The Debutante Is Mine Read online

  Jack, however, was too eager to solve this mystery. So he blocked her retreat. He’d been carrying her name on a card inside his pocket for the past ten weeks. Each morning, he transferred it, along with his pocket watch, from one coat to the next. And each morning, he was reminded of the promise he’d made, saying the name Miss Lilah Appleton aloud for good measure. It had become a matter of habit. Her name had been with him every day, under his care. In the very least, he deserved to know why he was here.

  “And now we are back to the important matter,” he said, standing close enough to pluck at the blue ribbon tied around the stems. “Are you not curious about the reason Vale would send me on such an errand? Or is the reason, perhaps, one you would rather not divulge, considering he married your friend?”

  She gasped in swift understanding. Outrage widened those bed-curtain lashes. Then, she thrust the posies at him, crushing them against his chest. “You dare to insult me again! Ivy is my friend, and therefore you—blackguard that you are—should fear the scathing report on your behavior that I will send. Then let us see how quickly both she and her husband rally to my defense! If you do not recant your insufferable insinuations, you will likely find yourself labeled a dishonorable cad, even amongst your own friends.”

  He wondered if she was aware how red and kissable her lips were right now. In fact, he wondered what she would do if he slid his hand to her nape and kissed her here, beneath the shadow of the arbor.

  For the moment, however, he cast those thoughts aside. He knew he’d crossed a line. There was no excuse for such slander. For the life of him, he didn’t know what had possessed him. Or why he’d suddenly needed to know that neither she nor Vale shared any romantic inclinations—though her honest indignation convinced him just now. “You are correct. That was unforgivable of me. I cannot excuse my words just now. Please accept my humblest of apologies.”

  To make amends, Jack untied the ribbon around the stems and carefully rearranged the posies. Only a few blossoms were completely crushed and a similar number of broken stems. He did his best to tuck those toward the inside. Then, while struggling to retie the ribbon with one hand, Miss Appleton issued an exhausted sigh and shooed his fingers out of the way, taking over the task.

  She liberated the flowers from him and rested them along her forearm. The pink buds nestled between the curve of her elbow and the generous swell of her breast. “Since we are not likely to meet again, I will forgive you so that neither of us is burdened by this encounter. It will soon be forgotten.”

  Jack frowned. “There still remains the mystery of why Vale would have sent me on this errand.”

  “I think it is obvious,” she said, lifting her gaze from the bouquet, her lashes tangled at the corners.

  Standing within arm’s reach of her, he felt a peculiar impulse to brush his thumb across them. But he did not act upon it. Instead, he tugged on the ribbon once more. “Oh?”

  “His Grace married my dearest friend. A gesture of flowers is a token of Vale’s own regard, likely stating that whatever friends Ivy has, Vale would have as well.”

  “A possibility,” Jack offered. “Yet this task was put upon me before their nuptials.”

  She lifted one softly rounded shoulder in a shrug. “Since he has a scientific nature, perhaps he thought it all out beforehand.”

  When her feet shifted on the path, and she began to step apart from him, Jack held the ribbon firmly between his thumb and forefinger. “There is the matter of his Marriage Formula to consider. You know of it, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” she said, clear puzzlement wrinkling the bridge of her nose as she looked from the ribbon to his fingers.

  “Do you think it possible that the reason Vale gave me your name was because he’d used his equation on the two of us?” Jack wondered why Lilah hadn’t leapt to that conclusion. Women were always trying to marry him. “Though I must warn you that I have no intention of marrying.”

  Suddenly, she laughed, the sound as sumptuous as her lashes and those lush, scolding lips. Her cheeks lifted, turning her eyes into dark half moons of delight. The corners of her mouth tilted upward in pleasure, looking somewhat secret and hedonistic at once. “You needn’t worry on that account. I would not marry you, regardless.”

  He found himself wondering again what she would do if he kissed her. Wondering what her laugh would taste like, which was odd, considering that laughter did not have a flavor. Though hers just might . . .

  Then he reminded himself that he preferred women without nobility or innocence. “That is what most women claim, yet they play all manner of coy games to garner my interest—a drop of a handkerchief, a pretense of windblown debris caught in their eyes, a sudden stumble that puts them into my arms . . . ”

  “You are quite possibly the most arrogant man in existence. It almost pleases me to prove you wrong,” she said, the top and bottom rows of her white teeth on display as her smile deepened. “Even if I were inclined to marry you—solely for amusement’s sake—I could not. My father’s will states that I have until the end of my third Season to marry a titled gentleman of noble birth.”

  “It is my experience that aristocratic families are easily swayed in their initial wishes, once a fortune is involved.” He was approached daily with offers from desperate men of nobility.

  She frowned. “Not my family. My mother still holds true to my father’s wishes. We are loyal to each other.”

  Likely, he could prove her wrong. His fingers inched up the ribbon, drawing her closer. “And this is your wish as well?”

  Either playing coy or unwilling to flirt, she withdrew a step, loosening the knot in the process. “Mr. Marlowe, I believe it is time for you to leave.”

  “I find you rather intriguing, Lilah,” he confessed, twisting the ribbon around his finger until it came free from the stems. “I believe I will return during calling hours tomorrow.”

  “Miss Appleton, if you please. And I find you rather annoying,” she said in a clipped but somewhat bored tone. It was as if she didn’t believe him. Then she glanced at his shoulder. “Oh bother. You have a spider.”

  Jack grinned. He knew he’d charmed her. Her censure was quite the clever ploy too. She’d almost convinced him that she was completely unaffected. Even so, watching her take the initiative by reaching up to brush a hand against his collar surprised him. He hadn’t taken her for such a bold chit. Not that he minded.

  “You have an odd way of using your feminine wiles. If you wanted an excuse to be near me, then—” He broke off as a spider filled his vision. The creature was huge—as large as her palm. Black with yellow markings. He took an involuntary step back. “That is no spider. That’s a rat, or the size of one.”

  “Hold still. I don’t want you to frighten her,” she crooned softly, her tone having a calming effect.

  At least on him. He wasn’t certain about the spider, which had become alarmingly still, as if prepared to attack. However, Lilah had a steady hand and eased the spider away.

  “Rats do not have eight legs,” she said.

  He made a quick check of his shoulders to ensure that the creature didn’t leave her mate behind. When all was clear, he let out a breath. It wasn’t that he was afraid of spiders. It was the fact that—until this moment—none had ever dared trespass upon him.

  Being caught off guard was a foreign sensation. But not without a certain appeal, he mused, watching Lilah bend near a web to allow her pet to disappear into the maze of vines climbing the arbor. Then, before he had a chance to truly admire the sight of her in that position again, she stood and situated her flowers securely in the crook of her arm.

  Facing him, clearly fearless of both man and beast, she gave him—he was sure—her sternest look. Her eyes were sharp and soft at once, her lush lips pressed together. He wondered why he wasn’t kissing her right this very instant.

  “And to answer your declaration with one of my own,” she began before he could answer that question, “if you return during call
ing hours, I will not be at home to you. Good day, sir. I believe you know the way out.”

  Then she turned on her heel and strode away from him.

  Damned if Jack didn’t love a challenge.

  CHAPTER THREE

  That evening, Aunt Zinnia, Juliet, and Lilah attended an impromptu dinner at Harwick House. The day’s turn of events demanded it.

  Inside the modest foyer, Marjorie Harwick bustled toward them from the hall before the butler could take their hats and wraps. “Zinnia, I’m quite beside myself.”

  “We are all in a state of disbelief,” Aunt Zinnia answered with a nod. Both she and Mrs. Harwick were close friends but opposite in appearance. While the former was pale, slender, and polished, the latter was dark, softly rounded, and possessed an all-around disheveled air, though more welcoming than unkempt.

  “Juliet, my dear, after the news, I feared you would not accept my invitation,” Mrs. Harwick continued, shaking her head in a way that caused her coral earbobs to sway and wisps of gray to escape her coiffure. “I do not know what has gotten into my son. I simply cannot believe that Maxwell purchased your house right out from under your nose.”

  Lilah was still reeling from the news. Only this morning, Juliet had informed the marquess of her intentions to buy that house. Considering the results, Lord Thayne must have rushed off to complete this despicable act, robbing Juliet of the home that had once belonged to her parents.

  Through all this, however, Juliet appeared as collected as ever. Even earlier, upon learning the details from a solicitor, she’d never ranted or even hissed. Instead, she’d merely asked Lilah to play the harp, and all the while, she’d stood facing the music room window with her hands carefully clasped before her.

  “Of course I came,” Juliet said to Mrs. Harwick as she slipped the hood of her cloak down to her shoulders and bussed Mrs. Harwick’s cheek. “I do not hold you responsible for Max’s actions. In addition, I am here to demonstrate my resolve. I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me bothered by what he has done.”

  Mrs. Harwick gasped. “My dear, you are not giving in, are you?”

  After unfastening the clasp at her neck, Juliet revealed a flattering burgundy evening gown with a gusseted bodice trimmed in gold embroidery. The gown made a statement. She was not a woman to be manipulated. “No. I still mean to purchase that townhouse. No matter what.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” Mrs. Harwick said but then clucked her tongue. “Alas, Maxwell has always been competitive. Always trying to prove himself—though I cannot imagine what victory he saw in this.”

  Smoothing a hand down her cream-colored gown, Lilah held her tongue. She was quite irritated at Thayne for his abominable treatment of her cousin. It was no wonder that he was friends with an arrogant, do-as-you-please man like Jack Marlowe.

  “And Lilah,” Mrs. Harwick said, patting her hand. “I pray that you have come with good news. Have you found a particular gentleman you favor?”

  The question came so abruptly that Lilah still had Jack Marlowe’s image stuck in her mind. It took a small push to clear him out of the way as she brought Lord Ellery to the forefront. Even so, she didn’t think that her need of a husband surpassed her cousin’s current predicament. Yet with Mrs. Harwick, conversations tended to circle back around eventually.

  “I believe so, Mrs. Harwick,” Lilah began as they walked from the foyer into the cozy blue parlor. “Viscount Ellery possesses the land and wealth that could aid my family the most. Unfortunately, he’s also quite handsome.”

  Mrs. Harwick issued a surprised laugh. “Why should that be a hindrance? I imagine most young women would prefer a handsome husband.”

  “Precisely,” Lilah agreed, frowning. Lord Ellery had the look of Jasper—fleece-like waves of golden hair, clear blue eyes, and a dimple in his chin. “I’m certain many of the debutantes are vying for his attention. It’s only a matter of time before he settles on one of them.”

  Of course, she didn’t know if his character was like her brother’s. Jasper had been rather roguish and insincere when it came to women.

  “One of them? My dear, he is just as likely to choose you.” Mrs. Harwick gestured with a wave of her hand for Lilah to sit beside her on the blue chintz settee. “You have been introduced, have you not?”

  Even though her forgettable-ness wasn’t amusing, Lilah could not stop a wry smile. “Many times, my lady. Yet he never remembers my name. In fact, most of the gentlemen I’ve met suffer from the same form of amnesia.”

  “I’ve witnessed the very thing.” Juliet, sitting in one of a pair of silver striped chairs across from them, shook her head. “I cannot understand it. Lilah is polite. She listens attentively. She is accomplished in many ways, not the least of which is that she plays the harp like an angel. A perfect companion and wife for any man.”

  With a delicate clearing of her throat, Aunt Zinnia commanded their attention. She was only now—ever so gracefully, of course—descending upon the other striped chair. Once she arranged her lavender skirts, she began. “I’ve been considering that Lilah needs to learn a new instrument. She should play something that demands attention, albeit in an acceptable manner.”

  Out of the blue, Lilah imagined herself in the front of an assembly, holding a pair of cymbals. Clash! “I dare you to forget me now,” she would say, inciting pandemonium, incurring collective gasps and, possibly, at least one person inhaling a feather from a turban . . .

  Lilah coughed.

  “Yes, but is there time enough for that? She only has a few months to find a husband on her own. After that, her only option is . . . ” Mrs. Harwick slid a pitying glance in her direction and patted her hand once more. Neither Mrs. Harwick, Aunt Zinnia, nor Juliet were blind to Cousin Winthrop’s pompous and disturbing nature. Unfortunately, Mother was.

  “True, very true,” Aunt Zinnia agreed. “Nevertheless, she must make the statement of the Season—and soon.”

  Automatically, Lilah glanced at the clockstand in the corner of the room. It was painted bright white and trimmed in gold. Though to her mind, every clock might as well be shrouded in black and have a scythe for a pendulum. Time was running out, and a dire fate loomed not far enough in the distance.

  “ ‘The statement of the Season,’ ” Lilah mused aloud. “Only the one named the Original could do that.” No cymbals required.

  It wasn’t until the room went silent that Lilah realized all eyes were upon her.

  Mrs. Harwick clapped. “Zinnia, why didn’t we think of this? It’s the perfect plan.”

  “It isn’t that simple, Marjorie.” Aunt Zinnia unleashed her severe look upon her friend.

  “Pish tosh!” Unaffected, Mrs. Harwick flitted her fingers. “We were once Originals ourselves. Because of that, we were able to gain the attention of the gentlemen we desired, just as Lilah will be able to attract Lord Ellery.”

  This news surprised Lilah, but it was Juliet who said, “I did not know that the two of you had been Originals.”

  “Oh . . . ” Mrs. Harwick said, pausing to look at each of them in turn. “Yes, but a year apart and long ago. Zinnia and I were fortunate in that regard.”

  “How did you do it?” Lilah sat forward. At this point, she was willing to try anything.

  Mrs. Harwick and Aunt Zinnia were tight-lipped, as if unprepared to divulge this secret. They engaged in a silent exchange of subtle shoulder lifts and raised brows. Then, after a moment, a nod.

  “An Original must be confident,” Mrs. Harwick began. “But, in the case of a woman, demure as well.”

  Lilah made a mental note to put more effort into the former.

  “Good posture. Excellent carriage.” Aunt Zinnia’s cursory glance caused Lilah to sit up a little straighter.

  “A degree of mystery,” Juliet added, bringing to mind their earlier conversation in the park. Lilah smiled in response.

  Mrs. Harwick nodded again, her earbobs swaying. “A style of one’s own.”

  “Grace in the face of a
dversity.” This wasn’t the first time Aunt Zinnia had said this.

  “A certain”—Mrs. Harwick opened her hands, splaying her fingers—“flair.”

  “And elegance in all things,” Aunt Zinnia said with an air of finality.

  Splendid, Lilah thought wryly. And she thought it was going to be difficult. She drew in a breath, absorbing it all. How exactly did one manage excellence in all things while being mysterious, stylish and . . . flair-some?

  Before she could ask, however, Lord Thayne strode through the parlor door with none other than Jack Marlowe at his side.

  “Good evening, Mother. Lady Cosgrove,” Thayne said with a bow. Then, turning slightly, he acknowledged Lilah with a passing nod before his gaze settled on Juliet. “And Lady Granworth, how unexpected that we should meet again.”

  “ ‘Unexpected’?” A look of resolve sharpened Juliet’s features. “After what you did, I’m certain even you could have anticipated your mother’s extending an invitation to dine here, even if only to make amends.”

  Thayne clenched his teeth in something of a smile. “Perhaps. Though I had expected you to decline or to flit away, as you are wont to do.”

  In the midst of the terse exchange, Jack Marlowe kept a steady eye on Lilah as he moved into the room. Briefly, she wondered if he was trying to remember her name.

  He would not be able to, she knew. And for once, she wouldn’t care a fig. Jack Marlowe was the one man whose amnesia would make her elated beyond measure. Nonetheless, she sat straighter, waiting for him to give up the attempt and for his gaze to leave hers.

  His mouth quirked at one corner. “Miss Appleton. A pleasure to see you again.”

  A jolt of surprise snapped through her, causing the pulse at her throat to quicken. A flood of heat prickled her cheeks and her ears turned hot too.

  “Mr. Marlowe, have you been introduced to my niece?” Aunt Zinnia asked, disapproval lacing her tone.

  He inclined his head in something resembling both an answer and an absent gesture of greeting. However, everyone in the room knew that ladies of the nobility deserved first consideration, not last. “I took the matter upon myself, earlier today in fact.”