Improper Pleasures (The Pleasure Series #1) Page 19

  Mrs. Mophett hit her husband on the shoulder with her fan. “Excuse him, Lord Keane. The colonel cannot seem to remember that he is no longer on the battlefield but in a ballroom.”

  Sir John brushed away his wife’s comments with a wave of his hand. “Just trying to tell the man it’s good to see the Keanes back on their feet. And I hope we will still be receiving an appearance by Lady Phillina. Now I’m not being too forward, as I have known Phillina since she was a girl and used to call her Lady P cause her sire was a—”

  “Please excuse me, Sir John,” James said the moment the long-winded gentleman gasped for breath. “You have reminded me that I must see to Lady Phillina’s entrance.” James bowed to Sir John and his wife, even tossed a smile at the two Miss Mophetts that stood in their parents’ shadow with sallow resignation. Poor girls. They didn’t enjoy being thrown out for troll anymore than James enjoyed dodging hooks.

  James swung in the direction he’d last seen Astra, Sir John’s good wishes and invitations to visit their estate raining on his back. Since Astra was never far from his mind, James paused to scan the crowd and instantly found her.

  She was speaking with a tall, dark haired man and his small wife beside a flower lined refreshment table. Once she broke free of the couple, she was waylaid by a single gentleman. Nothing tawdry could be deciphered from the exchange, but James noticed how the other man’s gaze lingered. The music began again in the other room and it was clear the man tried to persuade Astra in that direction. James was tired of other men monopolizing Astra. She was supposed to be by his side and at least figuratively, holding his hand through this damned thing.

  James saw a servant with a silver tray and grabbed a glass of champagne. He took a large swig, the bubbles going straight up his nose, forcing him to repress a sneeze. Damn it, but Astra was stopped by another man on her way through the crowd. James had been introduced to him earlier and recalled that he had a wife, who at the moment was nowhere to be seen. And where in the hell had Astra found that dress?

  He still remembered the moment he had been below stairs, adjusting to the stiff material of his tails and snug satin breeches. If Astra had not been adamant, they never would have persuaded him to dress in such absurd attire. He glanced up and she descended the garland entwined staircase in a dream. Her mother, Lady Seabrook, griped at her about something. All James could do was stare in wonder. He had never before seen Astra in such a vibrant shade. The green gown reminded him of the vines shading the gazebo washed in the afternoon sun. And Astra writhing beneath him, her pale skin flushed with erotic pleasure.

  No doubt the man who was holding her up entirely too long, noticed how the rich color picked up a mossy shade in her eyes. How her shoulders and the top of her small round breasts gleamed under the candles’ glow. How the excitement of the evening colored her cheeks like she had just been wildly fucked by a man who was crazy about her. Or just plain crazy. James took a swig of his champagne. He had to get a hold of himself.

  “Lord Keane,” a strong voice bellowed.

  James glanced up to find Mr. Bainbridge extending his hand. “Lovely bash, James.” Bainbridge enthusiastically pumped James’s arm. “The girls are having the time of their lives. Been having to beat the lads off Kerra. I told Mrs. Bainbridge no more Frenchie fashions for my girls. They are far too healthy to wear so little.”

  James glanced in the direction Bainbridge pointed. Indeed, Kerra was surrounded by admirers and a few had spilled over to hover around Emily. Only Cordelia hung by her mother, obviously put out at being outshined by her older sisters.

  “Ah, Cordelia must be seething. She’ll have her day,” James said, then glanced back to where he last saw Astra, but she had again been swallowed by the throng. Clearly Lady Phillina had sent out far more invitations than James had been told.

  “Did you get the letter off to your brother-in-law?” Mr. Bainbridge snagged James with a question of which he could not beg off.

  James tried to give Mr. Bainbridge his full attention. “I did. I penned it the moment I returned from Plymouth. Not that my sister’s husband won’t be agreeable to the arrangement, mind you, but the advanced notice will allow him time to make known the incoming shipment.”

  “You have a fine ship, my boy. A shame you won’t captain the voyage yourself, but of course, you have your duties here.”

  James nodded but could not halt his gaze from straying across the room. He spotted Astra speaking to the Reverend Fitzgerald, not as she had the others but their heads bent together in earnest conversation. In his mind, the reverend was entirely too young and entirely too good-looking to be a man of the cloth.

  “Yes, well . . .” James said trying to remember what they were talking about.

  “Will you be sending any wool to America with my tin?”

  “Mr. Bainbridge, will you excuse me a moment,” James said abruptly. His urgent desire to stop Astra’s intimate exchange with Fitzgerald ruined his ability to concentrate on Bainbridge. “I need to see if Lady Phillina is ready to make her appearance, but I do wish to discuss our plans further.”

  “Of, course,” Mr. Bainbridge said. “But Lady Keane has disappeared upstairs. She’s no longer talking to Reverend Fitzgerald.”

  James gave himself away by glancing in the place he had seen them and indeed the good reverend was talking to a rotund older woman with a large feather in her powdered hair. He turned back to Bainbridge not bothering to hide his sheepish expression. “Lady Keane does look exceptionally lovely tonight.”

  Bainbridge assessed him with his sharp brown eyes. “I have always found Lady Keane exceptionally lovely. You know, Kerra is a sensible girl. I have raised all my daughters to know their place and respect their future husband’s prerogatives.”

  James stiffened and tried desperately not to pale. God, had he been that obvious? “When I take a wife, I plan to be completely faithful. And Lady Keane is beyond reproach.”

  To his credit, Bainbridge looked taken aback. “I have never doubted nor ever would doubt Lady Keane’s honor. But that doesn’t stop a man from wishing it were otherwise, aye?”

  James forced himself to grin instead of take further offense, which certainly would give him away. He glanced over to the Bainbridge girls. “Make sure all three save me a dance. I really do need to assist Lady Phillina in her grand entrance.”

  “Of course, my boy. Knowing that she can look forward to a dance with you might wipe the frown off of Cordelia’s face.” Bainbridge bowed and strode in the direction of his daughters. James noted that all three girls and Mrs. Bainbridge anxiously awaited his return. No doubt they were eager to hear what their father had learned about the weaknesses of their prey. Unfortunately, it was much more than James wished. Damn it, but he had given things away horribly. He’d have to keep his distance from Astra for the rest of the night. If that were not bad enough, he would be leaving her wide open for other men to pursue.

  The impermanent nature of having a mistress worked both ways James suddenly discovered. He had to say it was part of the bargain he had a hard time swallowing at the moment.

  ***

  James surveyed the men surrounding him to assure himself he was not the drunkest among them. Only Darien Blackmore showed signs of swaying on his feet. To hell with it. James slugged back his brandy and waved to a servant for another. It was well past midnight and the majority of his guests showed no signs of departing. The candles still burned bright as hell and the floral garland draped on every available surface refused to wilt.

  Again, he had lost Astra in the throng and his head spun momentarily as he scanned the swirl of colorful men and women invading his house.

  “Has Lady Keane chosen a new residence?”

  The rude question garnered James’s immediate attention and reminded him that he was having a conversation with an athletic looking man whose name he couldn’t recall but took an instant dislike to anyway.

  “Lady Phillina enjoys her company,” he mumbled, pleased with his quick
and clever response. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as drunk as he thought. He closed one eye and the room tilted.

  “Yes, jolly good to see her about. I was chums with her eldest, Trent, the fourth baron. Grizzly business that. Can’t say I’m surprised though. That tiger had been poorly used and snarled at anything that moved.”

  James nodded. The triumph of the evening had been Lady Phillina strolling about on his arm, greeting her guests. The only one who had beamed more than Phillina at her accomplishment was Astra. James had felt her gaze linger upon him. Finally being the object of Astra’s attention had been the singular highlight of this miserable evening. Lady Phillina had retired early, the effort not to use her wheelchair had taken much of her strength. James had hoped the guests would have realized that Lady Phillina’s appearance was the point of the evening and have the courtesy to leave shortly after.

  “If Astra, Lady Keane, I should say, has need of assistance in locating a place in London, I might know of a smart town home that has just become available.” The other man droned on as if he couldn’t tell he was irritating the hell out of James.

  “I bet you do.” James glared at the man who didn’t bother to hide his lecherous grin.

  “She does look quite fetching this evening. Young widows straight out of mourning are always highly coveted.”

  Thankfully a servant arrived with a bottle of cognac balanced on a tray. James resisted the urge to grab the bottle and allowed the liveried footman to splash too little of the amber liquid into his empty glass. He downed it and requested a refill before he allowed the servant to move on.

  “Astra is too much concerned with her daughter’s welfare to entertain advances from a pack of vultures,” James said, somewhat calmed by the warm rush from the cognac.

  “So, the competition has already begun. Seems I’m late to the chase.” The man’s smile didn’t reach the assessing brown gaze he narrowed on James.

  James stared at the well-dressed gentleman and tried to recall his name. He had a title, James knew that much. “Do you live far from here? I know some of the country roads are treacherous in the dark.”

  “Indeed. You are gracious to accommodate so many of your guests for the night.” He bowed slightly, the smirk lingering on his mouth.

  James forced the look of horror from his features. He had wondered why the servants had been madly cleaning the guest wing. Jesus, they must be able to accommodate fifty guests in those rooms.

  “Roger,” another man approached them, a feral gleam in his eyes. “Look who’s arrived.”

  Both Roger and James followed the third man’s nod. Astra strolled into the room with a shapely dark haired woman on her arm. Elegantly dressed in shades of plum, jewels winking from her artfully arranged mahogany hair, the woman would have taken James’s breath away if the blond by her side didn’t do that every time he’d glimpsed her tonight.

  Roger whistled under his breath. “This evening is turning out to be worth the drive from London. Bravo, Keane.”

  “I heard Ivy Templeton retired. I wish I had the blunt to afford her.” His friend poked Roger in the ribs. “Perhaps Lady Keane’s in training.”

  “Lady Keane is an excellent hostess. She has no need of instruction. What the hell are you two lathering about anyway? You act like you’ve never seen a woman before,” James said, though he gawked at the beautiful women with as much intensity as the other two men.

  “God, here comes Blackmore.” Roger glanced over his shoulder. “Someone should stop him.”

  The other man blocked Roger’s way. “Don’t you dare stop him. This is the most excitement I’m likely to have until the next season begins. Oh, this will keep the gossips busy through summer.”

  James glanced past Roger’s shoulder and over the head of his companion to witness Blackmore stumbling away from the wall he’d been holding up. His dark stare hovered on Astra and the other woman. The burning in his gaze spurred James into immediate action.

  Earlier in the evening, James had been formerly introduced to Blackmore. Though Astra had warned James that Blackmore wouldn’t show, James prepared himself for their confrontation anyway. Proving himself a worthy land owner was something James had been counting on since his blunder when he’d first arrived and called on him without announcing his visit. But tonight the man had barely uttered more than a grunt in response. Despite this second rebuff, James had hoped to drum up a conversation about sheep, looking for an opening to compliment Blackmore’s research. But Blackmore had done nothing but hide in the corner and drink all evening. Now that the man was in motion, James would have preferred him to stay put. James didn’t like the way he surged in Astra’s direction with a fierce look in his eyes.

  “Perhaps you would like a room for the night,” James said, intercepting Blackmore.

  The other men had followed, and James could feel them watching with fascination.

  Blackmore gave James a seething stare. “Hospitable of you. Would you loan me the use of your whore for the night as well?”

  James’s fist connected with Blackmore’s chin before he could stop himself. The rush of gratification the physical action produced made James glad he was still capable of acting on animal impulse instead of restrained by civility.

  Unfortunately, Blackmore didn’t crumble as James anticipated. Blackmore regained his equilibrium and lunged for him.

  Roger stepped in and shoved Blackmore back. James’s arms were wrenched behind his back by Roger’s friend. James shook him off but he had already heard the whispers break in the room. The general buzz of merriment had abruptly ceased. He was grateful Lady Phillina had already retired.

  Roger released Blackmore as well, but he appeared far from appeased.

  James had his fist still clenched and ready. “If you’d like to step outside, I’ll be glad to give you the beating you deserve.”

  Blackmore swiped blood from his lip with a ragged sleeve. “You think she’s worth it, do you? You poor sod.”

  It took all James’s power not to defend Astra openly or attack Blackmore on the spot. He had learned enough about English ways that a show of emotion would equal an admission of guilt. “Outside, Blackmore. Now. You have some dirt to eat along with your lies.”

  “Don’t tell me you think she actually cares about you? Trust me, my grubby colonial friend, she despises sheep-breeders. I should know. If she weren’t getting long in the tooth, I doubt she’d be taking up with the likes of you.”

  James reared back to plunge his fist in Blackmore’s face a second time but Roger had expected the move and caught his arm. “Enough, you two. Ladies are present. Settle this like gentleman.”

  “Pistols at dawn, then?” Blackmore smiled. “Do you know how to shoot, Yank?”

  “Don’t take him up on it, Keane.” Roger shook his head in all seriousness but his friend seemed giddy.

  “Do you think you can sober up by then?” James balled his fists, preferring a brawl and the immediate satisfaction of teaching Blackmkore some manners.

  “I won’t need to be sober to kill you. Dawn. Behind the Cross Road’s Tavern.” Blackmore turned to leave, but Roger tried to stop him. Blackmore shook him off. “Let go. I know better than to try and talk to her.”

  Roger let him leave and Blackmore strode across the room. The guests who had all no doubt witnessed the exchange fell silent as he passed. Astra and Ivy stood together, both women’s faces had gone extremely pale. Blackmore never broke his stride but the look he gave them roared like silent thunder.

  James’s skin went clammy. He met Astra’s horror-filled gaze across the room. James feared he had just accepted a challenge to duel with Lark’s father. And was damn glad he had.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Astra opened the door to James’s bedroom without knocking. That she passed through Lowell’s former suite did not cause the pang of remorse she had anticipated. In the muted shadows haunting the hours between midnight and dawn, the once lavish sitting room was unrecognizable. James had stripped
his quarters of all but the essential furnishings. Nor did a house full of guests deter her from her unscheduled visit to forbidden territory. She needed to know if the gossip buzzing like a wasps’ nest held any merit.

  James sat up the moment she slipped into the room, letting her know he was awake. A thin sheet fell to his waist revealing that he was naked. Moonlight poured through an open window where James had shoved the damask blue drapes wide. He silently watched her approach. She could not read the emotions that tightened his features.

  Not waiting for an invitation, she crossed the room and sat beside him on the enormous four-poster bed, laid a hand on his bare chest and met his intense gaze. “Is it true? You are dueling with Lord Blackmore tomorrow?”

  James took her hand and squeezed. “Do you still love him?”

  “Love him? What in the world led you to ask that? Don’t do this James.”

  He stared in her eyes a moment, waiting for her to say more. When she only stared back in confusion, he touched her face. “Tell me what happened between you two. I need to know.”

  “Nothing! But I would dearly like to know what happened between you two.” She gripped his hand and held them in both of hers. “Darien Blackmore has been trying to get himself killed for years, James. Unfortunately, he is an excellent shot. Most people have the sense to refuse his challenges. You must call off the duel.”

  He pulled away from her grip, his gaze penetrating even in the soft shadows. “You still don’t trust me.” He swung his legs off the bed and stood.

  Astra jumped to get out of his way. “It’s not a matter of trust. Of course, I trust you. I just don’t want to see bloodshed over something that happened years ago.”

  “And he should have been called out for it years ago.” James found his discarded breeches and yanked them over his hips. “The bastard thinks he’s gotten away with something and has the nerve to insult you in your own home. My God, he doesn’t even give a damn—”