“And those are?” Jason inquired, grinning at her tone.
“Besides playing the piano, I can carry a tune, waltz without falling, and embroider a fine stitch. In addition, I can read French and execute a throne-room curtsy with great aplomb. It seems to me,” she observed with an impertinent smile, “that in England it is quite desirable for a female to be utterly useless.”
Jason threw back his head and laughed at her observation. She was, he thought, an amazing combination of intriguing contrasts—of sophistication and innocence, femininity and courage, lush beauty and irrepressible humor. She had a body that was created for a man’s hands, a pair of eyes that could drive a man to lust, a smile that could be sunny or sensual, and a mouth—a mouth that positively invited a man to kiss it.
“It’s impolite to stare,” Victoria said, her mind more on keeping up the appearance of enjoying herself than on the direction of his gaze.
Jason jerked his gaze from her mouth. “Sorry.”
“You said we’re expected to engage in some sort of flirtation while we dance,” she reminded him teasingly. “I haven’t any experience with that at all—have you?”
“More than enough,” he replied, admiring the glowing color highlighting her cheekbones.
“Very well—go ahead and show me how it’s done.”
Startled at the invitation, Jason gazed down into her dark-lashed, laughing blue eyes and momentarily lost himself in them. Desire surged through his body and his arm automatically pulled her closer. “You don’t need lessons,” he murmured huskily. “You’re doing very well at it right now.”
“At what?”
Her obvious confusion restored Jason’s sanity and he relaxed his hold on her. “At getting yourself into a great deal more trouble than you ever bargained for.”
On the sidelines, young Lord Crowley raised his quizzing glass and inspected Lady Victoria from head to toe. “Exquisite,” he said to his friend. “Told you she was the moment we laid eyes on her, that day she arrived in Brook Street. I’ve never seen the equal to her. She’s divine. Heavenly. An angel.”
“A beauty, a true beauty!” young Lord Wiltshire agreed.
“If it weren’t for Wakefield, I’d court her myself,” said Crowley. “I’d lay siege to her defenses, battle off her other suitors, and then I’d give chase!”
“You could,” Lord Wiltshire stated drolly, “but in order to catch her, you’d need to be ten years older and twenty times richer. Although, from what I hear, the marriage thing isn’t entirely settled.”
“In that case, I mean to get an introduction to her tonight.”
“So do I,” Lord Wiltshire retorted challengingly, and they both hastened off in search of their respective mothers so that introductions could be properly procured.
For Victoria, the night was an unqualified success. She had feared that the rest of the ton would be much like Lady Kirby, but for the most part they seemed to welcome her into their exclusive ranks. In fact, some of them—particularly the gentlemen—were almost humorously effusive in their compliments and attentions. They surrounded her, requesting introductions and dances with her, then staying by her side, vying for her attention and asking for permission to call upon her. Victoria took none of it seriously, but she treated them all with impartial friendliness.
Occasionally, she caught glimpses of Jason and smiled fondly to herself. He looked breathtakingly handsome tonight in the raven black evening clothes that matched his hair and contrasted sharply with his snowy frilled shirt and flashing white smile. Beside him, other men seemed pale and insignificant.
Many other ladies thought so too, Victoria realized four hours later as she danced with yet another of her partners. Several of those ladies were flirting outrageously with him, despite the fact that he was supposedly betrothed to her. With secret compassion, she watched a beautiful, sultry blonde trying to hold his attention by gazing invitingly into his eyes while Jason stood with his shoulder propped negligently against a pillar, an expression of bored condescension on his tanned face.
Until tonight, Victoria had assumed he treated only her with that infuriating, mocking attitude, but she realized now that Jason seemed to treat all females with cool tolerance. No doubt this attitude was what Caroline meant when she said Jason was rude and ungentlemanly. Even so, the ladies were attracted to him like pretty moths to a dangerous flame. And why not, Victoria decided philosophically, watching him gently disengage his arm from the blonde’s hand and move toward Lord Collingwood. Jason was compellingly, irresistibly, magnetically . . . manly.
Robert Collingwood looked at Jason and nodded his head in the direction of Victoria’s beaux, who were clustered around Flossie Wilson awaiting Victoria’s return from the dance floor. “If you still intend to marry her off to someone else, Jason,” he said, “you won’t have long to wait. She’s just become the new rage.”
“Good,” Jason replied, glancing at the throng of Victoria’s beaux and dismissing them with a shrug.
Chapter Fourteen
ROBERT’S PREDICTION ABOUT VICTORIA’S SUCCESS turned out to be true. The day following her ball, twelve gentlemen and seven young ladies came to call upon Lady Victoria, pressing invitations on her and begging for a closer look at Wolf. Northrup was in his glory, ushering callers in and out of the salons and snapping instructions at the footmen who carried tea trays into the various salons.
By the time supper was served at nine o’clock, Victoria was too exhausted to consider going to any of the evening’s balls and soirées she’d been invited to by her callers. She hadn’t gone to bed last night until nearly dawn and she could scarcely keep her eyes open as she picked idly at the dessert on her plate. Jason, on the other hand, looked as fresh and vital as usual, despite having worked in his study all afternoon.
“Victoria, you were a dazzling success last night,” he said, turning his attention from Charles to her. “It’s obvious Crowley and Wiltshire are already besotted with you. So is Lord Makepeace, and he is considered the season’s best catch.”
Her sleepy eyes filled with laughter. “That particular expression calls to mind a halibut!”
A moment later she excused herself to go up to bed. Jason bade her good night, a smile lingering on his lips at her quip. She could light up a room with her smile, albeit a sleepy one. Beneath her artless sophistication, there was sweetness and intelligence, too. He sipped his brandy, remembering how she had charmed the ton last night with her beauty and laughter. She had won over Northrup completely, by playing Mozart especially for him tonight. When she was finished, the elderly butler had tears in his eyes. She had followed that up by sending for O’Malley and playing a rousing Irish jig for him. By the end of it, a dozen servants had gathered outside the drawing room, loitering about in order to eavesdrop on her impromptu concert. Instead of ordering them to disperse and go about their duties—as Jason had been about to do—Victoria turned to them and asked if they had any special favorites she could play for them. She knew all their names; she asked about their health and their families. And tired though she obviously was, she kept up her performance at the piano for more than an hour.
All the servants were devoted to her, Jason realized. Footmen smiled and bent over backward to please her. Housemaids rushed to do her tiniest bidding. And Victoria thanked each of them prettily for every service they performed. She had a way with people; she could win over barons and butlers with equal ease—perhaps because she treated them both with the same sincere, smiling interest.
Idly, Jason twisted the stem of his brandy glass in his fingertips. Without her, the dining room suddenly seemed gloomy and empty. Unaware that Charles was watching him with a gratified twinkle in his eyes, Jason continued to sit there, frowning at her empty chair.
“She’s an extraordinary young woman, is she not?” Charles prodded finally.
“Yes.”
“Ravishingly beautiful, and witty to boot. Why, you’ve laughed more since Victoria came to England than I’ve seen
you laugh in a year! Don’t deny it—the girl’s unique.”
“I don’t deny it,” Jason replied, remembering her intriguing ability to look like a countess, a milkmaid, a forlorn child, or a sophisticated woman, depending upon her mood and surroundings.
“She’s charming and innocent, but she has spirit and fire, as well. The right man could turn Victoria into a passionate, loving woman—a woman to warm his bed and his life.” Charles paused, but Jason said nothing. “Her Andrew has no intention of marrying her,” Charles continued meaningfully. “I have no doubt of that. If he did, he’d have contacted her by now.” He paused again, and again Jason said nothing.
“I feel sorrier for that Andrew fellow than for Victoria,” Charles added with sly determination. “I pity any man who is fool enough to ignore the one woman in a thousand who could make him truly happy. Jason,” Charles demanded, “are you paying any heed to all this?”
Jason sent him an impatient, puzzled look. “I’ve heard every word. What has all this to do with me?”
“What has all—?” Charles sputtered in frustration. Catching himself, he continued more cautiously. “It has everything to do with you, and with me too. Victoria is a young, unmarried female. Even with Miss Flossie here as her chaperone, Victoria can’t continue indefinitely to live in a house with one bachelor, and another bachelor who spends every day here. If we go on like this for more than a few weeks, people will assume the betrothal’s a hum and that she’s really another of your conquests. When that happens, they’ll cut her dead. You don’t want to cause the girl humiliation, do you?”
“No, of course not,” Jason said absently, staring at the brandy in his glass.
“Then there’s only one solution—she’ll have to marry, and quickly.” He waited, but Jason was silent. “Won’t she, Jason?” he urged.
“I suppose so.”
“Then who should she marry, Jason?” Charles demanded triumphantly. “Who could turn her into a loving, passionate woman? Who needs a wife to warm his bed and give him an heir?”
Jason shrugged irritably. “How the hell should I know? I’m not the matchmaker in this family, you are.”
Charles gaped at him. “Do you mean to tell me you can’ think of the one man she ought to marry?”
Jason tipped the brandy glass to his lips and quickly drained it, then put the glass on the table with a decisive thud and abruptly stood up. “Victoria can sing, play the piano, curtsy, and sew,” he summarized decisively. “Find a man with a good ear for music, an eye for beauty, and a love of dogs. But make certain he has a placid disposition—otherwise she’ll drive him to distraction. It’s as simple as that.”
When Charles stared at him openmouthed, Jason said impatiently, “I have six estates to run, a fleet of ships to keep track of, and a hundred other details to concentrate on. I’ll take care of those things. You take care of finding a husband for Victoria. I’ll cooperate by escorting her to a few balls and soirées during the next week or two. She’s already caused a sensation. With a little more exposure at a few more functions about town, she’ll have more suitors than you’ll know what to do with. Look them over when they call on her and draw up a list of the most likely candidates. I’ll go over the list and pick one.”
Charles’s shoulders slumped with weary defeat. “As you wish.”
Chapter Fifteen
“I HAVEN’T SEEN A YOUNG woman create a stir like this since Caroline made her bow,” Robert Collingwood said, grinning at Jason as they stood watching Victoria at a ball a week later. “She’s set every tongue in the city wagging. Did she really tell Roddy Carstairs she could outshoot him with his own pistol?”
“No,” Jason said dryly. “She told him that if he made one more improper advance to her, she would shoot him—and that if she missed, she would turn Wolf loose on him. And that if Wolf didn’t finish the job, she had every faith I would.” Jason chuckled and shook his head. “It’s the first time I’ve ever been nominated for the role of hero. I was a little crushed, however, to be second choice after her dog.”
Robert Collingwood shot him an odd look, but Jason didn’t notice. He was watching Victoria. Almost completely surrounded by beaux who were vying for her attention, she stood serenely in their midst—a titian-haired queen holding court with her worshipful subjects. Draped in an ice blue satin gown with matching elbow-length gloves, her hair spilling over her shoulders in a lush, wanton mass, she dominated the entire ballroom with her enchanting presence.
As he watched, he noticed Lord Warren hovering at her elbow, his eyes delving down the low, rounded bodice of Victoria’s gown. Jason’s face whitened with anger. “Excuse me,” he said tightly to Robert. “Warren and I are going to have a little talk.”
It was the first of many times to come during the next fortnight that the ton witnessed the staggering spectacle of the Marquess of Wakefield swooping down like an angry hawk upon some overeager swain whose attentions toward Lady Victoria became too marked.
* * *
Three weeks after Victoria’s come-out, Charles walked into Jason’s study. “I have made up the list of candidates for Victoria’s husband that you wanted to review,” he announced in the voice of one who has been forced to perform a repugnant task and now wishes to be done with it. “I’d like to go over it with you.”
Jason glanced up from the report he was reading, and his eyes narrowed on the sheet of paper in Charles’s hand. “I’m busy at the moment.”
“Nevertheless, I’d like to get this over with. I’ve found the chore of preparing it singularly unpleasant. I’ve selected several acceptable candidates, but the task has not been an easy one.”
“I’m certain it hasn’t,” Jason agreed sardonically. “Every fop and fool in London has been here sniffing after her.” Having said that, Jason returned his attention to the report. “Go ahead and read off the names, if you must.”
Frowning in surprise at Jason’s dismissive attitude, Charles took the seat across the desk from him and put on his spectacles. “First, there is young Lord Crowley, who has already asked my permission to court her.”
“No. Too impulsive,” Jason decreed flatly.
“What makes you say so?” Charles said with a bewildered look.
“Crowley doesn’t know Victoria well enough to want to ‘court’ her, as you so quaintly phrased it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The first four men on this list have already asked my permission to do the same thing—providing, of course, that your claim on her is not unbreakable.”
“No, to all four of them—for the same reason,” Jason said curtly, leaning back in his chair, absorbed in the report in his hand. “Who’s next?”
“Crowley’s friend, Lord Wiltshire.”
“Too young. Who’s next?”
“Arthur Landcaster.”
“Too short,” Jason said cryptically. “Next?”
“William Rogers,” Charles shot back in a challenging voice, “and he’s tall, conservative, mature, intelligent, and handsome. He’s also heir to one of the finest estates in England. I think he would do very well for Victoria.”
“No.”
“No?” Charles burst out. “Why not?”
“I don’t like the way Rogers sits a horse.”
“You don’t like—” Charles bit out in angry disbelief; then he glanced at Jason’s implacable face and sighed. “Very well. The last name on my list is Lord Terrance. He sits a horse extremely well, in addition to being an excellent chap. He is also tall, handsome, intelligent, and wealthy. Now,” he finished triumphantly, “what fault can you find with him?”
Jason’s jaw tightened ominously. “I don’t like him.”
“You aren’t going to marry him!” Charles shot back, his voice rising.
Jason lurched forward in his chair and slammed his hand on his desk. “I said I don’t like him,” he said through clenched teeth. “And that’s the end of it.”
The anger on Charles’s face slowly gave way to surprise, then to a
mirthless smile. “You don’t want her, but you don’t want anyone else to have her—is that it?”
“Right,” Jason replied acidly. “I don’t want her.”
Victoria’s low, furious voice sounded from the doorway behind them. “I don’t want you either!”
Both men’s heads snapped around, but as she came forward, her magnificent blue eyes were trained exclusively on Jason’s impassive face. She braced her palms on his desk, her chest heaving with angry hurt. “Since you’re so worried about getting me off your hands if Andrew doesn’t come for me, I’ll make every effort to find several substitutes for him, but you would never be one of them! You aren’t worth a tenth of him. He’s gentle and kind and good, while you are cold and cynical and conceited and—and a bastard!”
The word “bastard” ignited a leaping fury in Jason’s eyes. “If I were you,” he retaliated in a low, savage voice, “I’d start looking for those substitutes, because good old Andrew doesn’t want you any more than I do.”
Humiliated past bearing, Victoria whirled on her heel and stalked out of the room, only one thought in her mind: somehow she was going to show Jason Fielding that other men did want her. And she was never, never going to let herself trust him again. In the last weeks, she had been lulled into thinking they were friends. She had even thought he liked her. She remembered the name she had just called him, and her humiliation doubled. How could she have let him provoke her into calling him names!
When she had gone, Charles turned to Jason. “Congratulations,” he said bitterly. “You’ve wanted her to despise you since the day she arrived at Wakefield, and now I know why. I’ve seen the way you watch her when you think no one is looking. You want her and you’re afraid that in a weak moment you’ll ask her to marr—”
“That’s enough!”
“You want her,” Charles continued furiously, “you want her, and you care for her, and you hate yourself for that weakness. Well, now you don’t have to worry—you’ve humiliated her so thoroughly she’ll never forgive you for it. Both of you were right. You are a bastard, and Andrew isn’t going to come for her. Gloat away, Jason. You don’t have to worry about weakening anymore. She’ll hate you even more as soon as she realizes Andrew isn’t coming. Enjoy your triumph.”