Stephanie Laurens Rogues' Reform Bundle

  That had been extremely disconcerting. She had returned with Agatha from a most successful expedition—bonnets, gloves, slippers and boots had consumed most of their morning, leaving her with little opportunity to dwell on the iniquitous behaviour of her fiancé—to discover a package addressed to herself, left in Higgson’s care. Removing the wrappings, she had discovered a pair of soft kid half-boots in precisely the same shade of cherry-red as her new pelisse, together with a pair of matching pigskin gloves. Accompanying these had been a chip bonnet with long cherry ribbons. There had been no card.

  Agatha had crowed.

  Any doubts she had harboured over who had sent her such a gift had been laid to rest when she had tried on the boots in her chamber, exclaiming over their perfect fit. Trencher had giggled, then admitted that a person named Moggs, known to be in Eversleigh’s employ, had materialised in the kitchens the previous afternoon, asking for her shoe size.

  The episode had left her shaken. The idea that Eversleigh had turned London upside down—or, more likely, kept some poor cobbler up half the night—just to make this peace with her was distinctly unnerving. His abrupt dismissal of her thanks, as if his effort meant nothing at all, almost as if he did not wish to acknowledge it, had been even more odd.

  Throughout their drive, she had kept her eyes glued to his secretary’s scrawl and bombarded him with questions. Despite a certain reluctance, she had wrung from him enough answers to satisfy.

  The bright lights of Piccadilly swung into view. Lenore quelled a shiver of expectation, drawing her cloak closer.

  Ten minutes later, they pulled up outside Attlebridge House in Berkeley Square. Jason descended then turned to assist first his aunt, then his fiancée to the pavement. As Lenore stepped down from the carriage, her cloak parted slightly, affording his sharp eyes a glimpse of silver-green. His lips twitched. Inwardly he sent up a prayer that Lafarge had adhered to her usual standards. After his gaffe over the guest-list, he did not feel sufficiently secure to object even had Lenore donned a pinafore.

  Trapping her hand on his sleeve, he detected the tremor in her fingers. Capturing her wide gaze, he smiled encouragingly, trying to banish the lingering memory of the feelings that had swamped him in the Park the day before. The feelings that had sent him home in a savage mood, to give Moggs a most peculiar set of orders. Typically, Moggs had achieved the desired result quietly and efficiently. Yet the fact that he had felt such a compelling urge to prove to his wife-to-be that he was not an ogre was disturbing. She was an intelligent woman—there should be no need to go to such lengths.

  As he waited beside her for his aunt’s door to swing open, he recalled Lenore’s thanks, tendered with a smile of rare sweetness. He had been decidedly brusque, thrown off-balance by the sudden thought that, while he had frequently showered diamonds on his mistresses, he wooed his bride with boots.

  And then they were inside the hall, and the moment of revelation was upon them.

  Gripped by sudden shyness, Lenore allowed Jason to remove the velvet cloak from her shoulders. Trying for an air of sophisticated confidence, she twitched her skirts straight, then, her head high, fixed her eyes on Agatha’s face.

  Warm approval shone in Agatha’s black eyes. “You look absolutely splendid, my dear.” Her peacock feather bobbed with her nod. “Doesn’t she, Eversleigh?” This last was uttered pointedly in an attempt to prod her nephew to speech. Agatha glared at him but his eyes were fixed on Lenore.

  Lenore knew it. The silence from beside her was complete, but she could feel his gaze roving over her shoulders, bared by the wide neckline of her gown, then moving down, over her breasts, outlined by the high waist, then down, down the long length of her filmy skirts, cut narrow to emphasise her height and slenderness. A slow blush rose to her cheeks. In desperation, she tweaked the delicate cuffs of the long, fitted sleeves over her wrists.

  Becoming aware of how long he had stood, gawking like a schoolboy, Jason tried to speak, but had to pause and clear his throat before he could do so. “You look…exquisite, my dear.”

  At the deep, strangely raspy words, Lenore glanced up, into his eyes—and was content. Then he smiled and she felt a quiver ripple from the top of her head all the way to her toes.

  “Shall we go in?” Smoothly, Jason offered her his arm, unable, for the life of him, to take his eyes from her. The silver-green silk clung and slid over her curves as she moved to his side. The gown was more concealing than any he had ordered yet, oddly, it was far more alluring to have such promise so tantalisingly withheld.

  Success, Lenore found, was a heady potion. As she placed her fingertips on his silk sleeve her entire body tingled with the thrill of conquest, of having brought the silver light to his eyes. The sensation left her breathless. Side by side, both so tall, she a graceful counterpoint to his strength, they strolled into the large drawing-room.

  All conversation halted.

  Wide-eyed stares rained upon them; the entire company followed their stately progress to Lady Attlebridge, an imposing figure standing before the fireplace. There was not a shred of doubt who the focus of interest was that night.

  And so it proved. To Lenore’s abiding relief, Eversleigh remained firmly entrenched by her side, resisting any number of attempts, some subtle, others less so, to either distract him, or displace him. When her memory failed, he prompted or, as happened more frequently, when her memory was blank, because neither he nor Agatha had recalled certain of his connections, he duly filled her in, his charming smile warming her all the while.

  From his sudden stiffness when they hove near, she deduced his aunts were his greatest concern, an observation she found particularly interesting. When the fact that she knew them finally registered as they were leaving Lady Eckington, the most redoubtable and unpredictable of the six, he murmured, “They know you, don’t they?”

  Lenore opened her eyes wide. “I thought you knew,” she murmured, turning to smile as one of his cousins passed by. “They often visit Lester Hall. They’re all friends of Harriet’s. I’ve known most of your aunts since I was—oh, twelve or so.”

  Jason raised his brows, surprised yet cynical as realisation dawned. Given the favour of his formidable aunts, Lenore would have no need of his support in establishing her social position. Which was a relief. Nevertheless, his voice held a disgruntled note when he said, “I had thought to have to protect you from them. The next time they come calling with me in their sights, I’ll know who to hide behind.”

  Lenore’s eyes widened but she laughed the comment aside. “Never mind that—just tell me who the lady in the atrocious purple turban is. She’s been trying to attract our attention for ages. On the sofa by the wall.”

  Obediently, Jason slowly turned. “That, dear Lenore, is Cousin Hetty. Come. I’ll introduce you.”

  And so it went on. The dinner proved no greater ordeal than the drawing-room; by the end of it, Lenore felt entirely at home among the Montgomerys. An official announcement of their engagement was made at the end of the meal, and their healths drunk in the finest champagne before the company moved to the ballroom, keen to meet the incoming guests and spread the news.

  Lenore glided through the throng on Jason’s arm, smiling and nodding, her head in a whirl. She was thankful the long windows to the terrace were open, allowing a gentle breeze to cool the heated room. Despite the time of year, Lady Attlebridge’s rooms were full. Bodies hemmed her in, the colours of coats and gowns blending like an artist’s palette. As she clung to Jason’s arm, grateful for the reassuring pressure of his fingers on hers, her responses to the introductions and congratulations became automatic.

  Then the musicians struck up.

  “Come, my dear.”

  As if he had been waiting for the signal, Eversleigh drew her away from the crowd, into the area miraculously clearing in the middle of the floor. As she felt his arm go around her, Lenore remembered. The waltz—their engagement waltz. “Ah,” she said, relaxing into his arms. “I’d forgotten about t
his.”

  “Had you?” Jason raised one arrogant brow. “I hadn’t.”

  He watched her eyes cloud with delicious confusion.

  Lenore blinked, the only way to break free of his spell. Fixing her gaze in convenient space, she prayed he could not hear her thudding heart. “Tell me, my lord. Is Lord Alvanley an accomplished dancer?”

  “Accomplished enough,” Jason returned, quelling his grin.

  “But Alvanley’s claim to fame is his wits, rather than his grace. Furthermore, given he’s half a head shorter than you, I would not, if I was you, favour him with a waltz.” He considered the matter gravely. “A cotillion, perhaps. Or a quandrille.”

  Lenore’s eyes narrowed, but, before she could formulate another distracting question, Jason took charge.

  “But enough of my friends, my dear—and more than enough of my relatives,” he added, frowning when she opened her lips. “I would much rather hear about you.”

  “Me?” The words came out in a higher register and without the languid dismissiveness Lenore had intended, owing to the fact that Jason had drawn her closer as they approached the end of the floor. His hand burned through the fine silk of her gown, his thighs brushing hers as they whirled through the turn. When they straightened to precess back up the room, he did not relax his hold. Luckily, other couples were crowding on to the floor, obscuring everyone’s view.

  “You,” Jason confirmed. “I sincerely hope you cancelled the gowns I ordered from Lafarge.” Lenore looked up, eyes wide. Jason smiled. “Your style is uniquely yours, my dear. I like it far better than any other.”

  More flattered than she would have believed possible, Lenore stared up at him. “Actually, my lord—”

  “Jason.”

  Lenore felt her fingers tighten around his. She forced them to relax. “Jason, the gowns you had ordered were perfectly appropriate. It’s merely that, at least until I get used to such styles, I fear I would find wearing the more revealing gowns unsettling. No doubt I’ll get used to such things in time.”

  “Lenore, I would prefer you to dress as you wish. Your own style is much more becoming and infinitely more appropriate than the current mood. I would be happy to see you always garbed in gowns such as you are wearing tonight.”

  “Oh.” Lenore looked deep into his eyes but could see nothing beyond an unnerving sincerity. She drew a deep breath. “In that case, my—Jason, I suspect I should warn you to expect a very large bill from Madame Lafarge.”

  A smile of considerable charm lit Jason’s face. He chuckled. “I see. What did you do—double the order?”

  Eyes on his, Lenore nodded.

  For a moment, he could not take it in. Then, the trepidation in her wide eyes, her suspended breathing, registered, confirming the reality. For the first time in a very long while, Jason was at a loss, sheer incredulity obstructing coherent thought. In the end, his sense of humour won through. His lips lifted in an irrepressible grin, breaking into a smile as he saw her confusion grow. Drawing her slightly closer, he sighed. “You will, no doubt, be relieved to know that settling with Lafarge will not greatly dent my fortune. However,” Jason continued, his eyes holding hers, “next time you wish to upbraid me for my high-handed ways, do you think, my dear, that you could simply lose your temper? I find your methods of making me sorry rather novel, to say the least.” Not to mention effective, but he was not so far lost to all caution as to say such words out aloud.

  “I…ah…” Lenore did not know what to say. His grey eyes, gently quizzing her, were far too perceptive to risk any white lie. As the fact that he was disposed to view her actions in an understanding, even conciliatory way sank in, she summoned enough strength to tilt her chin at him. “If you would refrain from acting high-handedly in the first place, my lord, I would not need to exercise my temper in any way whatever. Which would be greatly to be desired, for I find it extremely wearying.”

  Delighted by her haughty response, Jason could not resist asking, his voice low, “And if I refrained from all high-handed behaviour? Would you be suitably grateful, Lenore?”

  Her heartbeat filling her ears as his eyes caressed her face, Lenore struggled to keep her feet on the ground. Her bones felt weak, a sensation that had afflicted her once before. Too concerned with keeping her senses under control, she made no effort to answer him.

  The confusion in her eyes was answer enough for Jason.

  The music stopped. Reluctantly, he freed her, tucking her hand into his arm, a subtle smile curving his lips.

  Released from his gaze, Lenore dragged in a steadying breath.

  “Great heavens! Lenore!” Spun about, Lenore felt her hand caught, then she was slowly twirled about. Jack came into view, studying her avidly. Coming to a halt in time to see him shoot a glance loaded with masculine meaning at her fiancé, Lenore tugged to get her brother’s attention.

  “How is Papa?”

  Jack blinked, as if struggling to take her meaning. “Papa? Oh, he’s fine. Couldn’t be better. And his health will improve no end when he gets a look at you. What happened to your pinafores?”

  “I left them at home,” Lenore stated with awful deliberation. “Along with my spectacles,” she added before he could ask. “Come and dance with me. I need the practice.”

  Leaving Jason with the mildest of nods, she led the way to the floor.

  While circling the floor with Jack, she prised his news from him. He had returned to Lester Hall on Wednesday, to set her father’s mind at rest that all was well with her. Apparently all was likewise well at Lester Hall, although Harriet and her father both missed her. However, the arrangements for them to attend her wedding were well in hand; the prospect was the cause of considerable excitement in the household.

  “God knows! Some of the servants have asked permission to make the journey, so you might catch sight of some familiar faces in the crowd outside the church.”

  Lenore was touched, but, already, Lester Hall and its affairs were fading in her mind, overlaid by the more pressing demands of her new role.

  Harry came up as Jack led her from the floor. After making comments sufficiently similar to Jack’s to earn a stern warning from Lenore, he, too, commandeered her for a dance. At the end of it, however, he insisted on returning her to her fiancé’s side, revealing that he had been so instructed by his future brother-in-law and was not about to queer his pitch in that direction.

  Lenore did not quite know what to make of that but she was too relieved to be once more in Jason’s protective presence to protest.

  He was talking to Frederick Marshall when she joined him. Lenore could not miss the stunned look on Frederick’s face when he saw her.

  “My dear Miss Lester.” Coming to himself with a start, Frederick bowed gallantly over Lenore’s hand. Straightening, he blinked. “Er…” Appalled by the words that had leapt to his tongue, Frederick struggled to find suitable replacements.

  Reading his friend’s mind with ease, Jason helpfully explained, “She left her pinafores at Lester Hall.”

  Bending a glance both haughty and innocent upon him, Lenore asked, “I do hope, Your Grace, that you’re not missing them? Perhaps I should send for them, if it would please you?”

  Jason was too old a hand to be rolled up so easily. His lips curved appreciatively, his grey eyes gleamed. “I’d be only too pleased to discuss what you might do to please me, my dear. Naturally, I’m delighted that you seek to make my pleasure your paramount concern.”

  Any possibility that his speech was uttered in innocence was rendered ineligible by the expression in his eyes. Caught in his web once more, Lenore turned hot, then cold, then hot once more. With an effort, she dragged her gaze from his, glancing at Frederick but with little hope of rescue.

  She had, however, underestimated Frederick. More used to Jason’s ways than she, he sent his friend a stern glance before enquiring, “Have you weathered the Montgomery clan, then? They’re somewhat daunting, are they not?”

  Lenore grasped the unexpe
cted lifeline, applying herself to a discussion of her fiancé’s huge family, thereby, she later realised, punishing him most effectively.

  It was not long afterwards that Agatha caught up with them. “If you want my opinion, we should leave now. Best not to give them time to grow too accustomed—keeps their interest up, y’know?”

  Jason, his eyes flicking over Lenore’s radiant face and seeing the increasing weariness behind her polished mask, inclined his head. “I bow to your greater experience of such matters, dear aunt.”

  The carriage was summoned; they took their leave of their hostess, Lenore and Agatha receiving an invitation to take tea the following Tuesday.

  Ensconced in the carriage, wrapped up in her cloak once more, Lenore sighed as the flambeau lighting the Attlebridge House steps fell behind, her evening’s hurdles successfully overcome.

  Seated opposite, Jason watched the shadows wreath her face. He smiled. “Well, my dear. Was the ordeal as bad as you had feared?”

  Lenore straightened. “Why, no, my lord.” She turned to face him fully, rearranging the folds of her cloak. Remembering his requirements of a bride, she added, “I don’t believe I will find any real difficulty in either attending or hosting such entertainments.”

  Jason inclined his head, a frown gathering in his eyes.

  “Lady Mulhouse invited us to her rout next week.” Lenore turned to Agatha. “And Mrs. Scotridge asked us to tea.”

  Agatha heaved a contented sigh. “Ah, me! I’d almost forgotten what it’s like to be in the eye of the storm. Despite the fact that it’s the tag-end of the Season, I dare say life will be hectic for the next few weeks.”

  Eyes narrowing, Jason watched his aunt stifle a yawn. If nothing else had been achieved at his aunt Attlebridge’s ball, the occasion had demonstrated that in her new incarnation Lenore held a potent attraction for the prowling males of the ton. No less than five fascinated acquaintances had stopped by his side to remark on her beauty. Placing an elbow on the carriage windowsill, Jason leant his chin on his fist and stared, unseeing, at the passing fades.