And then he’d rushed into the night in search of Hetty and Araminta had had no choice but to follow for she had the letter and she meant to use it. There was still time for Sir Aubrey to wriggle out of this foolish, impulsive union with her sister. Why, the marriage would not yet be registered. They could waylay the clergyman. Couldn’t he see that anything was possible, now that he knew Araminta loved him?
But Sir Aubrey would not see sense. Not even after they’d discovered Hetty in the clutches of Lord Debenham who was clearly in his cups and posed no danger at all, though Sir Aubrey had taken exception to the broken bottle of arrack that Lord Dabenham had waved in the region of Hetty’s throat. Did the stupid man not understand that of course Lord Debenham would not have hurt Hetty? Yet Sir Aubrey had cast all common sense to the wind and refused to succumb to Araminta’s warnings. Finally, Araminta had had no choice but to burn the letter which could have restored his good name and which painted Lord Debenham in such a bad light.
Now here she was alone with Lord Debenham. She didn’t feel comfortable, it was true, and she was close to distraught at the events of the past hour, but he was her last chance. If she did not make the most of her opportunities, she could find herself facing a third ignominious season or, worse, carrying the child of the man she’d expected to marry, the man she’d thought desired her as she desired him...
The man who’d just married her sister.
Frozen, she stood by the window. Lord Debenham, who should have been looking at her as if she were the most delectable creature, was instead thoughtfully smoking a cheroot as he lounged in a chair with legs crossed at the ankles, resting on the table.
“Aren’t you going to thank me?” Her throat felt dry, her words brittle. She tried for an alluring smile.
“For burning that incriminating letter? When you hoped to blackmail Sir Aubrey with it so he’d marry you?” Lord Debenham chuckled. “Now you want to compromise me so I’ll be forced to marry you?”
Araminta had never been spoken to by a gentleman in such a manner.
“You are a very handsome man, my lord.” Yes, she could do this. She could play up to him—and maybe she had to, even if just to prove that she was still irresistible. That Hetty wasn’t the one to waltz off with the prize, leaving her older sister languishing, a laughing stock, an ape-leader with no dowry, their father having lost all his money.
She moved f
orward and boldly draped herself over his lap, careful to hike up her skirts so that he had a good view of exposed thigh. Yes, she had to entice Lord Debenham, because right now she didn’t know what else to do.
Predictably, Lord Debenham placed one large, hairy hand on her knee and began to stroke her skin. With her heart in her mouth, Araminta watched. There was both revulsion and wild eroticism at play. He was dangerous and he was attractive. He was also terrifying. But if he made her his wife, she could be one of the great hostesses in the country.
His hand roamed higher. The other dipped into her bodice to fumble for her breast. Araminta wasn’t sure what to do now. There was no suggestion of desire or tenderness in his exploitation. As for herself, she felt numb. As if the bruising, sudden, intimate encounter with Sir Aubrey had never happened.
“How tempting you are when you lay yourself on a platter for my enjoyment, Miss Partington.” He sighed. “However, I regret that I am not prepared to be tricked into being forced to offer for you. It’s dangerous enough that you are alone with me, but I’ll not take your virtue. You are a poisoned chalice—and I’ve already promised you to Roderick.”
With a gasp, Araminta leapt off his lap. “How dare you!” she cried. “I wouldn’t marry your nephew if he was the last man alive! Besides, he’s...in love with my sister.”
“Well, your sister has just taken herself out of the race, and the truth is, Roderick has lusted after you like a dog in heat ever since you crossed his orbit. He might not look like he’s capable of much, but once he gets over his awe of you, I think you won’t be disappointed by his prowess.”
Araminta couldn’t believe he was speaking to her like this. Did he think he could be so coarse, just because she was alone and unprotected? “I would make his life misery!” she declared. “But it won’t come to that because I will never marry him!”
Lord Debenham rose with a smile and headed toward the door. “You may just have to if you come to the end of another season without an offer,” he said, opening it to usher her out. “Young Roderick is a very wealthy man, and he stands to inherit a great deal more. An ambitious young lady like you is quite capable of looking past his shortcomings.”
Tearfully, Araminta pushed down her skirts and lunged for the cold outdoors. Her nightmare evening was getting worse by the moment.
Lord Debenham chuckled, patting her bottom as she passed. “Now hurry on back to your chaperone, Miss Partington, and don’t look so crestfallen. If I weren’t expecting a couple of colleagues any moment now I’d have happily tasted the delights you were so keen to offer.”
If she’d had the foresight, she’d have picked up the broken bottle of arrack at his feet and wiped that smirk off his face.
Chapter Ten
“Good Lord, is that...Miss Partington running out of that supper box? I’ve met her before and she’s a beauty. With a reputation, I might add.” Cosmo stopped in his tracks and Lissa looked in the direction he jerked his thumb. In the dim light of a lantern, she saw a figure dressed as a Spanish dancer with no head covering, tear across the lawn and disappear into the throng.
“I...I’m sure it could not have been.” Lissa licked dry lips. Hetty had also been dressed as a Spanish dancer but the lithe, fleet-footed creature had not been the sweet, reflective, much plumper younger sister, she felt sure.
She peered again at the supper box. “That’s...Lord Debenham’s.” They were en route to hand the sketch directly to Mr. Crossing but when another gentleman suddenly appeared in their line of vision, Lissa saw her opportunity. “Yes, that’s Lord Debenham standing in the doorway of his supper house. And look, there is Lord Smythe! Lord Debenham is inviting him inside. Quick, we must take this opportunity to do the drawing Lady Smythe requested.”
It took a couple of moments to persuade Cosmo of the merits of executing both commissions rather than return, first, to find Mr. Crossing and perhaps miss the opportunity of sketching Lord Smythe.
Not that Lissa was keen on the idea of getting closer to Lord Debenham than she had to. The few minutes in his arms on the dance floor had been the most uncomfortable she could remember and the more she heard about him from Ralph, the more terrifying he seemed. While Araminta had made no secret of her interest in Lord Debenham, she’d also told Lissa she was interested in Sir Aubrey. No, the figure fleeing from his supper box surely couldn’t have been her, for she’d have been very properly chaperoned this evening.
Wishing she could quell the disquieting flutters of doubt she felt, Lissa quietly followed Cosmo in the direction from which the mystery figure had fled.
The sounds of slightly slurred laughter emanated from within and as they drew closer, Lord Debenham’s distinct, ironic drawl punctuated the night air. Even that was enough to make Lissa want to take to her heels and run.
Still, she forced herself to the task, glad of the delay in returning to find Mr. Crossing.