Miss Hillary Schools a Scoundrel Read online

“That is the silliest story I’ve ever heard, my lord.”

  Lord Andrew raised his goblet in his brother’s direction and flashed a smile. “Yes, well, I feel it is my duty to report Rich is quite a silly man.”

  Lana laughed fully and sank against the seat back. She hadn’t realized how rigid her spine had been until this moment.

  Lord Andrew nodded toward where her mother sat, a wry smile twisting his lips. “Who’s the gentleman courting your mother?”

  She stretched her neck to study the flaxen-haired gentleman who had her mother quite animated. “I’ve never made his acquaintance. Do you not know him? He looks like your type.”

  “My type?”

  “Yes, you know, rascally.”

  His face lit up and dimples pierced his cheeks. “Perhaps I am of a higher class of rascals, because I’ve never met the man.”

  “Or lower class,” she added, smiling sweetly.

  “Miss Hillary, your honeyed words and charming smiles will not win me over.”

  Lana heated with pleasure when he beamed.

  Her mother chatted excessively with her dining partner, gesturing with her hands and glancing in Lana’s direction every few seconds. Lana suppressed a groan. Was her mother husband hunting already? She couldn’t meet the gentleman’s gaze for fear she would see in his eyes the appalled disbelief he surely felt at being accosted by her mother before dessert had even arrived. After dinner, the women adjourned to the drawing room. Taking Lana’s elbow, her mother steered her to a corner. “You’ll never believe what happened at dinner.”

  “Mama, thank you for your good intentions, but I am capable of attracting a husband on my own.”

  Her mother rushed on as if Lana hadn’t spoken. “The gentleman seated next to me at dinner is Lord Philip Bollrud, great-nephew to Lady Dohve, the baroness.”

  “That is fascinating, Mama.” She tried to interject the appropriate level of excitement in her voice, knowing any lack of enthusiasm on her part could precipitate an avalanche of critical words heaped upon her. “I should find Lady Phoebe. It would be rude to abandon our generous hostess.”

  Her mother gripped Lana’s arm. “Silly,” she hissed, “that wasn’t the interesting part.”

  Lana’s lips stretched into a strained smile. “And I suppose you must share the part you found interesting?”

  Her mother puckered her mouth as she always did when displeased. “Lord Bollrud was to accompany his aunt, but she fell ill at the last minute. The baroness insisted her nephew travel without her.”

  Lana’s good humor waned. “And being a doting nephew, he left her to fend for herself. You are right, Mama, that is a fascinating turn of events.”

  “Honestly, Lana. You try my patience. Perhaps you don’t take husband hunting seriously enough, which would explain your lack of success over the last two seasons.”

  Lana sucked in a deep breath, embarrassed by her mother’s blunt manner. She glanced around to see if any of the other ladies overheard, but if they had, they were polite enough to pretend otherwise.

  “Here’s the part I found interesting,” her mother said. “Lady Dohve insisted her nephew attend the party without her, because she knows he seeks a wife.”

  Perhaps her mother was rushing into an association with the gentleman. They knew nothing about him.

  “Mama, where has Lord Bollrud kept himself all this time? I never made his acquaintance in Town. Does that not strike you as odd? One would think he would participate in the season where he’d have more variety with his selection.”

  Her mother punched her fists to her hips. “Then lucky for you he has been on the continent.”

  Lana drew back. If her mother had slapped her, it would have been less shocking.

  “Lord Bollrud has been on the continent for the past ten years.” She leaned closer to Lana and spoke in a hushed tone. “I think this is a sign. You are meant to find your husband here in Northumberland, I’m certain of it.”

  Lana sighed. Would her mother truly wish her carried off to the continent? She hadn’t realized how desperate Mama had become to be rid of her. She bit down on her bottom lip to still its slight quiver. “Mama, I cannot ignore Lady Phoebe alone any longer. Please excuse me.”

  She released Lana’s arm and allowed her to walk toward her friend.

  “I promised your first waltz to Lord Bollrud,” her mother called.

  Lana faltered in her footsteps and winced. The poor man likely had no choice in the matter. She just hoped Mama hadn’t browbeaten him too badly.

  Eight

  Drew stood sentry on the fringes of the dance floor as the country bumpkin Mrs. Hillary had recruited to waltz with her daughter twirled the beautiful miss around the ballroom.

  Perhaps manhandled would be a better description. Drew had never seen a man as pathetic on the dance floor.

  Miss Hillary’s strained visage belied her longing for the waltz to end, and Drew couldn’t agree more. He’d been enjoying a nice conversation with her and Mrs. Hillary before the bumpkin barged in and towed the beguiling redhead away. A moment later, her mother retreated to an alcove, seemingly uninterested in her chaperone duties now that she’d procured a suitor for Miss Hillary.

  “Hell’s teeth,” Drew muttered.

  Despite what his brother might think of his intentions, he only wished to watch out for the chit. Obviously, her mother wouldn’t provide her with the proper protection she deserved. How could the woman be blind to the fact this man was a fortune hunter? Drew had seen more than his share of down-and-out gentlemen in the hells of London, and Bollrud’s ill-fitted breeches and unfashionable coat gave him away in an instant.

  A small group of young ladies, close in age to Gabby, meandered to where Drew stood, blocking his view of the dance floor. One of the bolder ones stepped forward.

  “Good evening, Lord Andrew.”

  The others giggled and batted their eyelashes.

  He spared them a perfunctory glance and followed with a slight bow. “Ladies.”

  They didn’t move away as he had hoped. Instead, they loitered, fingering their dance cards.

  A raven-haired beauty smiled at him but spoke to her friends. “I have one or two open dances, but my card is filling quickly.”

  “As do I,” another added.

  They all giggled, some behind fluttering fans.

  He sighed. Now he recalled the reason he avoided balls. All that twittering gave him a headache.

  As the last strains of the waltz carried on the air, he moved away from the girls to allow for a better view of Miss Hillary. She broke contact and stepped a respectable distance away from her dance partner, waiting for him to lead her from the floor. Yet, the man didn’t move. Even from a distance, Drew could see Miss Hillary’s cheeks turning red as she seemed to vacillate between walking from the dance floor without her partner and standing there in awkward silence. Eventually, she gestured toward the alcove where her mother chatted with several other matrons of the ton, paying no attention to her daughter.

  When the beginning bars of the next dance began, the man snatched her hands and dragged her into position for a quadrille. Miss Hillary’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened, but she recovered her composure quickly and attempted to fall into step.

  Drew’s jaw tightened, and he stalked closer to the dance floor. If the blackguard thought to force Miss Hillary into a third dance, he was mistaken. Drew would see this debacle ended on the spot.

  As soon as the quartet finished the set, Miss Hillary pushed away and appeared to be begging off. Nevertheless, the man grasped her elbow and guided her toward the punch bowl. Drew followed, closing the distance with purposeful strides.

  In the refreshment room, Miss Hillary shrunk away from the bloody bore as soon as he released her arm to retrieve punch.

  “I believe Mama said you’re Lady Dohve’s nephew? Lord Bollrud, is it?” Her voice quivered slightly.

  The fop bowed with comical flourish as if he were engaged in a parody of gente
el manners. “Philip Bollrud, at your service.”

  Drew fought the urge to squeeze off the gent’s air supply. He abhorred the insincere gestures and prancing like peacocks most suitors did to gain a lady’s attention. But something deeply bothered him about this particular gentleman.

  Drew reached Miss Hillary’s side, smiling when she moved closer to him. “Did you say Mr. Bollrud?” he asked.

  “It’s Lord Bollrud,” the man answered with a lift to his nose and frost in his words. Bollrud held out a glass of punch for Miss Hillary, but Drew took it and sipped the drink.

  “Much appreciated,” Drew said. “Bollrud? Am I acquainted with your family, sir?”

  The man sneered. “Highly unlikely. My father was a Bavarian nobleman, a count, and now I’ve inherited the title.”

  Drew wondered if he was expected to be impressed. Much to his pleasure, Miss Hillary appeared unaffected.

  “I spent most of my life on the continent,” Bollrud said. “Lady Dohve is my great-aunt on my mother’s side.”

  Drew hadn’t realized he’d requested a recitation of the man’s family tree. He collected another glass of punch and presented it to Miss Hillary. She held Drew’s gaze, the slight lifting of her lips and twinkle in her eyes encouraging. Devil take it. Her eyes were blue. He would have bet money this morning they were green. He tore his attention away from her mesmerizing eyes and focused on Bollrud again.

  “Pity you’ve been away from England so long,” Drew mused. “I suppose that explains a lot.”

  Bollrud scowled. “A pity? I don’t know your meaning.”

  “I’m referring to your lack of manners, sir. Perhaps in Bavaria it is acceptable to monopolize a lady’s attention, but you’re far from home.” Drew offered a polite bow to the lady, more than ready to dismiss the gent. “Miss Hillary, do you intend to deny the pleasure of your company to the other gentlemen eagerly waiting to dance with you?”

  An impish grin played on her lips as she checked her dance card. “Never think it, Lord Andrew. We have the next dance, do we not?”

  Drew started at her reply. Upon his grave, he hadn’t intended to request a dance. Yet, he couldn’t bow out without offending the lady, and he didn’t intend to leave her in Bollrud’s company, not a sweet morsel such as her.

  “I believe you are correct, Miss Hillary. You did give your word.”

  He offered his arm and led her to the floor, determined that when the dance ended, Lana Hillary would be as far from Bollrud as possible. As they took position for another waltz, he shot a look in his brother’s direction. Less than a day had passed since he had given his word to stay away from Miss Hillary, and here she was in his arms.

  His brother’s back was to the dance floor, and he engaged in a lively chat with Phoebe and Lord Henley. Drew couldn’t count on Rich’s preoccupation for long, however, and expected he would receive another dressing down later.

  He smiled down at Miss Hillary. “On the ride back to Shafer Hall, please mention to my brother I rescued you from a giant leech.”

  She arched a delicate brow. “Who said I needed rescuing?”

  “It was obvious to all except the leech. Obligation required me to lend my protection. You are my brother’s houseguest, after all.”

  Drew tilted his head and studied her eyes again. He detected flecks of gold, but were they blue or green? It was hard to discern in this lighting.

  They glided around the floor in time with the melody, Miss Hillary’s movements graceful as if she floated on a cloud. If he was to catch hell from Rich for dancing with her, he might as well do something to deserve the lecture. Trailing his hand slightly lower on her back, Drew pulled her closer. Her hips brushed against his, and an attractive blush brought color to her face. Yet, she hesitated before drawing back.

  Drew swallowed the groan rising in his throat. He’d never been one to find pleasure in denying himself, and he regretted giving his promise to stay clear of Miss Hillary. Given her response to his simple touch, keeping his word could prove an impossible task.

  He cleared his throat. “Where’s your bullish brother when you need him?”

  “Jake had more important things to do, such as mend a broken leg,” she replied with a touch of surliness.

  “How thoughtless of him.”

  Her deep-throated laugh inflamed his body even more. “Let me ask you, Lord Andrew, how can you be certain playing the distressed damsel is not a tactic I’m using to catch a husband?”

  Drew missed a step and she laughed again. The little vixen mocked him. His grip on her hand loosened and he returned her smile. “So you haven’t forgiven my teasing at the Eldridge ball.”

  “Yes, well. I’ve barely given it a thought. Might I add, sir, you were wrong about ladies and our desires.”

  “Indeed? How very intriguing.” Nothing would please him more than learning of Miss Hillary’s desires. He hoped they might align with his own.

  The waltz ended, but Drew didn’t excuse himself when he escorted her off the dance floor. Instead, he guided her to a corner where they could continue their conversation. “Tell me more of ladies’ desires.”

  Color infused Miss Hillary’s cheeks again, but she boldly met his gaze, so unlike the innocents he had encountered in the past.

  “You assume all women wish to secure a match, perhaps with a gentleman such as yourself. After all, you are in possession of a modest fortune and noble blood.” She wrinkled her nose and frowned. “Well, my lord, I can assure you, not all women find you as pleasing as you believe yourself to be.”

  Her frank assessment made him smile. “I’m hurt, Miss Hillary, for you failed to mention my charm or handsome face while listing my attributes. I believe those add to my marketability.”

  She tossed her head, fire sparking in her spectacular eyes, and barreled on as if Drew hadn’t spoken. “Some women possess no desire to marry at all, my lord. Mayhap these ladies in question prefer devoting their lives to academics or a pursuit of the arts rather than wifely duties and such.”

  “I see.” Drew nodded, doing his best to hold back his grin.

  “Perhaps they wish to invest their funds or take up a profession to support themselves like their brothers.”

  Miss Hillary became more intriguing each moment. He had never met a woman who didn’t care if she secured a husband. He found it difficult to believe one existed.

  “Do you have something against marriage?” he asked. “Do you wish to remain unmarried?”

  “I wasn’t referring to myself—” Her mouth snapped closed and she scowled. “Why is it society finds it acceptable for a man to remain a bachelor, but a woman becomes an anomaly if she wishes to remain unwed; something for young boys to jab with a sharp stick?”

  “I see you hail from the rougher section of Mayfair,” he said with a chuckle.

  Her face darkened as her eyes narrowed. “Does mocking me amuse you, sir?”

  “What do you take me for, Miss Hillary? You think me a gentleman who would take pleasure in the act of mocking you? No, it’s your fiery temper that provides me with much entertainment, and it requires so little effort to stoke.”

  She issued a huff of outrage and crossed her arms, pushing her breasts upward.

  Determined to ignore her enhanced neckline, he offered his most disarming smile. “Come now, Miss Hillary. Did you not just tease me a moment ago?”

  The corners of her perfect pink lips lifted slightly. “I suppose I did.”

  Drew studied her. How had she grown more beautiful since that night in the garden? “I suppose you’re avoiding my original question,” he said softly. “Do you truly not wish to marry?”

  Her eyebrow arched. “It is every lady’s duty to secure a good match, sir. I will thank you to cease your impertinent questions.”

  Drew spotted Bollrud’s towhead moving through the crowd in their direction, and a flicker of irritation ignited in him.

  “Come along, Miss Hillary. You’re in need of rescue again.”

&nb
sp; As Drew guided the lady toward her mother and Phoebe, his fingers brushed the soft skin of her upper arm. Hell’s teeth, what luxury. It was a shame he would never have the opportunity to discover if she proved as silky all over.

  “I thought you were rescuing me,” she mumbled as they approached the alcove.

  “I am.” If he stayed in her presence any longer, he would no longer be responsible for his actions. She was as intoxicating as his father’s best bottle of scotch. “Thank you for the lovely dance, Miss Hillary. I trust you will enjoy the remainder of your evening.”

  He meet Phoebe’s gaze then flicked his eyes to Bollrud, hoping she understood his warning. In case his message was lost on his sister-in-law, however, he retreated to his side of the ballroom where he could watch over Miss Hillary for the remainder of the evening and held his post until Miss Hillary left Irvine Castle.

  Once he saw her safely removed from Bollrud’s clumsy clutches, the tension drained from his body, and he chuckled under his breath. When had Drew become the protector of women rather than the reason they needed protection?

  Of course, Miss Hillary’s circumstances were unique. Because of her close association with his family, she earned his loyalty by extension; at least that seemed the most logical explanation. Besides, it was apparent she required protection her mother was ill equipped to provide. Why, the noddy woman had allowed Drew to monopolize her daughter’s attention in a secluded corner of the ballroom for a good ten minutes. Granted, he and Miss Hillary had remained at a respectable distance, but a man of his reputation shouldn’t be allowed anywhere within the vicinity of an innocent unless one wished her name tarnished.

  Drew turned to leave the ballroom and spotted Norwick heading his way.

  “There you are, chap.” His friend lowered his voice as he drew closer. “What in the devil’s name are you doing in the ballroom? Don’t you know there is a private party?”

  Drew raked his hand through his hair, not in the mood to deal with his usual crowd. “You will have to proceed without me.”

  Norwick laughed, but when Drew didn’t join in his merriment, the earl’s eyes rounded. “Oh, you are serious. But there will be cards. And brandy. And, and certain amenable women.”