A Season for Treason Read online

  Arabella rolled her eyes. “Of course not, dear.” She smiled placatingly at him. “I am sure they will all be very proper, stalwart gentlemen.”

  “That is not a bad thing,” Thomas huffed.

  “What is not a bad thing?” Walter asked, striding into the room. The younger Hood brother was paler than normal with dark circles under his eyes, and his clothes were not up to their usual sartorial neatness. He had never been as clean cut as Thomas, but he normally did not wear a wrinkled waistcoat, even to breakfast.

  Mary watched him with interest. Walter had been very much a presence in Hood House last Season, and she had enjoyed his company. This year, he had been playing least-in-sight, and when she did see him, there was a secretive air hanging about him. While he had never flaunted his rakish activities, he had never hidden them either, which made all of it very mysterious.

  “We are going to make a list of gentlemen for Mary to consider this Season, and Thomas is going to make some suggestions,” Arabella said succinctly, her eyes dancing with amusement. Mary giggled as Walter made a face that closely resembled the one Arabella had made.

  “I will make some suggestions as well.” Walter sat down beside Thomas. “No offense intended, brother.”

  “Of course not.” Thomas threw up his hands in apparent defeat, looking more disgruntled than ever. “How could I possibly take offense?” Mary and Arabella started giggling, and Aunt Elizabeth pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

  “We will go over your suggestions at dinner,” Aunt Elizabeth said, smiling fondly at her sons. “We must be off. Mary needs some dresses to suit her new coloring.”

  Both Thomas and Walter’s gazes turned to her, and they frowned simultaneously. Even in her own family’s household, Mary was so good at fading into the background, her cousins had apparently not noticed her hair.

  “What new coloring?” Thomas asked, speaking over top of Walter.

  “Why is your hair blonde?” Walter’s gaze cut away from her to censor his older brother. “She had red hair last year.”

  “She did?” Thomas squinted at her as if trying to picture it.

  If only Mrs. Biggins were there to see how little Mary’s hair had to do with her lack of offers last Season. Then again, she might argue Mary’s first cousins were hardly examples of the kind of gentlemen who might have taken notice of her hair color.

  “Why does everyone care so much about my hair?” she muttered irritably.

  “Nothing much new has happened otherwise,” Arabella said with a shrug, getting to her feet. “Without Gabrielle and Beatrice here for us to fuss over, you are going to hold all of our interest.”

  Blinking in surprise, Mary was taken aback. She had never been the center of anyone’s interest, except perhaps Mrs. Biggins. Even last year, Aunt Elizabeth’s attention had been split between steering Gabrielle in her first Season as Felix’s wife, looking for a suitable bride for Thomas, and sponsoring Mary. It had been split further when Uncle Henry’s health had declined.

  “Oh.” Mary did not know what else to say to that.

  Walter grinned, lifting his coffee cup to toast her.

  “Enjoy, cuz,” he said. “My mother’s exclusive attention is a thing to behold.”

  Aunt Elizabeth shot him a look. “And when Mary is settled, I will be happy to give your future all the attention it needs, dear.”

  “No need.” Unperturbed, Walter shook his head. “I am perfectly content with my life as it is. I have no intention of marrying any time soon, if ever. You will have to look to Thomas and Felix to provide you with grandchildren.”

  “We shall see,” Aunt Elizabeth said, turning away. “Come, Mary, Arabella. Bruton street awaits.”

  Inwardly sighing, Mary trotted obediently after her. Part of her wanted to bask in the idea of having her Aunt’s unreserved attention. Even though Aunt Elizabeth was not her mother, she acted more so than Mary’s own mother did. At any other time, Mary would have been delighted, but how the devil was she supposed to question Arabella about Hartford with Aunt Elizabeth hovering around?

  Rex

  The opening of the Season proper was upon him. Rex moved through the ballroom like the predator he was. The Duke and Duchess of Richmond’s ball was always a crush, but Rex’s reputation was well known, and he was tall enough and his, he had little trouble cutting a path through the throng. The ton opened up around him and closed behind him, like a school of fish around a shark, eyeing him warily to see if he might take a bite.

  They were all safe enough for tonight.

  Especially the wide-eyed simpering misses on the petticoat line.

  Their protective mamas watched him warily, clearly wondering whether a chance at his title and fortune was worth risking their daughter’s reputation for. After all, if he married the chit, the gamble would have paid off, but if he did not…

  Rex had no desire to leave any young lady’s reputation in tatters, so he avoided them altogether. He would do what he had done the year before—stay on the sideline, observing, and making his choice. Once he knew which lady he wanted to pursue, he would approach her guardian and court her. It had almost worked with Arabella.

  It should have worked with Arabella.

  As if summoned by his thoughts of her, his former quarry appeared in front of him on the arm of her husband. Another young lady hung on Hood’s arm, petite and pretty, but Rex paid her no heed—his focus was on the woman who had almost been his wife.

  Stalking up to the trio, he glared down at her, ignoring her husband’s fierce glower.

  “Are you happy?” he asked, knowing he sounded uncharacteristically petulant, and Arabella would be highly amused by it. “Here I am again, a second year, running around the ballrooms, all because you had to go and drop this poor gentleman into the parson’s trap.”

  The blonde on Hood’s arm giggled, but Arabella laughed outright as Hood’s mouth opened and closed rather like a fish.

  “Perhaps you would have better luck finding your own bride if you left mine alone,” Hood retorted, but the comment was made without the heat it would have held prior to his marriage to Arabella. Unlike last year, the couple seemed to have settled into their relationship nicely. Thanks to his time with both Society and the Society, Rex had a finely-honed instinct when a pair was secure with their partner. He was happy for Arabella and wished her well, but he was still struck by a strong pang of envy for Hood’s good luck. It made him want to get under the other man’s skin.

  “Perhaps I should,” he said, transferring his attention to the other young lady on Hood’s arm. “Would you care to introduce us?”

  The young lady’s hazel-green eyes widened in shock. She had a quiet beauty, although she was shorter than his tastes usually ran. Soft curves filled out her aquamarine dress quite nicely, though, and she had the kind of delicately pale skin that would easily redden under a stern hand. There was something familiar about her face. He frowned, studying her as Hood stiffened, and Arabella elbowed her husband’s side.

  “Lord Hartford, may I present my husband’s cousin, Miss Mary Wilson,” Arabella finally said. Hood turned his nose in the air and clenched his jaw as though he was trying to bite back a rebuke, but once Hartford had requested the introduction, there was nothing he could have done. At least, not while maintaining Society’s niceties. “Mary, this is Lord Michael Seymour, the Marquess of Hartford, though he prefers to be called Rex.”

  The look she gave Rex held a warning.

  Ah, a cousin. No wonder Hood was in a snit. Once Rex had requested an introduction, not providing it would have been incredibly rude and attached the chit’s name to gossip… however, providing the introduction might also do that. Still, they were in the center of the ballroom, and the gossip mongers would understand he was twitting his former intended’s husband. There would be no harm to her reputation, only to Hood’s temper.

  “Miss Wilson,” Rex drawled, taking her hand and bowing over it. Hmm... Yes, now he recognized her face. She had been
on her cousin’s arm last year as well, although he could have sworn her hair was red. He hadn’t pushed for an introduction as his focus had been entirely on Arabella, and he had no wish to ruin an innocent young debutante’s reputation by speaking to her. Still, he had noticed her. She really was very attractive, a true Pocket Venus. “A pleasure.”

  Kissing the back of her glove, Rex was sure he could hear Hood’s teeth grating. It was a satisfying recompense for his own frustrated state.

  “I…” Miss Wilson glanced wildly at Arabella, apparently overcome and unsure how to respond. Arabella smiled encouragingly, and Miss Wilson took a deep breath.

  Rake that he was, Rex could not help but notice how nicely her breasts filled out the low neckline of her dress as she did. Too bad she was clearly a cipher—pretty but no real substance, not like Arabella.

  “Thank you, my Lord.” There was a slight lift at the end of her voice as if she was asking a question instead of making a statement, and she dipped into an awkward curtsy, cheeks flushing bright red.

  Yes, physically appealing, but not at all what he was looking for.

  “I must be on my way,” Rex said, releasing her, much to her cousin’s clear relief. “Perhaps our paths will cross again, and I can claim a dance.” He grinned at Arabella.

  “I would enjoy that, my lord,” she replied mischievously. The sidelong glance she gave her husband said very clearly she was more interested in his reaction to the invitation than to the dance itself.

  Hood gave Rex a short, sharp nod and quickly walked off, pulling the ladies along with him. Already moving on, eyes raking over the options before him, Rex didn’t notice Miss Wilson looking over her shoulder. He did, however, see Lucas standing by the refreshments table with Conyngham, and he changed tack to join them.

  “I did not know either of you would be here tonight,” he said after greeting them.

  Conyngham shrugged. “My mother likes me to do the pretty now and then. I have found it is easier to placate her with my presence at a few of the more significant events. Besides, Hartington and I have a wager going this Season. We are looking for a likely candidate for our attentions.”

  The ruthlessly cheerful smile on his face promised some form of seductive mayhem. If Rex didn’t have his own agenda to pursue, he was sure he would have enjoyed watching the two compete. Perhaps he could find the time once he found the candidate for his own mission.

  “What about you?” he asked Lucas, who had been the real target of his question, although he had been somewhat curious about Conyngham. Conyngham attended ton events semi-regularly, whereas Lucas almost never did and was much more inclined to spend his evenings among the demimonde or the clubs. Lucas’ parents had passed on many years ago, and his aunt did nothing to push him toward matrimony, seemingly having hopes her own son would one day inherit the earldom. So far, nothing Lucas had said indicated he had any expectation of providing his own heir.

  The sound of violins floated through the air. Lucas shrugged one shoulder, his eyes on the ton lining up for the first dance of the evening.

  “I had nothing better to do,” Lucas said, seemingly as disinterested in conversation as he was in the ball. “Knew you and Conyngham would be here… and there is a card room.” He tacked on that last as an afterthought. Rex grimaced, but he could not say anything, not in front of Conyngham. He would not embarrass his friend like that but made a mental note to keep an eye on Lucas if he headed in that direction.

  Lucas loved the cards, but the cards did not often love him. Rex had often intervened and paid Lucas’ debts more times than he could count. It was wearing and was, by far, the largest strain on their friendship.

  “I suppose I should ask someone to dance,” Rex murmured, casting his gaze over the room and feeling very tired. To his amusement, the observation stirred Lucas.

  “Still looking for that wild bride?” Lucas grinned, straightening up to a more alert posture. “Perhaps I can help you look for a bit.”

  “Oh?” Rex was bemused, but he would rather Lucas maneuver through matrimonial options with him than disappear into the cardroom.

  “I will leave you to it then,” Conyngham said, giving them a salute. “I have my own quarry to find.”

  They sent him off with their good wishes, then Lucas began to make his way to the back of the room.

  “The French delegation arrived half an hour ago,” he said. “Very pretty ladies they have with them this year.”

  “Are any of them unwed?” Rex asked, slightly amused and vaguely frustrated. While it was not impossible, an envoy might have brought his daughter along with him to look for an English husband, he didn’t know how likely it was.

  “Let us find out.” Lucas grinned widely, eyes alight with anticipation.

  Well, Rex supposed it could not hurt to introduce himself. Especially if it would keep Lucas away from the card room.

  Chapter 4

  Mary

  In the dense crush of people attending the Richmonds’ ball, Mary’s short stature became an advantage.

  Aunt Elizabeth had settled in for a good gossip with her friend, Lady Walsh, directing Thomas to promenade with Arabella and Mary, so they could look over this year’s gentlemen. While there were many returning possibilities, there were also many newcomers to the marriage mart, come in from the country or finally rising out of the shadows of London, bowing to the inevitability of finding a suitable bride.

  While Thomas was certainly accomplished as a chaperone, he clearly thought Arabella was the likelier troublemaker, focusing most of his attention on her. When Lord Herschel trod on her flounce, tearing it, and Arabella turned to rip up at him, Thomas was there to stymy her—releasing Mary’s hold on his arm. It was that easy to slip behind the large frame of the gentleman standing just to the side of her and disappear into the crowd.

  As short as she was, neither Arabella nor Thomas should be able to easily spot her once she was away from them, and therefore, they could not expect her to see them. They would expect her to make her way back to Aunt Elizabeth, and she would… eventually.

  First, though, Mary made her way up to the second floor, where there a gallery overlooked the ballroom. She was far from the only person looking down at the crowd, and she could certainly move about more freely. Half-hidden behind one of the columns, she was able to see everything and everyone below. It appeared Thomas and Arabella were now arguing, and she had to wonder if they had even noticed her absence. Reminding herself it was a boon they so easily forgot her, she kept looking for familiar faces.

  Ah! There were Josie and Lily on the far side of the room, standing in a circle of admirers, perhaps… but no. She spotted Hartford talking with the French delegation. Seeking out her friends would have to wait. He was speaking with the French, and Evie had her suspicions of them.

  There were quite a few pretty ladies in the group, and Mary had to push away the little claws of jealousy digging into her chest when Hartford smiled down at the dark-haired beauty he was speaking to. He had looked that way at Mary when he was bowing over her hand, and it hadn’t meant a thing.

  Which was good, she reminded herself.

  She needed to stop mooning over Hartford like a lovesick schoolgirl, just because he made her tingle and the skin on the back of her hand still felt warm from where his lips had pressed against her glove. While Mary was not a completely innocent young miss, thanks to Evie’s explanations since she actually was experienced in such matters, Mary dismissed her body’s reaction as the result of having a practiced rake focus on her. Any other rake would likely have the same effect if another ever chose to target her with his attentions. Hartford was nothing special. He was…

  Mary frowned.

  He was moving away from the French delegation and heading to the doors to the garden. Alone. Had he arranged to meet with one of them in a quieter, more private space than the ballroom provided? Perhaps he had arranged an assignation… or perhaps there was a more nefarious purpose.

  Rather th
an waiting to see who moved after him, Mary decided to hurry downstairs. She could dog his footsteps and see who came to meet him, which would be easier than trying to ascertain who—if anyone—followed him. Scurrying down the hall, she felt a little spurt of excitement flare in her chest.

  Rex

  The din of the ballroom and cloying perfume of the French ladies had begun to give him a headache. While the ladies were beautiful and flirtatious, happily hinting at their availability for a divertissement, an affair with a married lady was not his current aim. Lucas slipped away as well during the conversation, likely headed to the card tables.

  Rex needed a moment to collect himself before he dragged his friend away from punting himself up the River Tick.

  Moving steadily away from the house, seeking refuge in the high hedges of the garden pathways, Rex sighed with relief as the noise slowly quieted. The night air was cool against his skin, slowly clearing his lungs of the chaotic mix of scents that had clashed in the ballroom. The sensation that his cravat had created a noose around his neck slowly subsided, as did the headache that had been growing.

  Ton balls were certainly not his preferred form of entertainment and his reason for attending only added to his discontent. Twitting Hood had been fun but hardly helpful.

  Slowing his stride, taking the time to look at some of the flowers under the moonlight—and admitting to himself he was only doing so to delay his return to the ball—he became aware he was being followed. At first, he thought it might be one of the French ladies, looking for an assignation, but when he paused to examine a rose bush, so did his pursuer.

  A lady hoping for a tryst would hardly be so shy, but he did detect a sweep of pale skirts when he turned his head back as if looking over his shoulder—very pale skirts. A debutante? Following a rake into a darkened garden? It was implausible, but very few ladies wore that pale of a hue during the Season.