves or their families to acknowledge, let alone associate with, someone like her? Aaron had tried to warn her what it would be like, and Aunt Margaret, too, but Lily had been stubborn. And foolish, she thought now with deep regret. How naive she’d been! Dreaming of London, of parties and beautiful clothes and dancing with handsome gentlemen like the ones who had so politely found reasons over the past hour to excuse themselves and walk away.

Oh, help. He was smiling at her now. The handsomest man in the room, the one every woman was looking at with open admiration—she wouldn’t be able to hide her humiliation this time. She had managed it with all the others, somehow, but when this man’s face filled first with realization, then with revulsion, Lily knew she wouldn’t be able to keep the pain at bay.

Clenching her trembling hands together, she stood when Aunt Margaret brought him forward, just as she had stood to be introduced to all the others. It was harder to make herself look into his face. She’d seen him the moment he’d arrived—indeed, everyone in the room had turned to look at his tall, blond figure, so elegant in the blue satin evening clothes that matched the color of his eyes.

“My lord,” Aunt Margaret was saying, although Lily barely heard her above the buzzing sensation in her head. She wondered if she was going to faint, and thought perhaps it might be a blessing if she did. “May I present my sister-in-law, Lady Lillian Walford? Lily, this is the Earl of Graydon.”

He gave her a smile so charming and appreciative that it made Lily’s toes curl in her slippers. If she hadn’t already been unable to speak, that smile alone would have robbed her of the ability. Her hand seemed to lift of its own accord, and she felt the warmth of his fingers closing gently about her own, pulling them up to his mouth as he bent to briefly press his lips against the silk of her glove.

“My lady,” he said, his voice as caressing as his blue-eyed gaze, “I’m honored.”

When she was a child, Lily had spent hours on her knees praying for a miracle, but never, not even in those tearful, pleading moments, had she wished more than she did now that she could speak as others did.

He kept smiling, holding her hand, waiting for a response, and Lily realized that she was simply staring. Giving a slight nod, she looked expectantly at Aunt Margaret, who only said, “Lord Graydon has asked for permission to dance with you, Lily, and Lady Jersey has given you her permission to waltz.”

Lily’s eyes widened, and, as if in league with her misery, the musicians suddenly began to play the music for the next dance—a waltz.

Lord Graydon looked as pleased as if he’d just received a boon from heaven itself. “Indeed, if you are not already spoken for, I should be grateful for this dance, my lady.”

She couldn’t. Never. She’d rather be humiliated on the spot than have the memory of dancing in his arms to think about for the rest of her life. Lily began to shake her head, to tug at the hand Lord Graydon insistently held, all the while looking pleadingly at Aunt Margaret, who gazed back with calm encouragement.

“You came to London to dance, my dear,” Aunt Margaret said in a low voice. “You must dance.”

She wasn’t going to tell him! Lily realized, feeling the shock jolt vividly through her limbs. Aunt Margaret had told all the others. Why wouldn’t she tell him?

She turned to Isabel for help, only to be met by the younger girl’s pleading expression. Isabel had refused to dance until they could both do so. She had wanted this time in London just as much as Lily, herself, had. Oh, help.