October 30, 2012 from St. Martin’s Press
ISBN-10: 1250008026 | ISBN-13: 978-1250008022
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WHEN LOVE IS AT STAKE
Leo Harrow, Earl of Barrington, is a regular subject of the scandal rags. Once an unrepentant pleasure seeker, he knows that young ladies are warned to look the other way when he enters a room. But when he comes face to face with a woman from his past—the one that got away—he will do anything to keep the rumors about him at bay. Or risk losing her forever…
ALL BETS ARE OFF
Genevieve Camden is no stranger to Leo’s seductive ways. Years ago she was fooled into believing that he cared about her…and now that he’s back on the ballroom floor, he appears to be making amends. But this time Genny knows better: A scoundrel never changes his stripes—not even one as charming and handsome as Leo. Unless maybe he’s been in love with her all along…?
In the captivating first installment of the Dangerous Rogues series, a seductive earl encounters an old flame and passion burns brighter—and more dangerously—than ever before…
Praise for Wicked Nights with a Proper Lady:
Here’s the type of sexy love story that makes hearts beat faster and readers sigh with pleasure.
-RT Book Reviews, 4 1/2 Star TOP PICK Review
Tiffany Clare writes a great novel which allows the reader to be pulled in and completely immersed into the story plot. Her characters are well liked and easy to fall in love with.
-Fresh Fiction Review
Tiffany Clare’s DANGEROUS ROGUES series, is a clever, passionate historical romance that is sure to captivate readers from the very beginning. I was also spellbound by the other members of the disreputable foursome and cannot wait to read their stories. Rich details, humor, witty repartee, sizzling passion, suspense, plot twists, charismatic characters, romance, true love and second chances round out this beautifully written story, bringing it to life right before your eyes.
-Romance Junkies Review
Chapter 1 & 2
Chapter One
Death causes the oddest affectations in the upper echelons of society. The Countess of F— certainly took the death of her husband to loftier heights of aberration in her latest display, and in Kensal Green of all places. Her exhibition was wholly . . . distasteful, and left much to be desired by all who were present.
Why the infamous Countess of F— should be immune to censure from society has always baffled this writer. Though judging from the glances received by others in true mourning, she’ll not likely be allowed to carry on her usual dramas in widowhood.
The Mayfair Chronicles, May 26, 1846
London
As the oak coffin lowered into the muddy hole before them, Leonidas Harrow, the Earl of Barrington, muttered none too quietly, “He always was a jackass.”
An elderly matron dressed in heavy bombazine better suited to two decades past tittered. Her companion hissed in a horrified breath, narrowed her gaze briefly on him, and then returned her focus on the solemn grave as the vicar droned out his sermon.
Not that he gave a damn what anyone thought, but perhaps in this instance, it would have been better for him to keep his opinion to himself. It couldn’t be helped that it was nothing more than the truth.
And it wasn’t as though the onlookers wouldn’t expect him or his friends to utter such shocking words. They were known as the four degenerates of society—pleasure seekers with no other purpose than to make a mockery of their position and standing in the ton. Or so they were categorized.
Too rich to snub and too risky for the youth to befriend; they stood together on the outskirts of polite society. Though they were all invited into the inner folds of the elite class much like one might warily invite the devil in to better watch their back.
Leo stood next to the Countess of Fallon—now the dowager. She’d always been Jezebel, or Jez, to his small group of friends.
At least Jez was a widow now. Her husband really had been a boar’s ass right up till his passing.
Mr. Warren, the man who would inherit the earldom, stood across from them, a severe look of disdain set in his dark brows as he stared at Jez with barely concealed contempt. One of his hands was wrapped around the stylized dragonhead atop his black lacquered cane. His jacket was crisply pressed, his starched cravat done in so elaborate a knot that it must have taken his valet a good hour to accomplish the ostentatious display. The gleam in his eyes was smug and sure.
Leo suspected Mr. Warren, the great-nephew of the previous earl, might prove no kinder than Jez’s late husband. This whole situation didn’t bode well for Jez.
Jez fixed the edge of the black lace veil and dabbed away her tears—more likely derived from anger than from grief.
She then tucked the handkerchief under the edge of her sleeve and yanked her bodice down to reveal another inch of bosom. The crimson of the gown was like the color of a harlot’s painted lips, and wholly improper for the occasion of her husband’s funeral.
She placed her satin-gloved hand on Hayden, the Duke of Alsborough’s coat sleeve. Both he and Hayden each held an umbrella over her.
Leo turned to better see the duke, who stared down at the bleak grave filling rapidly with rainwater. Hayden’s jaw was squared, his stance stiff. Of their party, he was the only one wearing a somber expression befitting the occasion.
Tristan, the Marquess of Castleigh, stood to Leo’s right, stifling a laugh with his gloved hand by pretending to cough.
“Yes.” Jez gave another sniffle, or was that a laugh? The lacy veil obscured not only her expression but also a faded bruise inflicted by Fallon shortly before his heart gave out. “Though jackass isn’t quite the word I’d use.”
She released her hold on Hayden’s sleeve and kneeled to the ground to pluck the head of a white rose from one of the funeral bouquets.
The vicar continued to read a passage that Leo would bet his finest racing stud Jez had chosen with great care.
“ ‘Those who have done good will rise to live, and those who have done evil will rise to be condemned . . .’ ”
Her husband was definitely roasting in hell for his sins. But all that mattered was that Fallon would never again be able to lay a hand on her.
Even though the earlier downpour of rain had trickled to a spit, Jez’s hairpiece flattened against her head and face as she pressed beyond the reach of the umbrella.
Leo watched her curiously. She’d been acting most peculiar since her husband’s death, as though she were simply going through the motions of living every day when she should be celebrating her newfound independence. Instead, he knew she was fighting to keep the Fallon estate and its entailments in her possession. But the will had been clear: all the monies and properties went to the successor in title.
There was nothing allocated to her.
Absolutely nothing.
Whispers started among the procession, drawing Leo’s attention back to the present. The clergyman prattled on, but everyone else was focused on Jez as she plucked the petals from the head of a white rose, placing each feathery white piece at the center of her palm, and blowing them into the grave pit to land on the lowered coffin.
He was sure he was the only one close enough to hear her hushed words when she spoke.
“A thousand years of soul-burning agony will not be enough to right your wrongs. May your evil spirit blister in hell for all eternity. Not only have you wronged me in life, you have managed to cheat me in death.”
In her voluminous skirts, she struggled to find her footing in the mud as she stood. Hayden grasped her elbow and hauled her to her feet.
She peeped her head over her shoulder to look at the dark pit one last time, then turned back to them. “Let us be rid of all this . . . death.”
Leo could care less if they left the funeral early. He nodded his intention to leave to Tristan and Hayden. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, and the train on Jez’s dress flowed outward like froths of watery crimson silk as they departed Kensal Green.
Hoisting the lady on his arm into the waiting carriage, he climbed in after her. Leo called out their direction to the driver as he mounted the final step. Tristan and Hayden followed them in and took the leather bench opposite. With neighs and snorts from the horses, the carriage jolted forward.
Jez lifted the veil from her face and stared first at him with her somber, resigned expression and then at Tristan and Hayden.
None of them said a word.
Jez pulled the shade of the window aside and stared out at the rain-filled streets with a sigh.
Leo closed his eyes and rested his head back against the seat. Perhaps time with friends would cheer Jez up. They could work up an old trick or two to distract her from the melancholy that had fallen on her this past week.
Leo had never liked Jez’s husband, but if the bastard weren’t already dead, he’d kill the old blighter with his bare hands for the undue suffering he continued to cause from beyond the grave.
Jez was vulnerable right now, and he hated to see her helpless when she was normally on top of the world.
“Whatever you need right now, just name it,” Leo said.
Tristan leaned forward in his seat and placed his elbows on his knees. “Yes, what can we do to cheer you up, dearest?”
“Must we do anything at all?” Hayden removed his hat and settled it over his knee.
Tristan gave him a look of bemusement. “If it were up to you, we’d mope about for a week.”
“Enough.” Jez twisted her finger absently around the tassels tying back the small curtain. “Knowing what I now know about the will . . . and my husband’s abominable final feat on his death bed, I wouldn’t hesitate to push him down a flight of stairs to be rid of him sooner had I been given the opportunity.”
“Jez . . .” Leo reached for her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.
When she turned back to them, a trail of tears carved a damp path down her right cheek. “I wish I could carry on with life as though none of this mattered.”
“Of course it matters,” Tristan said. “That bastard knew exactly what he was doing to you.”
“There never was any love lost between us. Perhaps this is my punishment for marrying for convenience instead of for love?”
Leo couldn’t recall a single day where Jez had been content with her marriage.
“Fallon was an ass,” Tristan pointed out again. “There was nothing you or any other person could do to change that fact. And besides, many a woman would have wanted to be in your position, so there was no fault in your choice.”
After the hell her husband had put her through, and Leo had seen some of the damage left by the earl’s heavy hand—though Jez had denied any wrongdoing by her husband—you’d think he’d leave her something. Mr. Warren didn’t seem disposed to spare her any humiliation by offering her a small settlement from her long-suffering marriage, either.
Leo wondered if the only steadfast thing Jez had in life now was her friendship with them. She’d been labeled as one of their set shortly after her introduction into society as the Countess of Fallon because she eschewed society’s rules of conduct for a young lady.
“We should head back to my townhouse. Let’s call it a day, Jez.” Hayden was always the voice of reason.
“There wouldn’t be nearly as much fun in that, old man,” Tristan said.
Leo also wasn’t inclined to let his friend out of his sight just yet. “Jez, name your preference for the eve ning.”
“Hmm . . .” She swiped away a few remaining tears and pasted on a smile for them. “I’m sure there are a number of activities that might brighten my mood.”
Hayden’s gaze narrowed on him; Leo smiled in return.
Jez drummed her fingers along her beaded reticule, the sound reminiscent of a snare drum readying soldiers in line for war. “The Randalls are hosting a ball tonight. And I certainly wouldn’t want anyone to assume I’m in mourning.”
Tristan clapped his hands together. “Excellent.”
“We’ll have to stop at my townhouse. I don’t want to be seen wearing my funeral rags to the duchess’s ball.”
“Nor I, for that matter,” Tristan concurred, fixing his skewed black cravat.
“And no more feeling sorry for myself. I’m never maudlin.” Jez raised her chin high. “It’s better to be angry. If ever there was a woman scorned, that woman is I. And I will not be kicked down a moment longer.”
The carriage turned toward Mayfair, quickly approaching Jez’s townhouse.
“My solicitors will look over the will first thing in the morning,” Hayden insisted for the umpteenth time.
The man was determined to find a loophole and no one would begrudge him that. Hell, Leo still couldn’t believe that Fallon had so thoroughly tied up his funds in his successor. All Jez had was the paltry sum she’d gone into her marriage with.
“I’ll worry about the will tomorrow, Hayden.” Jez gave them all a droll look. “I deserve a short reprieve from the reality of my situation for at least one night.”
The carriage rolled to a stop.
“Are we sure this is wise?” Hayden interjected as the door opened and Jez took the footman’s hand to be let down.
Tristan ducked his head and exited. “Should we hide behind our mothers’ apron strings?”
Leo laughed and slapped Hayden on the shoulder as he stepped down from the carriage. “Come on, Hayden. It’s meant to be a night of celebration now that the old scalawag has kicked the bucket.”
“I’m willing to do just about anything to cheer you up, Jez.” Tristan offered his arm. “I’ll see you to your townhouse.”
With a pointed glare aimed at Hayden, Jez batted her lashes at Tristan. “I couldn’t ask for a better or more willing companion.”
“What have you planned for the evening, Jez?” Leo asked, trailing behind Jez and Tristan up the steps to her town house.
“This particular ball is full of debutantes . . . ripe for plucking. I do believe Mr. Warren has his eye on one of the ladies in attendance. There was something he said at the reading of the will to indicate such.”
Not sure how he should interpret this tidbit of information, Leo only quirked one brow. No one knew how to exact revenge quite like Jez. That was what had set her apart from most women of his acquaintance: she thought and acted as ruthless and as cunning as a man.
It brought a smile to his face when he remembered the first time he’d met her. It had been gentlemen’s night at Hastley’s and she’d been smoking a cigar and playing cards at a table with ten other men.
“What do you have in mind?” Leo asked, intrigued.
“I’m only thinking of the girl,” she said with a sweet pout tilting her mouth down. “I wouldn’t wish the life I had on anyone. She mustn’t marry Mr. Warren.”
Chapter Two
Though a host may turn away any guest without an invite, it would be bad judgment to refuse the Duke of A— entry anywhere, even with friends considered to have the lowest of morals in tow.
The Mayfair Chronicles, May 26, 1846
“You’re to stay by my side this evening, as your grandmother instructed. I will not be impressed if I have to search for you in the gardens with your newest beau,” Genevieve Camden scolded her cousin.
Her younger cousin, Charlotte, had debuted in society this past spring and all had gone swimmingly well between them for months. Everything had changed with Charlotte’s father’s insistence that his daughter be courted and married to a man of his choice come fall—one Mr. Warren.
So far, Charlotte had only disappeared twice into a garden and dark alcove with gentlemen this past week. Still, the suddenness of her impending marriage—to a man neither knew well—did not mean that Charlotte could eschew proper conduct.
And, really, it could be far worse for her cousin.
Genny guessed Mr. Warren to be in his early to mid-thirties. He was handsome enough with his lithe, strong-looking frame. More importantly, he had a full head of hair and was in possession of all his teeth. There were far too many bald-headed, gum-grinding gentlemen for Genny’s liking. All in all, she thought her uncle had chosen well.
“Pooh.” Charlotte pouted. “You really aren’t any fun at all.”
“That is why your father asked me to accompany you around Town,” Genny retorted before she could rein in her frustration. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so harsh.”
“Yes you did.” Hurt was etched in her cousin’s face. “You should never have sided with my father.”
“What else could I do?” Genny couldn’t stand up to her uncle, else he’d have her removed from the house and cut off his support.
“You could have made excuses on my behalf. Instead you just stood beside me and nodded in agreement with everything my father said.”
“It won’t matter how often I apologize, you’ll never forgive me, will you?”
“This isn’t the place for this.” Charlotte looked around the room before turning back to Genny with a forced smile. “We are at a ball, and I should be dancing the night away.”
Genny did sympathize with her younger cousin’s plight. But that didn’t mean Charlotte should risk damaging either of their reputations, especially since Genny relied upon the generosity of her extended family to keep her clothed, fed, and comfortable now that she was firmly considered an unmarriageable spinster without an income to sustain a life of independence. It wasn’t so terrible having to rely upon family. Genny did have more freedom now than she had when she was a debutante.
“I am headed for the punch table,” Charlotte said, smoothly changing the topic when Genny made no response. “Can I bring you a refreshment?”
“I will pass, thank you. I have already partaken of the punch and it’s quite bland.” She took a deep breath and tried to summon a reasonable tone. “Please don’t leave this room without me, not under any circumstance, or your father will hear about it.”
Charlotte’s brows puckered closer together and she let out an annoyed huff. “You really are a spoilsport. I promise to do no more than converse with my friends and wait for gentlemen to fill in their names on our dance cards. You’ll see me directly across the room. Does that meet with your approval?”
“I wouldn’t have to scold you if you acted like a proper young lady.”
Charlotte looked affronted. “The best years of my life are going to be wasted in marriage. Why shouldn’t I experience what life has to offer before then?”
Before Genny could come up with a reasonable response, Charlotte was halfway across the ballroom, weaving through guests and dancers with sure footing. The heavy pleats in Charlotte’s green silk gown seamlessly flowed through the crowd instead of dragging behind her. Heads turned, but her cousin gave no notice to anyone until she reached her friend Ariel’s side. Ariel had on a blush silk gown with pearls sewn right into the fitted bodice, making her look almost like a fairy princess with all that opalescent shimmer and pale blonde hair to give her an ethereal quality men seemed to adore.
Genny looked down at the drab affair she wore with a slight shake of her head; it was better suited for a funeral than a ball. She felt too young to be a spinster and sometimes wished that life could be as easy for her as it was for her cousin.
Genny had been born to a modest family with an equally humble income. But she knew that wealth came with a few disadvantages of its own. She supposed she was lucky to have been sponsored at all and had at least experienced a debut at eighteen. She had not made good use of her great-aunt’s generosity and married well, though.
She blew out a frustrated breath and looked away from the small gathering of debutantes and young, marriageable gentlemen that surrounded Charlotte and Ariel.
Genny was not envious. Well, maybe slightly since she had wanted to marry, just not to any of the men who had offered.
Taking a step back, Genny pressed her shoulder against the wall. Would it really hurt anyone’s sensibilities if a few chairs were placed in the ballroom? She didn’t wish to stand all evening.
Though it hadn’t been that long since she had debuted into society, she was no longer cut out for the late nights and early mornings. Not after playing the role of companion these last three years to her aunt Hilda, the very woman who had sponsored her. Her aunt was in her sixth decade and in bed before the evening clock struck eight once she’d retired from society.
Now, from luncheon to the latest hours of the night, Genny was at her cousin’s side. She swore by the time she closed her eyes to finally sleep that the girl’s grandmother, too aged to escort her granddaughter around Town herself, was ringing that dratted servants’ bell and demanding Genny’s attendance. Sometimes Genny was summoned before the sun even had a chance to rise—like today.
A commotion at the ballroom entrance had Genny standing taller and firmer where she’d perched herself against the wall. Unladylike, she knew, but she couldn’t find it in her to care at the moment. All she needed was one decent night of sleep and she’d be in top form for the remainder of the month.
The clamor came from a great many voices talking all at once. Newcomers to the ball, Genny concluded.
She scanned the candlelit room for Charlotte and spotted her still standing near the punch table. Charlotte leaned into Ariel, her fan flicking rapidly at her reddened cheeks as she whispered something next to her friend’s ear. Both girls laughed then turned their attention back to the gentlemen who surrounded them; two men actually blushed at whatever her cousin said.
Just as Genny turned back to the entrance of the ballroom, the Earl of Barrington appeared, arresting her attention.
Her breath hitched, her heart beat frantically in her chest, and a sound that was a mixture of hurt, anger, and longing welled in her throat. Stepping away from the wall, she clutched her hands in front of her, unsure what to do. Hiding seemed ideal, but not when she needed to keep a sharp eye on Charlotte.
She’d known it was possible that she might chance seeing him about Town now that she was back in society with her cousin.
Four years hadn’t changed him one whit. He was still as handsome and dapper as ever. It was probably better she hadn’t pursued a match with him; she’d look rather plain next to such a striking specimen of man.
He was tall and imposing, at least a couple of inches above six feet. His deep brown hair curled like that of some Adonis of old. She recalled the soft silky texture of it as she’d run her fingers through the curly tresses and held him tightly in the midst of the most earth-shattering pleasure she’d ever experienced in her life.
His eyes were as dark a brown as the most decadent chocolate and his brows were perfectly trimmed, giving him that devil-may-care look. His nose was crooked; he had boasted that it had been broken not once but twice in his younger days. Why she had found it attractive at all was testament to how blinded she’d once been by his dashing looks and charming wit. However, such meaningless things could no longer sway her.
Hair grew down the side of his face along his jaw, which he kept clipped close to his skin. She well remembered the feel of his face rubbing over her bare thighs, her naked breasts . . .
She had to stop visualizing those memories.
He was a solidly built man. His frame wide, his arms had been well muscled and strong and still looked to be so. She had once traced the blue veins that stood out on his arms as they lay in bed together. She had grasped his wide shoulders tightly as he pushed her up against the headboard and did very wicked things to her.
Closing her eyes to gather her fast scattering imaginings, she mentally chastised herself and focused on the here and now. Though it was hard to forget the pleasure and the mind-numbing delight they had shared so long ago. Goodness, it was nearly impossible to forget him at all. And if she were honest with herself, which she did not want to be, her focus had strayed to memories of him far too many times to count over the years since she’d last seen him. Had things been different, maybe they would have married. She’d been foolish not to demand it of him after everything they had shared.
Three others of his set stepped down from the landing above the grand ballroom. The duchess, and hostess of the ball, emerged from the throng of matrons occupying her attention; a tight, somewhat forced smile formed on her face the moment she caught a glimpse of the Dowager Countess Fallon in a sapphire-blue dress, her red hair knotted back into an intricately braided bun with iridescent green feathers sticking elegantly out the top.
Did the dowager plan on making a scene? Hadn’t the funeral for her husband been held today? Genny wasn’t one to judge but it seemed odd that the dowager would attend a ball so soon after her husband’s passing.
Genny spun back in the direction of her charge. Charlotte was chattering with her friends, unaware of the tension that suddenly thickened the air and lulled the conversations around them.
Focusing again on the entryway, Genny wondered why they had come to a ball with mainly debutantes in attendance. She doubted any of them had marriage in mind—or, for that matter, good intentions.
The host of the ball crossed a short span of the ballroom and took the Duke of Alsborough’s hand in a familiar gesture. The duke had deceivingly angelic features with his blond hair and sharp blue eyes. He was tall and lean, but she could see the strength all but radiating from him.
The Marquess of Castleigh kissed the back of the duchess’s hand. The man wore black from head to toe, except for the stark white cravat about his neck that further sharpened his handsome features and dark slicked-back hair. He was a perfect contrast to the duke . . . sweet heaven and tempting hell.
And then there was the devil in the Earl of Barrington. Leo—as she had familiarly addressed him so long ago—also kissed the back of the duchess’s hand, offering some pleasantry that had the woman smiling coyly back.
Genny pressed back into the wall, wishing she could simply disappear from view. Not a possibility with her cousin half a room away and in need of an ea gle eye to keep her from a danger she couldn’t possibly understand.
Even though a quadrille played in the background, the new guests seemed to capture the attention of most of the attendees milling about the room. Dancers abandoned the dance floor to discuss the turn of events.
With added bravery, Genny forced herself away from the wall and took a step in Charlotte’s direction. She doubted she had anything to worry about where her cousin and these men were concerned, but she remembered the temptation Barrington represented all too well. And since her father’s declaration, Charlotte seemed to smell a bad decision a mile away.
Hopefully, Barrington didn’t notice Genny as she made her way around the room.
She snorted.
He wouldn’t.
Besides, it wasn’t as if Barrington would ever take stock of the colorless women that had found a comfortable spot along the edge of the room with only the odd wallflower to offer some color among them.
It hadn’t been hard for him to forget her after he had ruined her for any other man. It was a small blessing she’d been spared the humiliation from society for what she’d done. She’d grown into a spinster of sorts, a steady companion for elderly family members, and now a chaperone to her young cousin. No one knew about Genny’s past—with him.
She’d had other suitors: two to be precise. But she could not bring herself to settle with either of them when her heart had belonged to Barrington. He could not possibly have returned the sentiment; if he had he wouldn’t have left her.
While keeping a close eye on Charlotte, Genny conversed about the weather with Ariel’s mother, Lady Hargrove.
The other woman frowned as she watched the Dowager Countess Fallon’s every move. “It’s unfathomable that the duchess would allow that woman in here. The nerve she has to present herself in society with her husband’s funeral held only this morning proves what incredibly poor taste she has.”
“It is quite scandalous.” Genny nodded her head in agreement, though she could care less what her current companion nattered on about. Genny didn’t miss the tongue wagging or speculation that ran rampant behind everyone’s backs.
“Simply impossible to believe Her Grace would invite the dowager. I heard the earl simply stopped breathing at the end. I’m sure he wanted nothing more than to be rid of that woman.”
Genny didn’t want to know how Lady Hargrove had come by that information.
From that point forward she only paid half a mind to what the woman said. Genny was completely absorbed by Barrington’s presence. She couldn’t help that her eyes strayed toward him like a compass pulled by the magnetic poles.
Had she known all those years ago that he’d leave her after she’d so fully given herself to him, she couldn’t say for sure if she would have refused his attentions, even those of a carnal nature. He was a very hard man to resist and utterly charming when he wanted to be.
Had she never met him, she would never have known the touch of a man. Then again, she wouldn’t have been ruined for all others when she constantly craved the touch from only that particular man. It had always been him in her thoughts. Perhaps that was her own foolishness. She couldn’t fully blame him for her current marriageless state; she’d been an active participant in their affair. He had never needed to persuade her of anything, she’d leaped into the pond with both feet forward, hoping not to hit the bottom too hard. She had fallen in love with him in the two weeks they’d spent together, but she had never been able to utter that truth to him in fear of being rejected. And then he had left and it was too late.
Oh, dear Lord.
All Leo had to do was step into a room for her to become a slavering mess of emotion. Tamping down any flicker of desire for him that lingered, she studied him with a critical eye, as the mothers in the room might, and were very likely doing at this moment.
As a potential husband he had many an attribute. He was as handsome as the devil, as rich as Croesus since the majority of his money came from import. The Caribbean, she was sure. He owned a decent estate in Hertfordshire and a large townhouse in the city. And he was in possession of a title built on the bluest of blood.
If a mother was willing to overlook his greatest flaws—his reputation as a player and his dabbling in trade—he might be considered a great candidate for marriage.
Leo’s gaze went around the room, skimming over the guests with a disinterested mien. He didn’t so much as slow his perusal as his gaze passed over the spot she stood in. Had she expected any other reaction from him?
If she ever thought she could settle down a man like Barrington again, she’d take a step back, pinch herself to the point of bruising, and force herself to walk away without so much as a glance back.
A rake of the first order was what he was. He’d taken her innocence without any qualms. Technically, she’d thrown it at him, but that was beside the point.
With more difficulty than it should have taken, she tore her gaze away from the temptation that man offered and returned her attention to reality.
Charlotte had two new gentlemen at her side. One filled in his name on her dance card while the other made her laugh in her flirtatious, raucous way. Genny knew the young men vying for her cousin’s undivided attention.
Both were from decent families and both were of an age with Charlotte. The poor things had no way of knowing she was already spoken for.
Genny shouldn’t begrudge the girl any fun over the next couple of months. So long as Charlotte remained a young woman of purity then Genny’s task would be all but accomplished.
Next year, Genny would either become a companion to her cousin after her nuptials—possibly help Charlotte rear her children should she bear them for Mr. Warren—or she would remain a companion to the girl’s grandmother.
She hated this uncertainty in her life, never knowing what her future held, or where it would take her. However, she always landed on top, so it wasn’t worth fretting over right now.
Leo thought Jez was nervous to be at the ball with her husband not yet cold in his grave. She’d laughed too gaily when the hostess had met them at the entry. It was also apparent in the way she clasped his arm tighter when they entered the room. Everyone’s attention had swung like a restless pendulum in their direction. Did Jez harbor regrets for going out in society so soon?
He held her close, knowing she’d imbibed a little too freely of his rum earlier this afternoon in a poor attempt to drown her sorrows.
After kissing the ring on the duchess’s hand, he surveyed the room full of debutantes, wondering who the poor chit set to marry the next Fallon was. Before he could choose for himself whom to weed from the herd of unsuspecting young ladies, Jez released his arm, drawing his gaze away from the nervous flock.
“I’m of a mind to try my odds at cards. I’m feeling a spot of luck because of how the day has unfolded in my favor.”
“Tell me about the young lady we are looking for before you leave,” Leo said.
“Lady Charlotte Lindsey.” With a slight tilt of her chin in the general direction of the punch table, Jez fingered the gold pendant that dangled above her décolletage. “The brunette with the green dress, cut low off her shoulders, and the emerald pendant.”
A trickle of unease slid down his spine. “Warren plans to marry the Ponsley girl?”
“There was that card game a few weeks back,” Jez reminded him.
She’d been sitting across from him, and he’d lamented on his dealings in the House of Lords. “The very card game where I expressed a certain amount of interest in crushing the opposition on the new sugar imports act?”
Ponsley’s parliamentary act would destroy Leo’s plantations in the West Indies, increasing his taxes and making it impossible for him to continue profiting on his imports. It was well known that Ponsley had plantations in South America and used slaves to harvest his sugar products, yet the conservative bastard thought to levy a tax in the West Indies where slavery had finally been abolished.
“That’s the one. I knew you’d remember,” she responded.
“Do you honestly think we’ll be able to charm and win the chit over when her father despises me?”
Leo also doubted that courting Ponsley’s daughter would sway votes to his favor.
“I say.” Tristan put his arm around his shoulder and joined their conversation. “I’ll bet you that fine filly you brought back from the Americas last month that I break her in first.”
Before Leo could respond, Tristan headed in the direction of the lady in question. Leo held back, taking Jez’s elbow before she could retreat to the card room.
He still wasn’t sure what to think of this new piece to the puzzle.
“Just think what she’d have to look forward to if she married a man like Warren.” Jez subtly smoothed the back of her hand down her faintly bruised cheek. “This would make everything immensely better for us both.”
“Understood.”
“And also think of it as killing two birds with one stone, dearest.”
“Can Ponsley be brought to heel with his familial connections?”
“In all likelihood, yes. He indulges her every whim.”
That could well work in Leo’s favor. But more importantly, this would ensure the girl’s safety from Warren. “It’s difficult to deny you anything, Jez.”
“I know.” She batted her lashes. “It’s part of my charm.”
Releasing Jez’s elbow, he made his way through the crush of guests and toward the chit. Tristan was already at Lady Charlotte’s side, whisking her away from the admiring beaux who surrounded her. The young lady laughed gaily as Tristan spun her onto the dance floor. His friend was already halfway to seducing her, and she would be deflowered before summer came. Not that Tristan intended to ruin the girl; but that was what happened when a lady found herself charmed by him.
Some moral warning bells went off within Leo. Decisions on the best course of action hampered his forward momentum, until he recalled his stepmother and the life she’d endured before marrying his father. Warren would not treat this young lady like the previous Fallon had treated Jez. Leo simply wouldn’t allow that.
Tristan twirled Lady Charlotte into the next dance—a country gigue. The girl was more than pretty, and it surprised Leo that she didn’t resemble the staunch Ponsley with his bulbous nose, beady eyes, and balding head. He was thankful that she apparently took after her mother in looks.
Tight ringlets fell on either side of her temples, framing her heart-shaped face and narrow nose becomingly. Her eyes were round and bright, twinkling like stars among the dancers. Her dress was of the latest fashion and swept off her shoulders front and back. A large bow tied at the base of her spine enticed a man to let his hands wander lower than was polite.
As Tristan brought the beauty toward him, Leo stepped forward, not wanting anyone else to steal Lady Charlotte’s next dance. Judging by the wary looks he received from her admiring beaux, they wouldn’t dare interfere.
A petite woman, more than a head shorter than him, stepped right in front of him. He saw nothing but the top of her brown head, a low bun knotted at the base of her neck, the high collar of a drab navy blue dress with a small lace frill that wrapped around to the front. She smelled of lavender, an odd thing to observe but familiar.
That was when she turned only a hairbreadth away from him, and her gaze caught his.
Genny.
