A Season for Treason Read online

  Intrigued, Rex wandered on, turning a corner with a suitably thick rhododendron for him to hide behind, waiting for the lady so he could see who she was. Any debutante with the audacity to follow him into the garden piqued his interest. As long as she was not a title or fortune hunter… hell, perhaps even if she was. There was no rule saying a young lady searching for a title or fortune would not make an entertaining and enjoyable wife.

  His eyebrows rose at the figure that appeared next to the rhododendron, hugging its branches as she looked about, trying to see where he had gone.

  It was Miss Wilson—apparently, not as much a cipher as she had appeared next to her cousin. Perhaps he had been hasty in his judgment.

  “Hello, there.” His voice was a low purr as he emerged from the shadows of the bush, looming over her from a mere foot away. Her eyes widening, she stepped back, but she did not run, her head tipping back to stare up at him. “Looking for someone?”

  “I… ah…” She blinked. Rallied. Her chin came up with a stubborn feminine air. “Lord Hartford. I seem to have lost my way. My apologies for interrupting your evening.”

  Rex took a step closer, tilting his head down. In the moonlight, it was hard to see whether she paled or blushed, but he saw the rising panic in her eyes. Despite that, she held her ground rather than retreating again, which only intrigued him more.

  “Have you?” he asked, standing close enough the pale blue skirts of her dress brushed his shins.

  “Have I...?” she repeated. She didn’t seem to be able to look away.

  Rex leaned down, his lips moving closer and closer to hers, giving her ample time to run. Would she run, or would she let him kiss her?

  “Lost your way?”

  Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, then his lips were on hers.

  It started as a gentle kiss, a firm press of his lips against hers, but when she did not immediately jump back, Rex’s own desires pushed him onward. His hands found her hips, holding her in place and pulling her lower body against his as his cock stirred. Perhaps Miss Wilson had been hampered by her stuffy cousin’s expectations and overshadowed by Arabella’s exuberant confidence in the ballroom, but out here in the darkness of the garden, she was revealing an adventurous and far more interesting side than he would have ever guessed.

  Running his tongue along the seam of her lips, he was gratified when she opened on a gasp. He ruthlessly deepened the kiss, his hands sliding to her back to cradle her against him. She met his tongue with her own, uncertainly at first, then with growing confidence, stirring his passions. Satisfaction and interest welled.

  Well, now. Perhaps tonight was not a total loss.

  Mary

  Her body was on fire.

  The conflagration had started in her lips and traveled down between her legs, the tingling sensation amplifying to a burning need deep in her core. The man’s tongue was in her mouth, his arms around her, holding her more tightly than any man had—and she liked it.

  He had looked at her as though he truly saw her as if she was the only woman in the world.

  He was kissing her as though he wanted her.

  He… he was an impossible rake, possibly connected to a traitor.

  Mary pulled back from the kiss with a gasp, her hands pressing against his hard chest. He let her go, and she stumbled before he caught her again. Her breasts felt heavy and tingly, the area between her legs ached, and her lips were swollen from his kiss.

  “I… I…” She could not think of what to say.

  Tilting his head in the moonlight, clearly not as affected as she was, he reached out and tugged one of her curls.

  “I could have sworn your hair was red last Season,” he murmured.

  Her hair? He had just kissed her to distraction, and he wanted to comment on her blasted hair? Under other circumstances, she would have ripped him up one side and down the other, but she could not think with her body still humming from his touch. She had to get away from him.

  “I… excuse me.” She pulled away from his grip and ran, feet flying back to the house, so overset, it was not until she heard laughter coming from an adjacent path she slowed her pace. It felt as if the whole world had shifted beneath her feet, but she could not reveal that. She could not draw notice to herself, especially not coming out of the dark garden path alone and clearly agitated. People would take note of her then, and assumptions would be made—especially if Hartford followed her out.

  Taking a deep breath, she pressed her hand over her heart, willing it to calm. The tingling, itching sensation crawling along her skin diminished, as did the ache in her lower body, but there was nothing she could do about the way her lips still prickled.

  Glancing over her shoulder, not seeing him behind her, she sighed with relief. He must still be back on the pathways, maybe even waiting for her to leave first. The man might be a rake, but he was a very considerate rogue from everything she had observed.

  He knew my hair color. He remembered me.

  That might be the most disquieting revelation of all. No one really remembered Mary from last Season, not even gentlemen she had been introduced to. Other than her friends and family, no one had given her hair a second glance.

  He had.

  Giving herself a little shake, Mary tried to pull herself together. There would be time enough to dwell on what that meant later.

  Assuming her usual demeanor, she quietly stepped out of the shadows, gliding back to the patio into the ballroom. No one gave her a second glance, and she had never felt more relieved to be invisible. She was still frazzled inside, though she was determined not to show it.

  Skirting the edges of the ballroom, she headed to where she had last seen her friends, hoping Josie and Lily were still there. Relief suffused her when she recognized Josie’s laughter upon approach.

  Unfortunately, the ring of gentlemen around Josie and Lily was quite closely packed. Pressing her lips together, Mary found the shortest of their suitors and went up on her tiptoes, waving her fan over his shoulder. It took two tries before Lily spotted her and turned to the Duchess of Richmond, who was at her shoulder, watching over the proceedings.

  A moment later, the wall of shoulders parted.

  “There you are,” Josie said, smiling widely. “We have been waiting all evening for you to catch up to us. Where have you been?”

  Mary’s lips tingled again as if remembering Hartford’s kiss, and she blushed.

  “Never mind that. I need to talk to you.” She kept her voice low and urgent.

  Josie and Lily blinked in surprise, then nodded, Josie’s expression sobering, but Lily’s, who already had a serious mien, countenance didn’t change at all. Quickly, Josie made her excuses to the small court that had gathered about them, and the three young ladies hurried off.

  Leading them up to the second floor—she wanted to see when Hartford returned—they took a position on one of the balconies across from the doors to the garden. Mary didn’t bother to hide behind a curtain. If Thomas or Aunt Elizabeth looked for her, she wanted them to be able to see her innocuously occupied with her friends. Likely, they would assume she had been in Josie and Lily’s company from the moment she had vanished from Thomas’ side, which was all to the good.

  With one eye on the doors to the gardens, Mary quickly summarized the evening’s events, leaving Lily shocked and Josie delighted.

  “Why, you minx!” Josie smacked Mary’s upper arm with her fan before leaning in, lowering her voice. “Was he very good?”

  “How is that important?” Lily asked waspishly, relieving Mary of the burden of answering, which was just as well. Her lips still did not feel fully recovered, and she did not want to admit it to her friends. She was supposed to be investigating Hartford and his club, not… not kissing him.

  Unless kissing would lead to him inviting her to his secret society.

  No.

  The man was on the hunt for a bride. He would hardly invite a debutante to join in whatever debauchery his club enga
ged in. Although perhaps after the wedding…

  Mary gave herself a little shake. That line of thinking was absurd, and she was going to stop it immediately.

  Light glinting off tawny gold hair caught her attention, and she waved her hand at Lily and Josie, who were still arguing the merits of kissing.

  “Shh, he just walked back in,” Mary whispered, and both of them turned to look. “No! Do not look at him, not directly. Pretend as though we are talking.”

  Sighing, Lily turned her back to the balcony.

  “There, now you can watch him while you talk to me,” she said. It was a sensible suggestion, as most of Lily’s suggestions were. “Tell me what he is doing.”

  “He is headed to the card room.” Josie cocked her head, watching him as intently as Mary. “Yes, he has gone inside. How anticlimactic. He is not looking for Mary at all.”

  “Why should he?” A little ball of unhappiness formed in the pit of her stomach. She refused to acknowledge it. “Likely, he kisses a lady or two at every ball he attends.”

  “Hmm.” Suddenly Josie scowled. “Who is that dancing with Joseph?”

  Mary leaned forward, and Lily turned around to look as well. The blonde beauty simpering up at the middle Stuart brother was one she easily recognized.

  “Miss Bliss,” Mary said with a sigh. Poor Miss Bliss. She really was quite nice, although a bit boring. Her dowry was modest, and she was very pretty, but somehow, she was well into her third season without having made a match of it so far. Thomas had rated her quite highly on his list last year before the scandal with Arabella had snatched him out of the running. Perhaps this would be Miss Bliss’ year for matrimony, although hopefully not to Joseph. It would break Josie’s heart.

  Unfortunately for Josie, Mary rather thought Joseph would appreciate Miss Bliss’ mild temperament and ladylike demeanor. He had always been exasperated by how Evie and Josie ran amok.

  Josie frowned down at the couple, her fan tapping ominously against the balustrade.

  “It is just a dance,” Lily pointed out consolingly, putting her arm around Josie’s waist. Mary came around to her friend’s other side to offer her support as well.

  “It is the first time he has danced all evening.” The hurt note in Josie’s voice made Mary want to march down and smack some perceptiveness into Joseph. For some reason, the man was completely blind to Josie’s adoration. Even if he had no tender feelings for her, it would be nice if he could at least be considerate of hers for him.

  “Then it is unlikely to be the last.” Mary patted Josie’s arm. Joseph was not so foolish as to single out one lady so particularly with his attentions. It would give both her and her parents’ expectations, not to mention the rest of the ton. “Perhaps we should go down and stand in his way until he claims a dance with each of us.”

  For a long moment, Josie didn’t reply, then she shook her head.

  “No, watching Hartford is more important. Evie will be waiting for our report since she is not attending the events.” Amusement lilted Josie’s voice at their friend’s antics. Like the three of them, Evie had come to London for the Season, but unlike them, she was not there to immerse herself in Society. No, she was undercover somewhere, although she hadn’t told them where. They were to meet with her every Sunday after church in Hyde Park since they could not write to her directly.

  “Forget Hartford, who knows how long he will be—”

  “Look,” Josie hissed, interrupting her. “There he is!”

  There he was indeed, practically dragging another man out of the card room—a very handsome man, only a bit shorter, with shoulders slightly less broad than himself. Clearly, a rake by his attire, with a handsome face and wavy brown hair cropped just above the points of his collar.

  “Who is that?” Mary leaned forward. Whoever it was, he was clearly very close with Hartford. The two men stopped for a moment, their faces close together, so no one could hear their conversation, clearly arguing with the kind of familiarity that only came with a long-standing friendship.

  “Lucas Beckett, Earl of Devon, unwed,” Lily replied as if reciting a school lesson. She frowned. “My godmother said he is not good ton and particularly pointed him out as a gentleman to avoid.”

  “He looks like a rake.” Josie’s supposition aligned with Mary’s. “It also appears as though he and Hartford are close.” She raised an eyebrow, turning her head to look at Mary. “Do you think…” Her voice trailed off, but Mary knew what Josie meant.

  If the two men were close friends, the earl might also belong to Hartford’s society. Mary groaned.

  “I cannot possibly follow two rakehells all around the ballrooms of London.” She winced. “Aunt Elizabeth is keeping a closer eye on me than last year. I risked enough tonight, following Hartford.” Especially given what occurred when she did.

  “My godmother did say he is not often seen at these events,” Lily said consolingly. “She was surprised to see him tonight, in fact. I will keep an eye out for him when he does appear.” She shrugged, grimacing apologetically. There was nothing to be done for it, though. With her social standing as the Duchess of Richmond’s goddaughter, eyes were constantly following her.

  While Josie did not have the same issue of recognizability, she too tended to draw eyes wherever she went. She had an unconscious charisma that naturally attracted attention. If she were to start following a rake around, it would be noted.

  Whereas no one noticed Mary.

  Sighing, Mary watched as Hartford and Devon finally finished their argument, with Hartford the clear winner, and the pair moved to exit the ballroom together. She would just have to hope Devon kept to his usual habits and spared her the effort.

  Chapter 5

  Rex

  Following the butler into Hood House, Rex was slightly surprised to find it fairly under siege. While he had certainly been intrigued by Miss Wilson last night, inside the ballroom, she was not the type to draw attention. Granted, he had left the ball far earlier than initially planned, but he had trouble imagining her doing something that would draw such a crowd without creating a scandal—and in the event of something scandalous, he would not have expected the ladies to be at-home.

  The reason for the unexpected assemblage was discovered when he was shown into the drawing-room—Miss Wilson was not the only debutante entertaining the at-home. Two other young ladies sat on either side of her, both drawing the majority of the attention from the gathered gentlemen. Rex immediately recognized Miss Davis, his identification confirmed by the Duchess of Richmond’s presence. The Duchess sat on one of the couches, comfortably chatting with Viscountess Hood. The other young lady was not known to him, but she was quite beautiful and chatted animatedly, drawing nearly every eye in the room.

  Sitting between them, Miss Wilson looked quietly happy, listening to the dark-haired beauty on her left as intently as any of the men. Compared to Miss Davis and the other debutante, there was nothing about her to draw the eye. She was beautiful in an unremarkable way—an English rose next to two flashier flowers, and while her dress was complementary to her looks, it did nothing to set her apart from the crowd.

  Without last night, he would have been immediately drawn to the mystery debutante, something about her reminding him keenly of Arabella, but instead, his attention was arrested by Miss Wilson’s return to her muted disposition.

  “The Marquess of Hartford,” the butler announced, his voice dryly devoid of inflection. Silence dropped over the room as if he had rung a bell, the gathered suitors’ heads popping up and around like a startled flock of birds, hearing the approach of a predator. Miss Wilson’s mouth opened in shock as she stared back at him, Miss Davis sat up straighter, and the third young lady actually gasped.

  The Duchess of Richmond and Viscountess Hood were much more circumspect in their reactions, but they could not entirely conceal their shock. Still, the social niceties must be observed, and his past year of running within the boundaries of respectable ton had born fruit—afte
r a considering moment, both ladies smiled at him, their gazes sharpening. The whole ton knew he was on the search for a bride, and he could hardly compromise any of the debutantes here in the middle of an at-home. It was safe to allow him entrance without having to be unduly concerned about their charges’ reputations.

  Likely they were wondering which debutante he was there for.

  Rather than drawing all eyes to Miss Wilson, Rex smiled and bowed before turning his gaze over the room until he met Arabella’s eyes. She was in the corner with the Countess of Spencer, watching the gathering, the two of them thick as thieves. Rex nodded his head at her and made his way over to the pair as conversation sprang up again.

  If anything, it was noisier, the gentlemen now vying to ensure the debutantes were focused on them, not Rex. A frown began to form on his face when he realized the gentlemen were still only focused on the two ladies flanking Miss Wilson. Yes, they were beautiful, and Miss Davies was the goddaughter of a Duchess, but Miss Wilson was not a nonentity. The lack of competition made his own aim easier, yet… he felt mildly insulted on her behalf.

  Shaking off the reaction, he focused on Arabella and the Countess, bowing before them.

  “Ladies,” he murmured in greeting.

  “Rex,” Arabella replied happily before gesturing to the Countess. “Have you met the Countess of Spencer?”

  “We have met.” The Countess answered before he could. “Please, call me Cynthia.”

  “And you may call me Rex.” He gave her another little bow of acknowledgment, pretending he could not see down the front of her dress from his current position standing over her. The gown skirted the edges of decency for day wear, and her abundant curves made the neckline even more precarious.

  Both of them smiled up at him, eyes dancing with mirth, the expectant expressions on their faces vaguely unsettling. He had encountered the Countess—Cynthia—before. It was a shame she had not debuted in London. Rex would have happily courted and married her. Unfortunately, the Earl of Spencer had snapped her up before she ever made it to her debut. Unlike Arabella, who had settled somewhat with marriage, Cynthia was constantly testing the limits of polite Society. She had a reputation as an Original, although she would likely have been labeled far worse if not for her marriage to the Earl and the social power her mother-in-law wielded. Rex found her quite charming and had even extended an invitation to Spencer to join the Society, but the Earl had politely turned him down.