He passed the footman who’d announce him like a comet in collision route with the planet. And then froze mid-step as the entire crush of the ball silenced to turn to him. As the giant he was, the crowd would easily spot him.
“Lord Worcester!” The nearest marriage-minded matron exclaimed. “We are so delighted that you have finally chosen your marchioness.”
“The daughter of a duke no less,” cooed another.
And the crush opened as though he was an arrow aiming right at the heart of a general. At the end of the spontaneous aisle stood his schemer of a mother with a tall, slender debutante. Worcester didn’t think he’d ever met this one, which led him to believe she was his intended. If he was fuming before, now he was about to open fire. And if he resembled the arrow, his mother would be the general. Honora made good on the comparison as she gave no quarter at her son’s razing look.
With the stage set for this vulgar parody, Drake strode forward with leisure he acted better than a weathered actor. His giant frame reached the woman who put him in this wretched world.
“My lady,” he bowed to her. And in a louder voice, “I don’t think I have met this charming debutante.” The Marchioness wouldn’t have it easy, desperate tactics or not. He had to show everyone that he hadn’t even been introduced to her, let alone be her future husband.
“But you have, my esteemed son.” Her countenance didn’t change an inch. “Though you’ve been so distracted of late,” she retorted since the worst guarded secret in London was the name of his mistress—former mistress damn it! “Might I refresh your memory? Lady Millicent, you must remember my son, Lord Worcester.”
As he met the girl’s eyes, he sensed a weariness to her that didn’t fit with her tender age. “Most certainly, Lady Worcester,” as she gave a little stiff smile. “The one I was told to keep away from.” His reputation preceded him by the looks of it.
That caught Drake's interest. The chit had a spine after all. He bowed to her while his mother seemed none too happy with that sharp tongue. "Enchanted, my lady," he replied. As the daughter of a duke, she had no obligation to curtsy and stood there more aloof than a princess.
“Lady Millicent has just told me she had only one waltz left in her dance card, a lucky evening for my beloved son.” The dowager taunted shamelessly.
And if the girl didn’t have a waltz left, the marchioness would make the orchestra play a thousand more, Drake had no doubt.
It was writing his name on the dratted card or embarrass a debutante who had nothing to do with his and the marchioness’s clash of wills. He did his duty for the girl’s sake.
Little by little, the people went back to whatever they were doing when he arrived. A gentleman whose name he didn't remember came to collect the chit for the next dance. That gave him the opportunity to have a sweet talk with his darling mother.
Worcester offered his arm, and they ambled seemingly in harmony to a corner of the ballroom. The music would muffle their voices.
“This will not work.” He said low and hard.
His mother widened her eyes innocently at him. “I couldn’t possibly know what you’re talking about.”
A humourless side-smile graced his lips. “I’d wager my non-entailed estates on the fact you started the rumours as a means to pressure me.”
She shrugged with fake indifference, betrayed by the furrow in her brow. “You’d lose, naturally.”
Drake’s anger resurfaced full-blast. “I don’t care for your antics. I’m not marrying the chit, and that’s the last of it.” His glare bored into her.
The dowager’s feeble tricks had cost him today. He’d learned early in their liaison that Hester had her pride. She’d not stand meekly in the wings and take the humiliation this whole pathetic incident would cause. For which he’d go back to a cold bed tonight with blood simmering in his veins.
“But your rejection will blow her reputation to smithereens.” The marchioness nearly wailed.
His features crumpled in a way that would cause fear in a king, but not in the field-general that was his parent. “You were counting on me going along with that to avoid scandal?” He huffed a laugh. “It serves to prove how little you know me.”
“You’ll have to choose a lady eventually; this one is as good as any. And a duke’s daughter on top of that.” He wouldn’t expect any less than his mother holding her ground.
“You should have realised by now that you will not have a say in the matter.”
“So you prefer our name in the mud, for your rejection and for your…excesses.”
“You started the rumours. Fix it,” he growled and ignored the barb involving his personal life.
For the first time in years, Drake saw the field-general slump her shoulders. A sliver of guilt made its way into his brain, but he quashed it quickly. It was about time she saw she would have to wait for him to decide. And he might pass marriage altogether, though he’d not tell her that as yet.
Without another word, he pivoted and left her company.
“I’m sorry you became caught up in this.” Drake broke the silence that dominated his and Lady Millicent’s waltz.
The girl had kept to herself, retreating inside in a manner she made herself almost absent from the premises.
She was tall, but not so much she might avoid tilting her head to look at him as she did at that moment. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to continue this ruse for a while longer.”
Drake really looked at the chit at that. Quiet and withdrawn she might be, but she hid surprises behind her weariness. “If that’s what you wish.”
“Yes, Lord Worcester. It’ll appease your mother and my father for a few weeks.” Her words came unexpectedly.
“I hope you know it will put your prospects at risk.” They swirled on the dance-floor, oblivious to the music.
“That’s exactly my intention. I couldn’t care less for marriage.” That made two of them.
“An unusual notion for a lady,” as far as he saw, ton ladies pursued the institution for varied reasons of to bear children, to have their own homes, to find financial security. None of them, the lords included, possessed a mind for love. Not even for their trysts outside marriage. Marriages and paramours happened in a mart where everyone exchanged varied currencies, vis-a-vis money for heirs, youth for a position, or status for vengeance.
“In a few years, I’ll come into my late mother’s inheritance and settle my own home.”
Sensible to the point of coldness, the girl knew what she wanted.
And who could blame her? Another badly kept secret was her father’s…inclinations. The Duke of Haddington indulged in every single unlawful pleasure London covertly offered. Some said he didn’t have mistresses, he had victims. Even Drake shuddered at the thought of this innocent girl living under the same roof as that bastard, though she seemed to be safe enough. Her father wouldn’t soil goods that could bring him social advantages.