An Everlasting Amour, page 16
Silence descended as his focus continued to hone in on his utter defeat. With a simple stroke of pure luck for his opponent, his life was in ruins, shambles. He wouldn’t ever be able to show his face in polite society again for all of his debts would be called in once news of this devastation spread throughout London. While he’d lost at the tables before, he’d managed to come back, but this was too much for even him to try and recoup.
If only he hadn’t been so daring…
He’d gotten too confident. It was a mistake he wouldn’t repeat.
He stood and did his best to stand upright as the American remained in his seat with a satisfied grin. No doubt he was enjoying the fact he’d bested a peer of the realm. “I’ll be visiting you soon, Montreaty.”
Darian bowed stiffly and turned on his heel. He kept his shoulders square and his jaw clenched as he departed the club. It wasn’t until he climbed into his carriage and instructed his driver to take him back to his residence at Cavendish Square that his hands started shaking. Ironically enough, it wasn’t due to the severe loss that he’d just suffered, but rather the need to return to those gaming tables and beg to be given a second chance to recoup his monies. Card play and betting in those high stakes games was the only thing that gave him comfort. Unfortunately, word would soon spread that he was penniless after today’s match. When one was more than five thousand pounds in debt, it caused people to shy away from extending further credit.
Darian scrubbed a hand down his face as the carriage rolled to a stop. He stumbled out of the carriage as if he’d imbibed too much brandy, although he hadn’t downed a single drop. He didn’t even pause to admire the large snowflakes that were falling softly around him, but strode straight into the house.
The butler greeted him and he gave but a grunt in reply as he headed toward his study where he knew the society invitations would be awaiting him. He riffled through the various sealed missives on his desk and tore open one that looked promising.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to call for the servant, for he had followed him to the doorway. “My lord, if I might have a word about the staff’s wages—”
Darian waved a hand through the air, dismissing his concerns. He walked over and handed him the envelope. “Send my acceptance to the Kershaw residence. I shall be attending the ball this evening.”
The butler looked as though he wanted to say more, but he merely replied, “Of course.”
Since that chore was taken care of, Darian headed upstairs to find something to wear. With any luck, he could find a suitable bride with a large dowry to wed before the night was through.
It would be the single thing that would save him.
The very thought of a wife who would bring ten thousand pounds or more to their union made him salivate, his blood pumping eagerly through his veins. Perhaps luck would be on his side this evening and he would be able to return to the tables very soon.
Chapter 2
“Now, remember to smile and make an effort this evening, Cleo,” her stepmother instructed with a sharp glance over her shoulder as they stood in the receiving line, waiting to greet their host and hostess, Lord and Lady Kershaw. “And please refrain from visiting the refreshment table.”
Cleo merely nodded. In truth she wasn’t particularly hungry after she’d gorged on that entire box of marzipan earlier. Combined with the corset that was making every movement unbearable, she wasn’t sure she could even sit down comfortably at this point. How she yearned to return home to her chamber and remove all of these terrible layers that she was dragging around with her, and change into her nightdress, lie on her bed, and snuggle up with a good book.
But she knew nothing would satisfy Octavia until she’d stood up with at least one gentleman, so she had to do her best to find a willing participant. Even an aged duke looking for a broodmare would be preferable at this point to enduring more of her stepmother’s admonitions.
After they had been announced and Cleo followed her father, Octavia, and her stepsisters down into the expansive ballroom, they parted, but not before her stepmother had lifted her brows in her direction with one more silent demand.
Cleo sighed as she was left alone. Evergreen branches and numerous candles bathed the crowd of festive guests with a scented glow. There was even a decorated Christmas tree set up near the orchestra. She would have enjoyed sitting among the sidelines and just admiring the expanse that had been trimmed for the yuletide season, but she couldn’t admire the scenery around her tonight.
With a longing glance at the sidelines filled with wallflowers and spinsters, Cleo forced herself to turn in the opposite direction. Since most of the ladies she spoke with were on the other side of the room, she meandered through the mass of people as she skirted the edge of the dance floor, intent on getting ‘noticed,’ as Octavia wished.
It didn’t escape her observation that Adele and Daphne had already made conquests as they were spinning about in a waltz on the dance floor.
Cleo was so intent on watching her stepsisters that she wasn’t paying attention to where she was going. She abruptly collided with someone coming from the other direction. As strong hands reached out to steady her, she looked up into the eyes of the most handsome man she had ever seen. Her breath caught, as she took in his black and white suit, complete with a jacket and tails, perfectly tailed to fit his broad shoulders and trim physique. But it was his pitch-black hair and equally dark eyes that held her in thrall.
“Pardon me, madam,” he said politely, his voice a soothing, deep timbre.
“It’s miss,” she corrected absently. When his lips twitched with something akin to amusement she quickly amended, “That is to say, I’m Miss Cleo Brooks.”
He bowed over her hand. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Brooks.”
She waited, almost breathlessly for him to supply his name, so that she might dream of him later.
“While we should be properly introduced, I daresay there’s no time like the present.” He bowed politely. “I’m Darian Hughes, the Earl of Montreaty.”
***
Darian had been grateful that news of his financial ruin hadn’t yet spread to the Kershaw ballroom. At least, not that he’d overhead anyway. But while he’d been distracted by trying to find a lead on an important heiress that one of his fellow comrades had mentioned, a trusted man who had been present when his world had come crashing down, he hadn’t been watching where he was going, thus the collision with the woman in front of him.
He looked into her wide green eyes and thought she was rather appealing with her honey gold hair pulled up into a becoming chignon. And the emerald satin gown she wore with its elegant bustle and charming décolleté that drew the eye to her ample bosom made her rather intriguing.
Miss Cleo Brooks. He rolled the name around on his tongue and couldn’t readily place her, but he would make certain that he’d soon find out.
Until then…
He held out his hand. “May I have the pleasure of the next set, Miss Brooks?”
She appeared rather speechless for a moment, as if surprised by the offer, and then she tentatively slipped her hand in his. “I would be delighted, Lord Montreaty.”
As the orchestra began to play a familiar tune, Darian noticed that her eyes lit up and she smiled as brightly as the sun itself as she looked at him. “I love this dance. Especially when the dancers make the arch and we rush through it.”
“Indeed,” he murmured, quite struck by her quiet beauty. While some women he’d known were aware of their allure, he could tell that this modest lady at his side had no idea how appealing she truly was. “The Sir Roger de Coverley is rather delightful. Did you know that it is referred to as The Haymakers in Scotland? And that the steps are to symbolize a fox dashing in and out of hiding?”
She laughed, an enjoyable feminine sound, and then replied, “I did not know that, my lord.” Her lips twitched. “I think I shall enjoy it even more now.”
Darian smiled broadly as they took their places on the dance floor across from one another. For a moment he’d nearly forgotten his financial woes, for it wasn’t often that he encountered a female so delightful.
But some of his merriment faded when he remembered that his quest for the evening was to find a bride. He had no time for courtship. He must charm some lady into marriage before he was forever banned from polite society for being an inveterate gambler who had made the biggest misstep of his life earlier that evening.
He glanced across at Miss Brooks, who was smiling and clapping along with the rest of the dancers in pure gaiety, and had a pang of conscience. While he had yet to uncover her circumstances, he wasn’t sure he could use her in such a manner if he found out she was an heiress. He might be the worst sort of cad for marrying for money to feed his habit at the tables, but he wasn’t so debased that he wanted to ever see the light dim in those lovely, innocent green eyes.
After the set was over, he escorted her back to where she’d been standing and bowed respectfully. “I am enchanted, Miss Brooks. While I must regretfully depart, I hope that you were as equally enamored with my presence as I was with yours.”
Darian offered her a scandalous wink, grinning when her cheeks colored with an adoring pink tinge. For the first time since he’d lost everything at the club, he found his steps to be particularly light as he walked away from his dance partner. She had been a surprise indeed.
However, he hadn’t gone far when his arm was caught in an urgent grasp. “Montreaty! That’s the answer to your problems!”
He turned to face the Marquess of Stone, another fellow peer that had been a witness to his downfall. “What is?” Darian asked, totally at sea.
“The gel you were just dancing with, Miss Cleo Brooks! She’s the daughter of Viscount Finch, who, as you know is in possession of considerable funds.” He winced. “Although she is rather…er, more endowed than some of the other heiresses you might meet this evening, I’m of the understanding that after her father’s recent marriage, Lady Finch has been most eager to remove the chit from their household.”
Darian’s blood began running hot at the prospect of his salvation. He could almost picture himself sitting at the tables in just a few days’ time. But, at the same time, the marquess’ words made him frown. “I wonder why they should wish such a thing. She seemed rather agreeable enough to me.”
Stone snorted and said, “Did you not see her…size? She’s likely eating the household all the way to debtor’s prison.”
Darian had noticed that Miss Brooks was rather buxom, but it hadn’t mattered. Those brilliant emerald eyes that sparkled with such vibrancy had quite bewitched him. But since Stone seemed to be waiting for a reply, he found his voice and murmured some sort of noncommittal reply.
As he excused himself from the marquess, Darian continued searching for the lead he’d been given earlier that day.
Miss Cleo Brooks would be a last resort for his plans, although he realized he couldn’t afford to discount her completely.
***
“I daresay I’m impressed, Cleo.”
She glanced up at her stepmother, sitting across from her in the carriage. It was the wee hours of the morning and they were finally headed home from the ball. While Adele and Daphne were having trouble staying awake, her father already snoring softly at his wife’s side, Cleo found that her mind was still humming rather deliciously from her dance with the Earl of Montreaty. It had been the only time any man present had asked to partner her, but it must have been enough to placate her stepmother.
“Montreaty is rather handsome,” Octavia added. “It must have felt like quite a conquest.”
Cleo held back a frown. That was the last thing she would have called her interlude with the earl. He was kind, a perfect gentleman, and he’d made an otherwise tedious affair into something worth remembering. But since she thought she ought to reply, she murmured, “He was…amenable.”
“Yes, well, we’ll see if he was equally enamored if he calls upon you later this afternoon.”
While Octavia’s tone didn’t seem convinced that would happen, Cleo couldn’t help but dream for just that moment. To be able to converse freely with the earl in a more relaxed environment, without being forced to cling to all the social niceties of a ball would be wonderful.
As they arrived home and everyone went their separate ways, Cleo waited for her ladies’ maid to help her undress, grateful for the chance to finally take a full breath once her corset had been removed. While it been rather confining at the beginning of the night, she found that once she’d danced with Lord Montreaty, the discomfort she’d been feeling wasn’t quite as unbearable.
Once her maid had departed, Cleo climbed into bed and tucked the counterpane around her, but she didn’t lie down. Instead she set her pillow against the headboard and leaned back against it. With the lamp on her bedside table still lit, she carefully opened the drawer beneath, wincing when the wood scraped. She paused, for it had sounded dreadfully loud in the stillness, but the perfect end to this night was waiting for her.
She withdrew the extra raspberry tart she’d hidden away from supper and bit into the sweet, flaky pastry. A sigh escaped her lips, for other than the attentions she’d received from Lord Montreaty that night, nothing could compare to the burst of flavor that flooded her tongue.
As she licked every last crumb from her fingers, she turned down her lamp and curled up beneath the covers, completely satisfied.
***
Darian’s night passed a bit differently. At one point he’d woken up in a cold sweat, imagining that he was being dragged away to Newgate where he would sit behind bars for the rest of his days. It had been enough to drag him out of bed and downstairs to his study where he rummaged about in his desk.
There, he searched for something as simple as a shilling that he might take to the gaming hell. When he’d dragged everything out and emptied the contents onto the floor in a disordered pile, he noticed that his hands were shaking. Not only that, but as he looked around at the disarray, he was horrified to find that he had sunk to such a dismal level.
He fell to his knees and shoved his hands through his hair, grasping at the strands in helpless abandon. If he didn’t recover his self-control, he knew that even marriage wouldn’t be able to rescue him. He could easily spend a fortune and be back in this same situation before the New Year was through and no wife deserved that sort of censure.
He fell against the desk and leaned his head back against the hard grain. He spied the sideboard and considered going over to pour himself a stiff drink, but then he didn’t want to just exchange one personal hell for another. His father had drowned himself in brandy and died because of it.
He did not want to follow in the same footsteps.
Darian swallowed heavily and replayed the events of the night before in his mind. While he’d been on the search for this mighty heiress who would solve all his troubles, it turned out the lady had been rather elusive. Discouraged, Darian had taken his leave shortly after his interlude with Miss Brooks.
Of course, this morning the papers would be filled with his exploits at the club and any hope he might have had of gaining a bride was over before it had even begun, any heiress off limits to him. Word of his dejected state would reach his mother in Bath and she would have to leave the city in disgrace now that they were penniless. But at least she could return to the country estate where the coffers would rebuild themselves in time.
At least he didn’t have any siblings who would have to suffer the fall, no sisters who would have to worry about making a good match without a dowry to entice.
Darian sighed. He supposed he could sell the townhouse, as it wasn’t entailed, and leave London, tail tucked firmly between his legs. He’d never been one to suffer defeat before, but things looked rather bleak at this point. Five thousand pounds was quite a sum.
But even if he had the money in hand, Darian wasn’t sure he could even pay the debt. He would surely head to the tables to try and double it.
And that was that problem.
Chapter 3
“It turns out your partner last evening wasn’t the best choice after all.”
Cleo glanced up at Octavia where they sat around the breakfast table with her father and stepsisters. Until that point she’d been stirring her eggs about her plate, her stomach particularly upset after her indulgence the night before. Unfortunately it wasn’t the first time she had suffered the ill effects of a late night treat. And yet, it never kept her from yielding to the temptation.
“It says here,” Octavia continued as she perused the gossip column. “That Lord Montreaty lost a considerable sum to an American shipping magnate at the gaming tables last night.” She tsked as she folded the print and set it aside. “No doubt he was on the hunt at the ball for a prospective bride to ease his losses. You barely avoided a difficult situation.”
Cleo felt as though she was being rebuked for something that had been beyond her control. But then, Octavia generally chided her over one thing or another. She remained silent, so her stepmother attempted to engage her husband in conversation, leaving Cleo to her own thoughts.
She brought to mind the handsome face of Lord Montreaty. He had been one of the few men of her acquaintance that hadn’t immediately turned up his nose in disgust at her. In truth, he’d appeared to look beyond her outward appearance and truly seen her. She recalled, quite vividly, his dark eyes as they warmed on her face and wondered if she might have a solution to his problem, as well as hers.
Her heart thudding with anticipation, she waited patiently for her father to leave the table. He generally did so when Octavia began chattering on about society or the latest fashions. Once he was gone, Cleo excused herself as well. She hoped to catch him in his study before he went out for the day, likely to gain some peace at his club.
