Page 11 of The Duke of Seduction
Everyone laughed at this, except Lavinia, who stole a look at the man beside her. Beck. The name suited him. Strong, succinct, with an edge and also somehow charming. He was a dangerous man because of his reputation, and yet she couldn’t help find him engaging.
And it wasn’t because of the way his kiss had made her tingle.
Well, maybe a little.
The conversation continued as the Grosvenor Gate came into view, albeit fuzzily for Lavinia.
“Unmarried men and women can be friends,” Sarah said, shooting a haughty look toward Ware. “I’ve known you for years, Felix. Doesn’t that make us friends?”
Anthony scoffed. “No, that makes Felixmyfriend and you my sister.”
“I have to side with Miss Colton on this,” the marquess said. “If she’s known Ware for years and Ware is a good friend of her brother’s, doesn’t it follow that they are also friends?”
The earl glowered at Northam. “Shh! Don’t let anyone hear you. Just suggesting such a thing will see us married off before spring.” He sent an apologetic wince at Sarah. “Not that marriage to you would be horrible, but I think we can both agree that we wouldn’t suit.”
“God, no,” Anthony said. “Perish the thought.”
Sarah pursed her lips at them. “Lucky for both of you I agree. Otherwise, I might be gravely offended.”
“I’m beginning to think London is mad,” Fanny said quietly, her gaze moving over everyone.
Northam grinned. “Then you’ve got the right of it.”
“There you are!” Lavinia’s mother swooped in like a bird of prey. And Lavinia certainly felt trapped. “There are people who want to meet you.” She flicked a glance toward Sarah and her brother, whom they had, of course, known for years. It was clear Mother preferred Lavinia capitalize on her newfound celebrity than squander time with her friends.
“I was meeting new people, Mother,” she said sweetly. “Do you know the Marquess of Northam?”
It seemed the countess hadn’t even noticed him, for her eyes widened briefly. She quickly recovered and offered a curtsey. “I am not certain if we’ve been introduced. It’s a pleasure, my lord.”
He bowed in response. “The pleasure is mine.” He extended his bow to Lavinia. “Thank you for the promenade, Lady Lavinia.”
They exchanged farewells, and the trio of gentlemen departed, while Sarah retreated to her mother and Fanny joined her sister and some other ladies.
“You promenaded with the marquess?” her mother asked. “He must have read the poem.” She clasped her hands together and smiled widely. “It’s already working!”
“I don’t know if he read it or not, Mother. He was simply with Anthony when we encountered them on the path. It would have been rude for us not to be introduced. He also met Fanny.”
Mother pressed her lips together. “Sheisthe sister-in-law of a duke. But it’s only her first Season.” Her tone turned cross. “It’s your turn, not hers.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Mother,” Lavinia said with a sigh.
Shaking her head and, seemingly, the irritation away, the countess forced a bright smile. “Come, there are some people who wanted to meet you and others who wanted to say hello. You are in demand now, my dear. And it’s about time.”
As Lavinia turned to walk with her, she could only hope that time would be short-lived. The sooner she could return to blessed anonymity, the better.
* * *
Two days later, Beck stood from his breakfast table feeling pleased. The third woman he’d written about, Miss Lennox, had just become engaged to Mr. Laurence Sainsbury. That made three women he’d helped secure matrimonial success. He could only hope Miss Pemberton and Lady Lavinia would enjoy the same outcome.
Beck went into his study, where his gaze immediately fell on the small portrait of his half sister that sat on his desk. With her dark hair and petite frame, Helen took after her mother, Beck’s father’s first wife. Helen’s solemnity was evident in the likeness, her green eyes dark and serious, her mouth set into a slightly sad tilt. Or maybe he attributed his own sadness to the image. Every time he looked at her, he felt a pang of sorrow and regret. If he’d been older, he could have helped her. He would have done anything to keep her safe and happy. But at thirteen, he’d been far too young to do anything but watch helplessly as she’d fallen prey to the cruelties of Society.
All he could do now was try, somehow, to help those who needed it. He didn’t want any young woman to endure what she had. And it seemed he was making a difference.
He missed those of his family who were gone—Helen, his father, his mother. He still had his oldest half sister, with whom he wasn’t terribly close, and her family, as well as his stepmother, Rachel, and his half brother. George was only eleven, but his education as the next Marquess of Northam was already well underway.
Bypassing the desk, Beck went to the corner where he kept his guitars—three of them. Picking up his favorite, he strummed his fingers over the strings, mindlessly at first and then plucking a tune. It was, in some ways, easier than words, whether verbal or written. With music, he could let loose of everything trapped inside him until he was empty.
He lost himself for a few minutes, or maybe it was an hour, playing whatever leapt to his mind, following a path of emotion and discovery. He felt much better when he finished, not that he’d felt bad to begin with. Music just made everything better.
