Winning Miss Wakefield: The Wallflower Wedding Series Read online

  As for Archer, his clumsy, drunken hand had strayed to her arm so frequently, Bane was of a mind to believe that this drunkenness was a mere act to aid him in getting away with pawing other women in front of his own wife. Throughout dinner, the thought stayed with him. And more than once, his brooding gaze went to the opposite side of the table.

  When dinner finally concluded, Eve suggested they all adjourn to the parlor for coffee and cake, instead of leaving the men to their cigars and port. For that, Bane was grateful. He wasn’t sure he could hold his temper with Archer.

  In the parlor, he remained standing to better deter Daniela from finding her hand in his lap again. She was busily making the rounds, flirting with Hamersley while Cordelia conversed with Eve. Archer lounged in the window seat, while his wife and Sir Colin puzzled over a game of chess in the corner. Miss Wakefield and her aunt occupied the floral settee.

  Each time Venus took a sip of the dark brew, her eyes closed in obvious pleasure. He’d been right about her preferring coffee after all. Now he found himself thirsty.

  Instead of motioning to the servant to refill his cup, he crossed the room to where the silver carafe waited on a table near Mrs. Leander and her niece.

  Miss Wakefield’s eyes widened and she went still as a rabbit on the green, her cup paused in midair, her lips parted for another sip. What he wouldn’t give to have those lips parted for him once more.

  He casually picked up the carafe and filled his cup, lingering long enough to make conversation an inevitability. “Mrs. Leander, my aunt informs me you are a superb knitter.”

  Miss Wakefield’s aunt blinked and then smiled. “I can hardly respond without a show of either arrogance or self-derision, but I thank you nonetheless. Have you an interest in knitting?”

  “My mother was quite exceptional in the art. As a boy, the quick work of her needles fascinated me, but I was unable to learn the skill,” he said, keeping the conversation light. In reality, the true reason had been because she’d been murdered by his grandfather soon after she’d started to teach him.

  He motioned to the pair of tufted chairs opposite the settee, and she inclined her head, welcoming him into their small circle.

  “Knitting, or sewing for that matter, isn’t a typical trade for a gentleman.”

  “No,” he agreed, taking a seat. “My valet is skilled enough at mending, though I’m sure it’s nothing compared to the fine embroidery I see on your shawl.” The garment was draped over the arm of the settee beside her—intricate turquoise shells stitched along the edge above the flaxen fringe. He wasn’t normally one to notice such things, but these caught his attention, and he didn’t see any harm in paying a compliment when it was due. “Quite remarkable.”

  She smiled and looked to her seat companion. “My niece is an artist with needle and thread.” Miss Wakefield’s cheeks colored at the unexpected compliment, but she did not say anything before her aunt continued. “No doubt, the wife you choose will have knitting or sewing experience.”

  A startled laugh escaped him, nearly causing him to spill his coffee. “I see why you and Eve are friends. You are of a like mind.”

  “And you?”

  “Am not.” He was certain he said it with irrefutable conviction, closing the topic permanently, and yet . . .

  “I’m sure you have your reasons,” Mrs. Leander said, ignoring her niece’s look of censure and her obvious plea to cease further communication. “Most likely this explains your lack of presence in society. A credit to your character is your firm resolve.”

  Strange, his firm resolve had always been considered single-minded determination by others and never spoken of favorably. Puzzled by the compliment, he offered a nod. “Thank you, and yes. Though my character is by no means unblemished, I would not add another mark against it by parading myself around the young debutantes, pretending I had any intention of marrying.”

  He expected to see Miss Wakefield bristle at this announcement. In the end, most young women were in society for the purpose of marriage, whether for a title or the fanciful ideal of love. He assumed Venus was no different. Her intelligent banter told him she was schooled in the art of husband-luring. However, instead of stiffening or taking offense, he saw her relax—not by any defect in her posture but simply an overall sense of calm that emanated from her.

  “Some might rank that as the highest of character credits,” Venus responded, her gaze thoughtful, as if she were considering a new philosophy. “Indeed, if a man has no intention of marrying, he should keep to his coterie.”

  “Or become a rustic,” he said, hoping to see her smug amusement return. It did not. She did smile—a small smile more directed to her next sip than to him. Her quiet resolve made him curious. He found himself wanting to ask her to explain her comment. Yet when he opened his mouth to do just that, Daniela sidled up to their group.

  “I could not help but overhear. I quite agree. A man who toys with a young woman’s affections is the vilest of all creatures,” she added with a pout and placed her hand on Bane’s shoulder. “I am utterly heartbroken, Miss Wakefield, that you have firsthand experience in such horrible matters. A five-year attachment to one gentlemen, only to have him rush off in the opposite direction? You must be devastated. Why, of course you are. There is certainly no need for me to remind you of your loss.”

  Bane quickly put the pieces together. Abandoned after a five-year attachment? Now he understood why Venus had been invited to Lady Amherst’s. That fact alone made a young woman a walking scandal, to say the least. Her reputation was likely in question. Yet his experience at reading people told him, without a doubt, she was an innocent. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if kissing him had been the only bold thing she’d done in her life.

  “A temporary loss only,” Mrs. Leander interrupted, polite as a porcupine, quills at the ready. “He is simply too young to know his mind. A short duration apart will set it right again.”

  “Yes, of course. He will soon see what an angel he had in our precious Meriwether.”

  “Merribeth,” Venus said, her voice low. “‘Miss Wakefield,’ if you please, Mrs. Pearce.”

  Though she attempted a polite smile as well, beneath the fall of curls over her forehead, he distinctly saw her brow arch. And what a fearsome brow it was. Bane felt his admiration of her charms grow exponentially.

  “Oh, pish-posh. You must call me Daniela,” she said as she took the remaining seat in their group. “After Eve explained the task she’s put upon you, I eagerly volunteered to be your tutor. So, you see? We shall be bosom friends very soon, and in a fortnight, you will reclaim your wayward gentleman.”

  His Venus blushed furiously and cast a look of brimstone directly at Eve. “Our hostess is too kind.”

  “Task?” someone asked. When all eyes turned to him, Bane realized he must have been the one. Though he tried to pretend disinterest in the conversation, he found his curiosity growing by the moment.

  “To gain back the affections of her beloved, of course.”

  Beloved? He highly doubted it. After all, he recalled asking her that night if she had a heart in need of mending. He recalled her surprising response as well. Now, when he glanced across the space between them, he would have placed a wager that she was remembering the same. “And Eve knows how to accomplish this?”

  “Apparently, yes,” Venus answered, doing an admirable job of schooling her features.

  He tucked his smirk of doubt into his cup and drained the last of it.

  “I find the plan inspired,” Daniela said, finding it necessary to tap her hand against Bane’s knee as she explained. “She is to flirt, be carefree, and enjoy herself immensely. Then, at the ball on the final night of the party, her beloved will see that she isn’t devastated at all. This will spark not only his interest but a yearning to get her back.”

  And once her gentleman renewed his affections, her reputation would no longer be in tatters. Ah. Now he understood. “Impressive plan.”

  The man who
’d cried off was quite obviously a simpleton if he thought his action would leave Miss Wakefield’s reputation unscathed. Bane felt the dark mood he’d experienced at dinner descend upon him again. Before, he’d merely shrugged it off as an instant dislike of Archer. Now, he wondered if it was something else entirely.

  “You must help our dear Meriwether, Bane. Flirt with her. We’ll make a game of it as we would at Forfeits.”

  Although he didn’t outwardly refuse, he didn’t give Daniela the response she was hoping for either. The thing was, he never played a game unless the outcome was certain.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Merribeth didn’t bother to correct Daniela this time, but set her coffee cup and saucer on the low oval table between them. “I fear exhaustion from the day’s long journey has swept over me quite suddenly. Please forgive me, but I must retire.”

  “I am too tired for parlor games as well,” Sophie said and made her excuses to retire early.

  They both stood. So did Lord Knightswold and then Mrs. Pearce. Merribeth watched as the widow slipped her arm through his and sidled closer. A rise of temper churned in her veins like a tempest. It was so unexpected and overwhelming that she didn’t trust herself to speak another word. Instead, she merely turned and walked through the doors beside her aunt.

  “Do not take anything Mrs. Pearce said to heart and let her spoil your fun,” Sophie said as they mounted the stairs. “She’s merely the type who likes to put on a show with her claws. In this venue, her comments are harmless. Besides, it is the woman who sheaths her claws and waits for the perfect opportunity who ends up with the cream from the top of the pail.”

  Merribeth felt her nails dig into the tender flesh of her palms and thought how lovely it would be to scratch out Daniela’s eyes. However, she would wait, as her aunt suggested. A grin curled up the corners of her mouth. She felt better instantly.

  “You surprise me,” Merribeth said once they reached Sophie’s rooms. “I would have suspected a quote from one of your scientific journals. Instead, this sounds as if you have experience in the matter.”

  “Yes, well . . . I was a debutante once too.” After a quick look over her shoulder toward the stairs, she pulled Merribeth into her room and closed the door. “Most likely, I should have mentioned this from the beginning, but our hostess and I have not always been the best of friends. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  The revelation should have surprised her, she knew. After all, Eve had gone out of her way to ensure that Merribeth had a Season. Anyone would assume that only a true friend would act so selflessly. However, the fact that Eve had suddenly returned to Sophie’s life little more than two years ago after a long absence had made her wonder. At the time, her aunt had said that sometimes friends find interests in things that pull them in different directions, and she’d spoken in her matter-of-fact way that effectively closed the topic.

  Yet Merribeth couldn’t help but remember the day Eve had offered to sponsor her, explaining that she couldn’t refuse because it was her way of making amends.

  “You do make an unlikely pair.”

  Sophie made a sound of agreement as she walked to the hearth to stir the low fire. “She was the premier beauty of the Season. Every man was vying for her hand. Well . . . every man but one. Sir Herman Wrigglesworth, a bookish gentleman with a passion for Egyptian artifacts, actually preferred my company.”

  “Of course he would,” Merribeth said with a smile, until she saw her aunt’s solemn expression. “What happened to him?”

  “Back then, Eve was fond of her schemes,” Sophie said with sigh of resignation. “Of course, I don’t blame her now. She couldn’t help the way she was. Countless women have learned to use beauty to their advantage. Every woman possesses certain wiles or innate skills.”

  True. Although Merribeth would like to have thought that if she’d been born a beauty, manipulation wouldn’t have been her skill. “And her scheme removed you from your gentleman?”

  “Yes. Though I won’t go into maudlin detail, I will say that by the end of my Season, I was through with the ways of the beau monde and fully prepared for a life as a governess.”

  Up until now, Sophie had told her that the reason she’d spent six years as a governess was because her Seasons had been unsuccessful. Merribeth now realized the truth, and her heart broke for the young woman her aunt once was.

  “Were you terribly fond of Sir Herman?” she asked quietly.

  “I didn’t think I could ever love again. I told Captain Leander as much when he proposed a marriage of convenience.” Sophie puffed out a breath and shook her head, as if the notion were preposterous. “But I’m very glad to have been wrong.”

  “You were happy, then?”

  “Immeasurably. Just as you will be.” She stepped forward and placed her hands on Merribeth’s shoulders. Her expression abruptly turned serious. “Which is the only reason, mind you, I ever agreed to this scheme.”

  “Don’t worry.” Merribeth leaned in for a quick embrace. “This will work. I’ll make certain of it.”

  Shortly thereafter, she left Sophie’s room and headed toward her own.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit hall. The only sconces lit were in the corners, with nothing in between. The light faded into complete shadow midway down the first hall. Her gaze fixed to the pale flicker further down. Even though her mind was somewhat preoccupied with the conversation she’d had with her aunt, she still felt uneasy about passing all these darkened doorways, and so kept to the middle.

  When she rounded the first corner, she heard the echo of heavy footsteps behind her. Instantly, her heart sped up, as did her own steps. This corridor was even longer and darker than the one before. She was certain the hall that led to her room was somewhere in between, but she could see no evidence of it.

  “I thought I’d retire as well,” the now familiar voice of Archer called out, although his voice no longer possessed a slur, as it had all throughout dinner. “The parlor seemed dull and lifeless without your presence.”

  She swallowed down a lump of fear at the thought of his following her.

  “Archer?” another voice said. The husky tone belonged to none other than Daniela. “Oh, I must be turned around if your rooms are along this path. But my, you are the flatterer. I’d no idea you knew I was behind you.”

  Merribeth held her breath, wondering if Archer would admit to being in pursuit of someone else.

  His footsteps abruptly stopped. “But of course,” he stammered for a response. Thankfully, he didn’t reveal his true target, which gave Merribeth the chance to escape. “I’d know the swish of your skirts anywhere.”

  Daniela offered an affected laugh. “What a teasing thing to say from a married man.”

  “Many rules are written solely for the sake of being bent . . . just a little,” Archer said, affecting the slur once again.

  Not wanting to risk another encounter with that horrible woman or the baron, Merribeth tiptoed down the hall and headed toward the pale flicker of a sconce not far off. She hoped it would provide enough light for her to find the path that led to her room.

  Stepping quickly around the corner, she glanced over her shoulder, the worn soles of her slippers padding quietly over the runner. The sound of their conversation seemed to be closing in, along with Archer’s heavy footsteps.

  She hurried. Believing the hall to her room was nearby, she looked ahead—then stopped with a jolt as Bane emerged from the shadows.

  With his gaze locked on hers, he motioned with an index finger against his lips. In the same instant, he glanced over her shoulder as if to indicate Archer and Daniela. She nodded, both in understanding and in a request for his aid. Reaching up, he extinguished the sconce. Suddenly, she was immersed in darkness. The sconces behind her were too far away to offer anything but meager light, and it appeared as if the sconces behind Bane had all been extinguished. By him.

  She barely heard him move toward her. Yet she could sense his near
ness all the same. His hand snaked around hers, holding her captive. At the same time, he pressed his finger against her lips. “Don’t make a sound, or you’ll give us both away.”

  A shiver raced through her at his low whisper. His finger was warm and slightly rough against her flesh. The scent from his hand filled her nostrils, much the same way that the snifter of warm brandy had. The mélange of his unique fragrance began with the pleasing odor of freshly oiled leather, deep and rich. Underneath, was a combination of coffee and sandalwood. There were other fragrances too, but before she could identify them all, he lowered his finger, dragging it gently down her lips.

  Apparently, he trusted her with their fate. Trusted her not to give them away. In all honesty, it went against her upbringing and every maidenly instinct not to step out of his grasp. Yet another instinct compelled her to go with him, allowing him to guide her in the dark.

  He pulled her into a recessed doorway, turning so that she nestled into the corner while he remained closer to the outside, as if shielding her. He still held her hand too. And since she’d removed her gloves, her flesh was bare against his. Bare and warm and secure.

  She shook her head, dislodging the errant thought before it took hold. Likely, the odd sense of safety she felt now happened because she saw him as less of a threat than Archer. Bane’s actions spoke of a man keeping himself from being discovered more than looking out for her reputation. She was certain that only his love of solitude and tendency toward hermitage ruled his actions.

  In a way, it was amusing. This rake—the seducer, the man every mama and well-intentioned aunt warned young women against—was hiding in a darkened hallway, hoping to be left alone.

  Merribeth found it oddly endearing. She smiled to herself, wondering at the riddle of Bane.