Mastering the Marquess (54 page)

“It’s your name for him,” Angela replied, defensive.

“Yes, but that was years ago. I should never have told you.”

“You had to.” The tiniest hint of smile lifted Angela’s cheeks. “You had to explain that you gave everyone nicknames after you called me Angel.”

The story was an old one, but it brought a hint of warmth to Bliss’s chilled heart. “Yes, but you still shouldn’t call him that here. What if someone heard?”

“What do you care? You love a bit of scandal. And besides, it suits him so well. He is such a dull, dull don.”

If only Angela weren’t correct that the name suited him so well. He might be attractive,
perhaps too attractive, but he must be the dullest man alive. All he cared about was his estates and his horses. And he didn’t talk about either with any degree of warmth. She doubted the man had a warm bone in his entire body. He certainly never looked warmly at her, at least not in years, not since … But she wasn’t going to think of that.

A shiver took her at the thought. Even thinking about the man made her uncomfortable. She’d like to blame it on Swanston’s marriage plans, but she knew better. Ever since she’d left childhood behind, her stomach tensed when Duldon was around.

How could her brother even think that marriage between them would be suitable?

Stephan Perse, Lord Duldon, rolled on his side as the clock on St. Michael’s tower sounded the hour. He counted the tolls as he ran a finger down one of the fine red welts marking the woman’s bare back. Eleven bells.

A slow sigh escaped between his teeth. Normally such a night’s work would have left him satisfied, but tonight he felt strangely empty.

The woman rolled her hips, inviting further play. Almost perfunctorily, he raised a hand and gave her a hard swat. Her ass stretched back as a happy moan sounded. Blast. He knew every move to make, but felt no actual desire. It had been this way for far too many days—weeks or months, if he was honest.

The woman turned toward him, heavy breasts falling forward, nipples still swollen from the evening’s play inviting his touch. A slight smile curved her lips beneath the silken mask she wore. “And how may this humble servant serve you further, master?” Her eyes dropped to where the thick linen of the sheet draped his waist.

Her tongue darted out wetting already moist lips.

Eleven.

Eleven bells.

Shit. He was late.

He’d promised his aunt he’d attend the Evanstons’ soiree. And his aunt, Lady Perse, was not one to be disappointed—plus there was always the possibility that Bliss would be there. He pushed the thought from his mind.

Without a word, he swung from the bed, reaching for his trousers. If he hurried he would make it before the call to dinner. Luckily, Lady Evanston believed in a truly late dinner. Lady Perse would understand. A gentleman could not be expected to arrive too early.

“You’re leaving now?” The woman did not sound happy.

“I am sorry. I must.” He laid a careless kiss upon her shoulder.

She pushed herself up, her breasts almost slapping his chest. “Don’t you want to punish me more? I’ve been a very bad maid. I haven’t completed work.” Her hand reached for his trousers.

He pushed her hand away. Couldn’t they ever be original? He knew it was all a game, his partner was no more a servant than a lion was a house cat, but some days he tired of all the pretense, wanted something real, something true.

Why couldn’t a single one of them admit what they wanted without masks and foolery? He knew the answer to that question. It wasn’t as if he walked about admitting to his own desires, but …

“You can’t leave. I am not ready,” the woman complained, her lips forming an unattractive frown.

Now that was more in character with her real identity.

“Sorry.” But actually he wasn’t. It was as much a relief as anything. “I’ve paid Madame Rouge for the room. You can stay until morning if you wish, perhaps seek another companion.” He draped his untied cravat about his neck.

And then he slipped through the door, his thoughts moving on to the coming night, the woman already forgotten.

Bliss stared about the Evanstons’ ballroom one more time. Surely it must be nearly time for dinner. If she didn’t receive her invite soon …

“I still can’t believe what you’ve said.” Angela was not going to let their previous conversation go. “Your brother knows you better than that, and since Swanston married Louisa he’s seemed almost human. You need somebody who enjoys a bit of fun. There must be a dozen lords you could marry.”

Bliss kept her head turned away from her friend’s far too penetrating gaze. She did want somebody fun—not that she wanted to marry at all. Why couldn’t they all just leave her alone to live her life as she wished? Nobody was dependent on her. Her grandmother had left her more than enough funds in trust to be sure that she was never a burden. If only she were a few years older she would buy her own home and settle far away from everybody, perhaps somewhere in the country where nobody would be watching—particularly not a certain disapproving earl who lived next door to the family estate, an earl she could not seem to push from her mind. Not that she wanted the boredom of the country, not yet. She had far too many adventures to have first, too many things she wanted to know, to try. The few days she’d spent with Lady Ormande had left her eager for experience.

“Are you even listening to me?” Angela complained.

“Sorry—and yes. It’s just that every time I think about what my brother is trying to do, my mind freezes like a butterfly in December. I think it’s really all about land. My father owns some finger of land that used to be part of Duldon’s estate and he wants it back. I don’t think either of them even cares about me.”

“You know that isn’t true. Your brother cares a great deal about you.”

Bliss did not miss that Angela said nothing about Duldon. It was hard to imagine him caring about anything. Once she’d thought differently, but time had proved her wrong. “Sometimes I think Swanston does care and then other times I am not so sure.”

“I don’t think your brother would spend so much time trying to watch over you if he did not care.”

Bliss supposed that was true, although perhaps he was just watching out for the family name. That thought was enough to bring a smile to her lips. Watch out for the Danser name? Dansers had been causing trouble since before anyone could remember. Her father might be the Duke of Mirth, but that didn’t make him respectable. The man had taken up raising llamas. What kind of duke took an interest in livestock that spat? She’d heard of titled gentlemen being proud of their cattle and their horses, but the beasts in question were always well-washed when displayed. She doubted there was a man brave enough to get near enough to one of her father’s wooly beasts to scrub the thing down.

The creatures did seem fond of her father, but she’d always imagined that had more to do with his pocket full of apples than the man himself.

“You are not paying attention again. Anyone would think you did not care. Perhaps Swanston believes he will marry you off to Duldon and you won’t even notice.” Angela smiled, but there was bite to her words.

“I would notice.” Her heart fluttered in her chest as she spoke, the thought of a wedding night with Duldon flitting at the edges of her mind. She would not think of that. Back to the moment. Did Angela really think she didn’t care? It was bad enough that most of society thought she was on the fast, if entertaining, road to ruin. Did her friend actually believe she wasn’t paying attention as she skipped along? The true problem was that she paid too much attention to everything going on about her. It was why sometimes she just needed to shut off her thoughts and concentrate on something small and meaningless—like llamas, not wedding nights, never wedding nights. “And to answer your earlier statement, Swanston isn’t paying nearly as much attention to me since he married Louisa. I think that now that she is in his life he doesn’t have as much time for the rest of us. It makes me wonder if he ever truly cared.”

“Now you are talking nonsense.”

“I know.” Bliss let out a long sigh. “I am being melodramatic. I think I should be allowed a good wallow in self-pity. I have just been informed by my oldest brother that he intends to marry me to Dull-Don if I am not engaged by the end of the summer.” Bliss forced herself to say the dreaded name even though she had just chided Angela for it. It was best to remember what was coming if she did not apply herself to her task. She must find another husband by the end of the summer, she simply must. And Lady Perse’s teas would surely be the fastest way to accomplish that.

“You didn’t tell me that. I thought it was merely a threat, not a plan. Your brother never lets his plans go. Everybody knows that. Once he begins he is relentless.”

“I know.” Another stone dropped onto the pile still residing in her belly.

“Hmmm.” Angela suddenly smiled. “Perhaps you could convince Swanston that Duldon should marry Dahlia or Felicity. If it really is about a piece of land then what does it matter which of you he marries?”

For the briefest of seconds Bliss considered the option, despite the shiver it caused. Her sisters? Why hadn’t she thought of that? Dahlia was so studious that she might very well not mind marrying a dull man. And the earl was known for having a wonderful library. Strangely, another rock dropped at the thought. “No, Felicity is still far too young. And Mirth has promised
Dahlia a European adventure. I believe that he hopes to add a little life to her. He doesn’t know what to do with a child who doesn’t cause trouble. I doubt that Duldon wants to wait for either of them, and as you say, once my brother begins a plan he is unmovable. No, I must find another husband or marry Duldon.”

“And that is why you want one of Lady Perse’s invitations?” Angela asked, putting the whole conversation together.

“Yes.” Bliss turned away and surveyed the growing crowd. Surely she would have received one by now if she was going to. A boulder swayed on the precipice, waiting to plunge. Biting hard on her already sore lip, she looked about with care, noting those young ladies who bounced and swayed with that extra portion of joy. Miss Strong had received one, and she was most noted for frequently looking like a piece of fruit, her gowns incredibly ill chosen. Even Miss Swilp was dancing on tiptoes. As if sensing Bliss’s gaze, Miss Swilp turned and wrinkled her nose in Bliss’s direction, her green eyes narrowing as she glanced back across the room. There was no way that Miss Swilp could know that Bliss had not received an invitation, and yet Bliss could sense her feelings of superiority across the room. “Harriet Swilp has received one.”

“I can’t imagine that even Lady Perse can find her a husband. Perhaps she cannot resist a challenge.” Angela smiled at her own words.

And then it hit her. Bliss turned and stared at her friend. Angela had been bursting with happiness when she’d first spoken. “You received one also, didn’t you, Angel?”

Silence.

Angela’s voice dropped. “Yes, I think I may have been the first. I didn’t want to tell you until you received yours. I was so sure you were going to. You are always part of everything.”

That was because she always demanded to be part of everything, and who would refuse the daughter of the Duke of Mirth? People might laugh behind her father’s back, but never to his face. Nobody would refuse him, and so nobody would refuse her.

Raising her head, Bliss glanced across the room to where Lady Perse stood surrounded by cronies, her eagle eyes picking out each lady who had received one of her invites. Lady Perse’s gaze fell upon Angela, a soft smile lifted the thin lips, and the gray eyes warmed beneath the white fluff of hair that resembled a cat asleep upon her head—and then her gaze landed upon Bliss.

For a moment she smiled—she had always been kind to Bliss—but then her lips thinned
as if an unpleasant taste had filled her mouth.

Bliss could feel Lady Perse consider her deep rose gown, much too deep in color for one so young, the skirts forming a bell far more exaggerated than any other in the room. Bliss knew the dress was extreme, but it was so perfect for twirling, the skirts skimming about like a flower, but never rising above her ankles no matter how fast the dance. That was one mistake Bliss never intended to make again.