“The wager was only to dance with a young lady Anabeth deemed unattractive. A private agreement between gentlemen. I never agreed to making sport of a young lady in front of half of London. Or have you inform everyone at Lady Pemberton’s ball.”
“Oops.” Tarrington pressed a palm against his mouth. “If it makes you feel any better, South, it is doubtful anyone will remember her past this evening’s entertainment. She’s like a piece of furniture. Or a potted fern. Besides, what are you planning to do? Rush to defend her honor?”
Gideon, much to his shame, stayed silent.
“Miss Davenport waddles about, correcting her betters right and left. She cost poor Tarrington an heiress.” Anabeth’s fingers trailed along Gideon’s sleeve as she nodded toward the terrace. “Not to mention she’s annoying. She looks like an overstuffed sausage and is barely worth a moment of your consideration, South. No one, including you, will remember in a week who she is. Or care.”
Gideon looked at the beautiful woman hanging on his arm, one he’d once considered marrying. “I understand you are considering the Duke of Denby’s proposal,” he said casually to Anabeth. She’d been using Denby’s interest in her to compel Gideon to offer for her.
“I have.” Her fingers tapped lightly on his arm. “Unless you advise me differently.” Anabeth’s lips formed a pout.
He deliberately plucked her fingers, one by one, from his sleeve. “I think very highly of His Grace. My advice, Anabeth, is you accept his proposal. You’ll make a wonderful duchess.”
Gideon barely heard Anabeth’s gasp of anger as he turned to Tarrington.
“Keep my winnings. I don’t want your money or your friendship, Tarrington.” Gideon was due to leave for South America in two days. His trunks were already packed.
“South.” Tarrington gave him an impatient look. “It was only a prank. I assure you Miss Davenport will survive. She seems incredibly hardy, don’t you think? Sturdy, like a large goat.”
Gideon didn’t answer, so disgusted with Tarrington, Anabeth, and everyone in the ballroom that he could only think of leaving before he suffocated.
Sparing one last thought for Miss Drevenport, Gideon strolled out into the night and his waiting carriage. He couldn’t wait to leave England. The creatures inhabiting the Amazon were far less vicious than the ones circling Lady Pemberton’s ballroom.
Chapter Two
Almost six years later
Honora Culpepper stoodbefore the mirror in her bedroom, watching in approval as her maid adjusted the hem of her velvet gown. The cut and color were scandalous, to say the least. The gown was a brilliant crimson. It would draw every eye in Lady Pemberton’s ballroom.
The neckline was cut low, enough so that one could catch a glimpse of her rounded bosom before the bodice narrowed and fell to her tightly cinched waist. The velvet spilled in folds over her generous curves, giving the impression Honora was sprouting from a blood red rose. Her skin glowed, creamy with just a touch of pink, not a pimple or blemish to be seen.
Very little of the lumpy, awkward young girl she’d once been lingered in the woman she’d become. While she would never be considered willowy, or even slender, Honora had lost the rounded chubbiness she’d once been cursed with, resulting in a seductive voluptuousness that drew the admiration of every male.
It had been a shock to Honora when she’d received her first improper proposal, at her husband’s funeral no less. Even more thrilling had been that the gentleman attempting to ask for a discreet liaison hadn’t recognized her as poor Miss Drevenport, though they’d been introduced numerous times her first season. Now gentlemen who would not have even noticed her before praised her wit and intelligence. Her company was sought after.
It was a very heady feeling not to be Miss Drevenport.
“Directly after you finish with me,” Honora addressed the maid, “feel free to scurry down the stairs and informtheMrs. Culpepper of the indecency of my gown.”
Honora’s mother-in-law,theMrs. Culpepper, might well have a fit of apoplexy over the crimson gown. A well-deserved collapse. In addition to the other insults Loretta had visited upon Honora, she insisted on being addressed astheMrs. Culpepper. She delighted in pointing out that Honora, married to her son, be referred to as theotherMrs. Culpepper, as if Honora was a spare shoe or the least appetizing of two vegetables on a plate.
“Make certain to include how much of my flesh is exposed. I’m tired, you see, of my current lover and am on the hunt for a new one. Perhaps I’ll even bring him home.” Honora didn’t even stumble over the blatant lie.
“Yes, madam.”
Honora regarded her reflection, still surprised that the beautiful woman staring back washer. It was amazing the changes wrought during her marriage to Culpepper. “What are you waiting for, Gertrude? Scurry along and whisper intheMrs. Culpepper’s ear.” Honora waved her hands. “Scoot.”
The maid bobbed and slid from the room.
Honora’s fists clenched against the velvet of the gown. She was no longer of a mind to be browbeaten by the likes of Loretta Culpepper. Besides, all of London now referred to Honora as theWidowCulpepper. A beautiful, desirable widow whom no one remembered as pathetic Miss Drevenport. Thankfully. Even Dalward wouldn’t recognize her.
Honora pushed aside the loathing at the mere thought of her deceased husband. She hadn’t wanted to marry Culpepper, but she had. Indeed, no one had forced her. Not exactly. But the events at Lady Pemberton’s ball nearly six years ago had left Honora with few choices and little will to fight her mother’s determination she wed Culpepper. The news of Tarrington’s wager hadn’t failed to reach her mother’s ear that night, an embarrassment Mama declared she would never recover from. Marriage to Culpepper had been deemed the only solution by which the Drevenport name could be salvaged, especially once the details of the wager came to light. The most unappealing young lady at Lady Pemberton’s ball—deemed to be Honora—must be asked to dance by the Earl of Southwell. The girl in question must be a piglet of such distasteful face and form that Southwell’s reputation would be questioned just from being seen in her company. If he failed to dance with this unattractive young lady, he would forfeit a great sum.
Southwell’s disgust, Tarrington claimed, had been so great after being in Honora’s company that his friend had been forced to flee London for parts unknown because he feared the little, lovesick piglet might throw herself at him in public in an effort to ruin herself.
And Southwell’s response? He’d had none. He was gone from England, just as Tarrington claimed.
A fist closed over Honora’s heart, squeezing enough so that her reflection winced.
