A Lady's Addiction (Honor Prevails Book 1) Page 4

  The dark haired, dark eyed voluptuous harridan before him was his brother’s wife. How had he ever thought her attractive? The selfish and grasping nature that had been well hidden until after she’d married Cameron was all he saw now when he looked at her.

  “Millicent, I know you are involved with this Franco. Lady Pickerel advised me to speak to you.” He could only hope she wouldn’t see through his bluff.

  “Cecily told you about Franco?”

  He breathed an inward sigh of relief. “She told me all about your connection to him.”

  Millicent looked shocked at his words. Her shoulders sagged and he could see her lips tremble. She looked as if she might cry. He’d never seen her look vulnerable before. Knowing what she was he could not feel any pity for her. The gentleman in him resulted in his withdrawing a handkerchief from his trouser pocket.

  “Take this.” He offered his sister-in-law the scrap of linen and she snatched it from his hand. “Did Franco blackmail you as well?”

  Millicent dabbed at her eyes, dropped the handkerchief in her lap and proceeded to glower at him. Recovered enough, he thought.

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “Is it Cameron’s business?”

  “As if he gives a damn,” she muttered.

  “He cares about the reputation of this family. As do I. I will ask you once more. Are you being blackmailed?”

  “No,” Millicent replied. “Not at present. I have nothing left to be blackmailed for.”

  “Why would it have mattered if you requested the services of Franco? I do not believe Cameron cares about your conduct.”

  “At one time he would have cared about what Franco knows.”

  “Millicent, I can’t help you unless you tell me what this is all about.”

  Her voice sounded skeptical when she next spoke. “You don’t want to help me.”

  “I want to protect my family and if helping you will do so, I will do it.”

  Millicent lifted her chin. “I was with child when I married your brother. He thought the baby was his. It was Franco’s.”

  He digested the news in silence. Devlyn had been privy to the reason Cameron married this woman. His brother believed he’d taken Millicent’s virginity and gotten her with child.

  “You lost the baby after the carriage accident…”

  “Yes. I continued to let your brother believe the baby was his. The doctor is of the opinion the shock I sustained from Cameron’s accident caused my miscarriage.”

  His brother had been devastated by the loss of the child.

  “Cameron and I were married only a few months when the accident happened. He had already started to wonder about my motives for marrying him.” She hesitated. “He will not want the scandal of a divorce.”

  “I told him you did not care for him. He still married you.”

  She shrugged. “You never told Cameron you rejected my advances. He didn’t. I was with child and he did the honorable thing.”

  He recalled the ball where he first met Millicent. The woman had been on a mission to find a husband. Any husband. Her behavior had impressed him as manic, desperate. Now he knew the reason she had been eager to wed Cameron as soon as possible.

  Millicent spoke again, her voice dripping with scorn. “Your mother was so eager for him to marry and start a family.”

  He remembered the look of joy on his mother’s face when Cam told her he was engaged. The daughter of a duke had been more than acceptable to the viscountess.

  “You know I will tell Cameron everything.”

  “Good. He is of no use to me now.” Her words held traces of bitterness and self-pity. “Well, I do have need of his money.”

  He sprang to his feet, holding his temper in check. “Get from my sight.”

  Something in his voice or the grim expression on his face must have gotten through to her, for Millicent hurried out of the room. He retook his seat and stared at his handkerchief, now resting on the thick Oriental rug beneath his feet. He would not trouble Cameron with this muddle unless he had no other choice. His brother had been through enough.

  There was something in all this he was missing. His thoughts strayed to Anna. He dared not bring her name to Millicent’s attention before he knew what role the widow played in Franco’s schemes. Millicent would throw the woman to the wolves to save her own self from scandal.

  “What do you know, my little minx?” He ignored the quickening of his pulse at the very thought of Anna. “I think it’s time I found out.”

  Chapter Six

  Anna stood beside Cecily in Lady Beauchamp’s ballroom and vigorously wielded her fan in a vain attempt to cool herself. Their hostess would be pleased to call her ball a crush. Unfortunately, the multitude of guests in the space resulted in a warm ballroom.

  “I feel like a wallflower next to you,” Cecily said. “I do believe in the short time we have been here you have danced with every eligible man present.”

  Anna gave a low throaty laugh, drawing the attention of a group of young bucks who loitered nearby. Behind her fan she replied, “I feel very naughty tonight. Danforth would never have let me wear such a revealing gown in public.”

  The dress was indeed the most daring she’d ever worn. Her small bust sat high, invariably attracting the attention of her dance partners. She had been plump at the beginning of her marriage, but as her hunger for alcohol had increased her desire for food had decreased. The slim column of the gown drew attention to her willowy figure and the emerald color of the fabric enhanced the red highlights in her auburn hair. The uneven hemline of the garment swirled around her legs when she danced, adding to her flirtatious mood. Mourning be damned.

  The women of the ton whispered behind their fans when Anna and Cecily entered the ballroom. She held her head high and once Lady Beauchamp greeted her warmly, an older gentleman asked her to dance. She coaxed the man into talking about himself and laughed at the right places. If all her dance partners were as easy to engage in conversation perhaps she need not be so anxious in society.

  What Danforth had thought to be haughty and remote behavior had merely been shyness on her part. Practicing the art of conversation at school was far different than conversing with numerous people she did not know at social events. Not once had she thought of hiding behind one of the potted trees that ringed the walls of the ballroom.

  Pride welled up inside her as she realized she had imbibed no wine that evening. She was facing her fears without the aid of spirits.

  “A slim figure is the fashion this year,” Cecily murmured. “I believe the gentlemen of society agree. There’s something about you tonight, Anna. You positively sparkle.”

  She didn’t have a chance to reply as a gentleman approached to claim her for the next set. She recognized her partner, Lord Brimley, as a frequent topic of the gossip sheets. His garish plum colored waistcoat drew her attention away from his sallow complexion.

  “You look exceptionally well this evening, Lady Stafford.” Her partner looked hard put to keep his eyes from her prominent décolletage.

  “Thank you, Lord Brimley.” She was not particularly adept at polite conversation and looked about for a topic other than his waistcoat and the weather. “I believe you have taken on the task of restoring your estate in Essex. Has the project been rewarding for you?”

  Lord Brimley spoke easily on the subject of his estate. By the end of their set she had learned about many of the pitfalls associated with the refurbishment of a large house in the country.

  “I do hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.” Her dance partner returned her to where Cecily stood and took his leave of the two ladies with an elaborate bow.

  “That waistcoat is an unfortunate choice of apparel. His valet must be colorblind. Whatever did you say to Lord Brimley? The man is strutting about like a rooster.”

  “I merely showed a polite interest in his life,” she replied absentmindedly to Cecily’s words, her attention caught by a face across the ballroom.
She would swear she’d seen Franco.

  “Anna, what is it?”

  She glanced at Cecily and when she looked back across the ballroom, the man had disappeared. “I saw Franco. He’s here.”

  “I doubt that,” Cecily replied with a shake of her head. “I don’t believe he would be invited to this ball.”

  Her friend was probably right. Her eyes were playing tricks on her. She’d avoided strong drink that evening, opting for the watered-down lemonade on the refreshment tables. She’d hoped she might see Franco at the ball and hadn’t wanted to be intoxicated if she did. Feeling oddly deflated, she wanted to go home. A bottle of wine was exactly what she needed to set herself to rights.

  The women of society were treating her with civility. She was exhausted from the effort of charming the gentlemen out of their belief she was a cold and unsociable woman. Soon she would venture forth again on her quest to find a husband.

  “I think we have stayed long enough to set the tongues wagging.”

  “No likely candidates?” Cecily asked.

  “Not a one.” Her mood lifted when she remembered the numerous invitations stacked on her writing desk at home. Although the women of the ton hadn’t exactly welcomed her back with open arms, they were evidently curious enough about Lady Stafford to invite her to their entertainments. “There will be plenty of other opportunities. I hope you have an open social calendar.”

  * * * * *

  It had been an easy matter for Wiggins to find out where Lady Pickerel would be that evening. If Devlyn’s luck held, Anna would also attend Lady Beauchamp’s ball.

  Fortune seemed destined to smile on him. He endeavored to stay out of Anna’s sight at the ball while at the same time he attempted to find out her full name. He hadn’t yet been recognized by anyone of consequence and avoided his hostess, a friend of his mother’s, by staying near the walls of the ballroom and well away from the dance floor. Numerous potted trees and the hideous yellow curtains Lady Beauchamp decorated with aided him in his efforts to conceal his presence from Anna and Lady Pickerel.

  The man who’d danced the previous set with Anna approached him with a question about, of all things, Devlyn’s cravat.

  The gentleman introduced himself as Lord Brimley. “I’ve never seen a neck cloth tied into such an intricate knot.”

  “It is called a Trench knot and is named after one of our ambassadors to the Netherlands.”

  The blank look on Lord Brimley’s face caused him to wonder if the man had ever heard of the Netherlands.

  “Who is the stunning lady you were dancing with?” he asked the other man.

  “She is known as Lady Ice.” Lord Brimley winked at him. “She certainly didn’t feel like an iceberg in my arms.”

  He ignored a sharp stab to his midsection. The feeling, possibly jealousy, was here to for unknown to him.

  “Her name?”

  “Lady Anna Stafford. She is a widow.”

  “Thank you.” He turned on his heel and exited the ballroom through a pair of open French doors. After the stuffiness of the room the coolness of the night air felt most welcome. Courtesy of several lit garden lanterns he navigated his way to the gate of Lady Beauchamp’s back garden and through the mews. His carriage had never left the immediate area and was located a short distance down the street.

  Wiggins stood next to his master’s coach. “Sir?”

  “Lady Anna Stafford,” he replied and entered his brother’s town carriage.

  Wiggins would of course approach Lady Beauchamp’s servants and get the information his employer required. He didn’t know how his valet would accomplish such a thing; he just knew he would.

  Gossip and innuendo had been useful in his career in the diplomatic corps. Although Anna had told him her nickname was ‘Lady Ice’ he had no desire to use the moniker to find out her surname. He knew what it felt like to be the object of gossip and would not subject Anna to more of the same.

  A short time later the carriage door opened. Wiggins peered in. “Stafford House is in Grosvenor Square.”

  The valet closed the coach door. Devlyn felt the slight dip of the carriage as Wiggins climbed up to take a seat on the box with the driver. Devlyn tapped his cane against the roof of the carriage and the vehicle rolled away.

  The ride to Stafford House took only a few minutes along the nearly empty roads of Mayfair. When the coach came to a halt, Devlyn alighted and looked up and down the street. Wiggins jumped from the box and pointed to a red brick mansion further down the road. There were no other carriages moving along the street. The members of the ton were apparently still at their evening amusements.

  He handed the note he’d composed earlier that day to Wiggins. “Deliver this missive to Lady Stafford’s butler. You may return to The Grange. I will find my own way home.”

  The valet climbed back onto the carriage box and gave instructions to the driver to proceed further down the street to Stafford House. Devlyn crossed the road and found cover in some trees. He watched Wiggins carry out his instructions and his brother’s coach depart. He kept to the shadows as best he could to avoid the brightness of the oil street lights.

  She will never agree to see me. Why was he here? This was no way to conduct an investigation. His focus wasn’t on finding a blackmailer, but on bedding a lovely, passionate widow.

  “This is the only way to get her out of my mind,” he muttered. Maybe saying it aloud would help him believe it. No woman had ever kept his interest for more than a few days. He didn’t expect an affair with Anna could or would last very long.

  The passage to the Stafford mews looked deserted. He moved behind the houses until he could see the back-garden wall of Stafford House. No light came from the stable or carriage house. He walked closer to the buildings. The sound of snoring met his ears. His eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and he spied a boy sleeping against the stable door. He edged around behind the structure and concealed himself on the other side of the building. If the gate to the garden didn’t squeak, his presence should remain undetected.

  The gate made very little noise when he opened it. He worked his way through the garden by the soft light of a full moon. Thunder rolled in the distance and the air felt moist with coming rain. He nudged an object with his boot, heard a loud meow, and something scampered away into the flower beds alongside the gravel path he now walked on.

  He had no idea which window was Anna’s. Devlyn could see only one small balcony on the second story of the house. He headed for it. Thank goodness the garden was well established with a large oak tree. The rose covered trellis against the wall wouldn’t have been sturdy enough to climb. He pulled himself up to a low-lying branch on the conveniently placed tree, vaulted to the balcony and settled down to wait. Tomorrow he would confront Lady Pickerel. Tonight, he would make love to Anna.

  * * * * *

  Anna waved a quick goodnight to Cecily from the front steps of Stafford House. She turned and looked at the imposing edifice before her. The house had never felt like home. Her husband’s title was a new one. Danforth had purchased the house before their marriage. With a characteristic lack of imagination, he chose to name the mansion Stafford House.

  She’d purposefully made no plans for the following day as she wanted to spend some time with Neil before he departed for the estate in York. Her brother-in-law would most likely lie in until luncheon. If the man departed London before late afternoon she would notify the papers. The day after tomorrow would offer plenty of opportunity to venture out on her next excursion into the marriage mart.

  She wondered at the lack of any physical discomfort from abstaining from alcohol that evening. She’d attended the ball tonight and found the nerve to face the ton without imbibing a drop of wine. Now the desire to proceed to the drawing room in search of spirits overwhelmed her.

  “Good evening, my lady.”

  “Good evening, Dinkins.”

  “Has Lord Stafford arrived home?”

  “No, my lady. He advised me n
ot to expect him until quite late.” The butler presented a silver salver. “A note arrived for you not an hour ago.”

  “Thank you.”

  The servant nodded as Anna took the missive from the plate he held. Tomorrow she would spend time with Neil before he left for Yorkshire. They had shared dinner and again she had the feeling he wanted to talk to her about something. He expressed surprise at the news she had plans to attend a ball that evening with Cecily. He himself had already committed to another night at the theatre with his friends. She wondered if the ladybirds who attended the entertainments at the theatre were the true object of his interest.

  “I will change my plans and escort you to Lady Beauchamp’s ball,” Neil said.

  The last thing she needed on her hunt for a husband was an overprotective young brother-in-law. She hadn’t thought of a way to tell him she was ready to remarry.

  “Go with your friends and enjoy yourself.” She reached up to touch his cheek. “I will be in Lady Pickerel’s company. You have enough responsibilities without having to look after me as well.”

  She swept up the staircase keen for the privacy of her own room. Mary assisted her in changing into her nightclothes and afterwards Anna shooed the maid away. After she read her note she would retrieve the bottle of wine hidden in the small chest in her dressing room.

  The missive Dinkins had given her was a single sheet of expensive paper, folded and sealed with wax. There were no distinguishing marks on the outside save her Christian name: Anna.

  “How very peculiar,” she murmured. “Who would send a note addressing me as simply Anna?”

  With the assistance of a silver letter opener from her desk, she broke the wax seal and unfolded the note.

  Anna-

  If you desire my company, light one single candle and open your window.

  Franco

  “Dear heaven, what do I do?” There was no wine running through her veins tonight. She studied her reflection in the mirror on her dressing table. What she saw gave her the answer.