Page 2 of More or Less a Countess
She’s a monster. A murderess.
“When I say agitated, I mean when he’s—”
“Honora!” Iris’s knife landed on her plate with a sharp crack. “I, ah…I beg your pardon, dear, but who’s that gentleman who’s just come in?”
“Gentleman? What gentleman?” Honora, distracted at last, looked up as a tall gentleman in a dark blue coat and a lavishly embroidered scarlet waistcoat seated himself at the other end of the table. “Oh, that must be Lord Dare. He’s a childhood friend of Lord Derrick’s. He’s just returned to London from a long stay on the Continent.”
“Oh? How long?” Violet didn’t much care how long Lord Dare had remained on the Continent, but she seized on it, desperate to turn the conversation away from Lord Derrick’s firm lips.
“Two years. Lord Derrick told me Lord Dare despises England, and wouldn’t be here now if he could have avoided it, but you see his black armband? His father passed away several weeks ago, so he was obliged to come home, to attend the memorial and assume the duties of the title. To hear Lord Derrick tell it, Lord Dare is quite put out by the whole business.”
“Why, how rude of his father to spoil Lord Dare’s prolonged Continental frolic. Pity he couldn’t wait for more convenient timing to die.” Such pointed sarcasm was a trifle unfair, and the words singed a bit as they rolled off Violet’s tongue, but her misery had found an outlet at last, and Lord Dare never need know he was to be executed in her place.
Honora leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “From what I understand, he’s had quite a frolic, indeed. The gossip has it he left a trail of broken hearts from Paris to Rome.” She frowned. “It’s terribly rude of him to arrive to dinner so late. For pity’s sake, we’re onto the dessert course already.”
Violet watched as Lord Dare turned a charming smile on his dinner companions. Even from this distance she could see he was handsome, with a tall, lean frame, a sculpted jaw, and an overabundance of silky dark hair.
Too handsome.
In Violet’s experience—which was, admittedly, limited to one painful season of being laced into a tight corset and forced to endure the balls at Almack’s—handsome gentlemen often hid staggeringly unhandsome ideas behind their charming smiles.
No, handsome gentlemen weren’t to be trusted, and especially not this one—the waistcoat alone was proof of that. Lord Dare’s clothes were in the height of fashion, of excellent quality and perfectly tailored, but a gentleman only wore a scarlet waistcoat embroidered with an intricate pattern of silver vines and masses of silver roses if he wished to be noticed.
Not that he needed the waistcoat for that. One was as likely to overlook a gentleman like Lord Dare as to forget to follow one breath with another.
His movements were graceful and confident, his smile easy, and if he was a trifle unkempt, it only added to his appeal. His unruly dark hair was a bit too long, his jaw not quite cleanly shaven, and his cravat just a shade off-center, the knot careless, as if it had been tied in a hurry. Despite the extravagant waistcoat, he looked almost as if he’d just rolled out of bed, and Violet hadn’t the slightest doubt he had.
Not his own bed, either.
No, one wouldn’t overlook Lord Dare, especially if one happened to be a lady. Nother, of course, but other ladies. Less sensible ones.
Violet raised her wineglass to her lips and took a healthy swallow. “So he’s a rake. How shocking.”
Honora smothered a laugh. “Now, Violet. How can you say so? You haven’t even been introduced to him yet.”
“No, and I’d just as soon keep it that way. I don’t care for rakes.”
They cared for her even less. There was nothing a rake despised more than a bluestocking, or a bluestocking a rake. They were natural enemies, like a mongoose and a cobra. Rakes dealt in nonsense, after all, and bluestockings were immune to nonsense, just as a mongoose was immune to a cobra’s poison.
A smile curved Violet’s lips. Her knack for creating apt analogies hadn’t prevented her utter failure on the marriage mart, but it never failed to amuse her.
“Well, Violet, you’re right, as usual. Heisa rake, and a dreadful one, too. It seems Lord Dare has a lovely Italian villa, and an even lovelier Italian mistress he’s anxious to return to.”
“I can’t think how Lord Derrick should be friends with him, if he’s as awful as you say,” Iris said. “They can’t have much in common.”
“Not anymore, no, though Lord Derrick says they were inseparable as boys.” Honora fiddled with her wineglass, a pensive look crossing her face. “It’s rather a sad story. Lord Dare had an elder brother, you see, but he was murdered by a highwayman several years ago. Such a tragic death, and now his younger brother is obliged to take a title he never expected to have, and doesn’t want.”
“Oh.” Violet’s voice softened. “That is rather sad—” She broke off, her gaze narrowing on Lord Dare as he raised his wineglass in a flirtatious toast to his dinner companion.
Violet and Iris’s youngest sister, Hyacinth.
Hyacinth had been seated in a place of honor to Lord Derrick’s right. She was a favorite of his, and because of her profound shyness he always insisted on taking care of his “little friend” in this way. It was kind of him, but it sometimes meant Hyacinth was seated far away from her sisters.
Tonight, she was seated right across from the wickedly handsome Lord Dare.
He was talking rather animatedly to her, his striking face alight with interest. Hyacinth listened to him with polite attention, but Violet could see the self-conscious flush on her sister’s cheeks, and every one of her protective instincts rushed to the fore. “Take the ladies out, Honora.”
Honora gave her a puzzled glance. “What, now? But I haven’t finished my wine.”
