“Poor thing. Hosting a party seems like an awful lot of work—imagine trying to please so many people.” Polly shivered. “I’d never be able to do it.”
“You could if you wanted to. But speaking of parties, let’s not waste a second more.” Vi grabbed her sister’s hand and tugged her toward the door.
“Wh-where are we going?” Polly stammered.
Vi grinned back at her. “To havefun, of course!”
Chapter Five
“This is an interesting party, isn’t it?” Marcus, the Marquess of Blackwood, commented.
“That’s one way to describe it,” Richard said.
Standing with his friend by the marble mantelpiece, Richard watched the guests drift into the salon after an elaborate twelve course supper. They milled awkwardly within the room’s silk-covered walls, a motley bunch and reflection of Billings’ position as a man with a foothold in two worlds. The noblemen present represented the social stratosphere to which he aspired. The other guests—powerful and shady characters—were those who’d boosted Billings to his present position as the premier banker to London’s Underworld.
Billings’ reputation for flexible morality coupled with utmost discretion had earned him a dedicated clientele amongst the underbelly of society. Tonight, owners of prosperous gaming hells, gin factories, and other questionable businesses strutted like peacocks amongst the old establishment, most of whom hadn’t a feather to fly with.
Blackwood was an exception, being both titled and wealthy. A former military man, he’d inherited a marquessdom and ran his estates with a capable hand. He was one of Richard’s closest friends, the two of them sharing an avid interest in sporting and outdoor activities. As neither man cared for stifling social events, Richard guessed the other was here to please Lady Blackwood, who happened to be friends with the hostess and the Kents.
The thought of Violet Kent made Richard’s temperature rise several degrees. At supper, the damned chit had been seated at a table several feet away from him, her companions including Wick and his cronies. At the host’s table, Richard had endured a double displeasure. He’d had to watch Miss Kent flirt and laugh with the rakehells—all of whom appeared to be captivated by her—andhe’d been subjected to Miss Billings’ company.
To his consternation, his hostess was the epitome of all he found annoying in the opposite sex. Her inane chatter had bombarded his head like heavy artillery. If he’d had to hear one more word about the latest fashions, he’d have shot his own brains out. She’d also had the irritating female habit of pushing food around her plate, wasting what looked like an excellent repast. Not that he would know if the food was good or not: whenever he’d been about to eat, she’d ask him a silly question that obliged him to put down his fork and summon up an equally silly reply. He thought longingly of the turtle soup and beef cutlets that had come and gone untasted.
Moreover, he’d never been able to read females, and Miss Billings’ demurely averted gaze had confounded his attempts to gauge her reactions. Not that she’d expressed any true opinions; she simply agreed with everything he said. If he’d claimed the sky was falling, he was certain she’d have dived for cover.
One supper was enough to cure him of any notions of marriage. Miss Billings might make some man an admirable wife but not him, by Jove. He’d find another way to fund the estate.
“I confess I’m surprised to see you here.” Blackwood’s voice joggled him out of his brooding. His friend was looking at him with perceptive blue-grey eyes. “As I recall, house parties aren’t your entertainment of choice.”
“You recall correctly,” Richard muttered. “It couldn’t be helped. I’m here to keep an eye on Wickham.”
“Ah.” Blackwood quirked a brow. “Still hoping he’ll land an heiress?”
“Hoping won’t save him, only planning will. I’m going to make it happen.”
“And your brother agrees with your plan?”
“My brother will do as I tell him.”
“A strategy that has yielded sterling results in the past.” Blackwood’s mouth took on a wry curve. “Remember the time you forbade young Wickham from entering that wager at White’s?”
“He damned near broke his neck racing in the rain. And hestilllost five hundred pounds.” Which, of course, Richard had had to pay. “Foolish pup.”
“Foolishness is repeating a failing strategy and expecting success.”
Richard shot the other an annoyed glance. “Are you callingmea fool?”
“I’m merely suggesting that you consider the reality,” Blackwood said, not without empathy. “You cannot protect your brother forever. Eventually, he’ll have to answer for his mistakes.”
“The price is too high,” Richard said tightly. “He owes a cutthroat.”
“Then he’ll have to decide to save himself. I saw it time and again with the soldiers under my command. You can only bring a horse to water…”
Blackwood trailed off. Richard followed the direction of the other’s gaze, his muscles tautening when he spotted the group entering the salon. Guests parted to make way for the Strathavens, who made a regal pair. They were followed by a couple Richard did not know. A lanky, dark-haired gentleman with silver at his temples and an earnest air accompanied a stunning blonde who seemed his natural opposite. She radiated worldly confidence in a daring gown of silver-shot silk.
Then Violet Kent made her entrance, and for Richard the rest of the room faded. Heat gathered beneath his collar as he took in the way her dress, the color of ripe peaches, clung to her nubile form. Her curves were alluring in their subtlety, enticing him to imagine what lay beneath the scooped bodice, the full sweep of her skirts. She radiated feminine vitality, her tawny eyes glowing as she laughed at something the two girls with her were saying.
“Ah. There’s my wife now.” Blackwood waved, and Lady Blackwood, who’d come in behind Miss Kent, headed over.
