Beguiled

“Mama!” she cried, clasping one of Lady Margaret’s hands. “It’s the most wonderful thing! Lord Hanby’s brought several of his best hunters to town, and he says we may go riding with him one morning, whenever it would please us to do so!”

“That’s very kind of him, my dear,” Lady Margaret agreed, adding, when the girl opened her mouth to say more, “Isabel, I’d like to introduce you to the Earl of Graydon and to Viscount Daltry. My lords, this is my daughter, Lady Isabel.”

“My lady,” Graydon greeted with a polite calm that was fully at odds with the way his head was spinning. Bowing over the sturdy hand Lady Isabel offered, his gaze fell upon the young woman sitting almost directly behind her. That, he realized, was Cardemore’s sister. The very beautiful Lady Lillian Walford. And he was the lucky man who was going to have the pleasure of escorting an angel about London for the next three months.

Oh, no, Lily thought with a groan. Not him. Anyone but him, please, Aunt Margaret.

She wished she’d never come to London. What had ever possessed her to think that she would be able to fit in here, among people who didn’t allow themselves or their families to acknowledge, let alone associate with, someone like her? Aaron had tried to warn her what it would be like, and Aunt Margaret, too, but Lily had been stubborn. And foolish, she thought now with deep regret. How naive she’d been! Dreaming of London, of parties and beautiful clothes and dancing with handsome gentlemen like the ones who had so politely found reasons over the past hour to excuse themselves and walk away.

Oh, help. He was smiling at her now. The handsomest man in the room, the one every woman was looking at with open admiration—she wouldn’t be able to hide her humiliation this time. She had managed it with all the others, somehow, but when this man’s face filled first with realization, then with revulsion, Lily knew she wouldn’t be able to keep the pain at bay.

Clenching her trembling hands together, she stood when Aunt Margaret brought him forward, just as she had stood to be introduced to all the others. It was harder to make herself look into his face. She’d seen him the moment he’d arrived—indeed, everyone in the room had turned to look at his tall, blond figure, so elegant in the blue satin evening clothes that matched the color of his eyes.

“My lord,” Aunt Margaret was saying, although Lily barely heard her above the buzzing sensation in her head. She wondered if she was going to faint, and thought perhaps it might be a blessing if she did. “May I present my sister-in-law, Lady Lillian Walford? Lily, this is the Earl of Graydon.”

He gave her a smile so charming and appreciative that it made Lily’s toes curl in her slippers. If she hadn’t already been unable to speak, that smile alone would have robbed her of the ability. Her hand seemed to lift of its own accord, and she felt the warmth of his fingers closing gently about her own, pulling them up to his mouth as he bent to briefly press his lips against the silk of her glove.

“My lady,” he said, his voice as caressing as his blue-eyed gaze, “I’m honored.”

When she was a child, Lily had spent hours on her knees praying for a miracle, but never, not even in those tearful, pleading moments, had she wished more than she did now that she could speak as others did.

He kept smiling, holding her hand, waiting for a response, and Lily realized that she was simply staring. Giving a slight nod, she looked expectantly at Aunt Margaret, who only said, “Lord Graydon has asked for permission to dance with you, Lily, and Lady Jersey has given you her permission to waltz.”

Lily’s eyes widened, and, as if in league with her misery, the musicians suddenly began to play the music for the next dance—a waltz.

Lord Graydon looked as pleased as if he’d just received a boon from heaven itself. “Indeed, if you are not already spoken for, I should be grateful for this dance, my lady.”

She couldn’t. Never. She’d rather be humiliated on the spot than have the memory of dancing in his arms to think about for the rest of her life. Lily began to shake her head, to tug at the hand Lord Graydon insistently held, all the while looking pleadingly at Aunt Margaret, who gazed back with calm encouragement.

“You came to London to dance, my dear,” Aunt Margaret said in a low voice. “You must dance.”

She wasn’t going to tell him! Lily realized, feeling the shock jolt vividly through her limbs. Aunt Margaret had told all the others. Why wouldn’t she tell him?

She turned to Isabel for help, only to be met by the younger girl’s pleading expression. Isabel had refused to dance until they could both do so. She had wanted this time in London just as much as Lily, herself, had. Oh, help.

Lord Graydon’s handsome face began to fill with bewilderment. He would realize the truth in a few moments. He would feel like an utter fool. Lily cast one last pleading glance at Aunt Margaret, who only motioned her toward the dance floor.

It happened, somehow. Lily couldn’t remember whether she had walked into Lord Graydon’s arms or whether he had pulled her. One moment she was merely standing, and the next she was with him, gliding across the dance floor. She didn’t know how it was that her feet managed to make all the right steps, but somehow they did so. Lily felt as stiff as a stick of dry wood, and just as unreliable. Lord Graydon seemed to think so, too, for he said after a few rigid turns, “It’s very crowded, is it not? Is it much worse than what you’re used to in the country?”

Lily couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Keeping her eyes on her feet, she shook her head.

“I’ll not let you trip, Lady Lillian,” he said gently, much nearer to her ear so that she felt the warmth of his breath. She lifted her head to find that he was smiling down at her with an expression as innocent and unthreatening as a schoolboy’s. He tightened his grip on both her hand and waist and spun her about in a rapid turn, causing Lily to gasp aloud before he returned their movements to a more normal pace. With the same smile on his lips, he added, “You dance very well, my lady.”

The kind lie was so blatant that it almost made Lily smile in turn. She could dance well when the circumstances were right. At the moment, however, she didn’t doubt that she was dancing with all the grace of a lame cow. Fortunately, Lord Graydon was capable of pulling her along with enough ease to keep her from appearing too clumsy to the onlookers in the room. In the morning, the gossiping would start. Aaron had told her it would, but the idea hadn’t particularly distressed Lily before tonight. Now, having had her first taste of the ton, she was fully grateful that polite society wouldn’t be able to add “ungainly” to her list of shortcomings.

“Are you enjoying your visit to London this season, Lady Lillian?” Lord Graydon asked.

She shook her head. No.

A flash of surprise lit his blue eyes, though his features betrayed nothing more than polite interest.

“Have you only recently arrived? I disremember seeing you before at any other functions.”

Lily shook her head once more, and could see that he was becoming slightly wary. It would only be a moment more before he finally understood the truth, before his admiration turned to distress. He would be too much of a gentleman to desert her in the middle of their dance. She would have to endure the hellish moments of his dismay until the music ended.

“Perhaps,” he began hesitantly, “we should find a way to make your stay in town more enjoyable. I would be honored if you would allow me to bend my efforts to the task, my lady.”

Lily felt as if her heart had dropped all the way from her chest and into her feet. If he could only know how she had longed for a man to say such sweet words to her. If he could only know…But realization was dawning as he gazed questioningly into her eyes. Little by little, as they danced without speaking, she could see that he understood. He was stunned for a few moments, and then, as her vision blurred with tears, he began to look angry. His hands tightened on her once more, and he released a hard, taut breath as he twirled her about sharply. He was more than angry, she realized. He was furious. People were watching them, had been watching since they’d begun to dance. He must have suddenly realized how foolish he appeared at having tried to converse with her—with a woman who didn’t speak. He would feel as if he’d been duped by Aunt Margaret, perhaps even by Lady Jersey, perhaps even by Lily herself, into dancing with a freak.

“Don’t cry,” she heard him command tersely. “The dance will be over soon. For pity’s sake, don’t let them see you in tears.”

Lily tightly shut her eyes, but he said, “Look at me.” And again, more firmly, “Look at me, Lady Lillian. Into my face. Yes, just like that. Keep your eyes on mine. Now…smile.” He smiled into her stunned expression as if to show her how it was done. “Smile,” he said again. “At me. As if I’m the most charming, witty fellow you’ve ever known. If they’re going to talk, let’s give them something worth talking about.”

Something worth talking about? she thought incoherently, unable to fathom what the words meant. He wanted her to smile at him?

“Not like that, as if I’ve just sprouted two horns,” he chided. “You’re supposed to look as if you’re enjoying this. Aren’t you enjoying it? I am. You’re the most beautiful woman in this room. In all of London, for that matter. And you’re dancing in my arms. Even if you are looking at me as if I were a horrible apparition.”

Lily didn’t believe him. He couldn’t mean what he said, for she’d never seen anyone who looked as if he was enjoying what he was doing less than Lord Graydon did at that moment.

He spun her about again until Lily began to feel breathless, then he leaned closer and whispered, “Let’s give the gossips something to talk about. Shall we?”

She didn’t care what his motives were. If he could pretend to enjoy himself to save face, then so could she. With a definitive nod, she lifted her chin and gifted him with her most dazzling smile. He blinked at her, then his own smile widened. “Very well, then, my lady.”

The remainder of the dance was pure enjoyment. Lily relaxed and matched Lord Graydon’s daring movements step for step. By the time it was over they were both flushed and grinning. Lord Graydon bowed over her hand with a gallant flourish, kissing her fingers grandly as the rest of the assembly looked on.

“Thank you, Lady Lillian. You’re a marvelous partner. I’m honored to have been allowed to lead you out in your first waltz.”

Lily replied with an elegant curtsy.

With unhurried and deliberate care, Lord Graydon returned her to Aunt Margaret’s side, and then, with Lady Jersey beaming and Isabel fluttering and everyone in the room watching, he said, “May I call on you one day soon, my lady, with the hope that I might have the pleasure of your company for a drive?”

He was still furious. Lily could hear his anger clearly beneath the gentilesse of his words. He was doing what was expected of him, what was necessary to keep from appearing foolish. She should tell him no and release them both from the burden of any further pretense, yet when he gazed into her eyes she found herself nodding.

Lord Graydon bowed, gently kissed her hand again, then took his leave of Aunt Margaret and Lady Jersey. He spoke to no one else as he made his way to the assembly room doors, ignoring the stares and whispers of all those who watched him depart.

Chapter Three

He walked for some time, aimlessly, neither knowing nor caring where he went. The night air was cold, and his harsh breathing coupled with it to form a painful, icy knot in his lungs. He tried not to think of what had just happened, of what he had almost done. Instead, he let his anger dwell solely on Lord Cardemore, and on what he would do to that man if he could somehow manage to get his hands around his thick neck.

The idea pulled Graydon to a stop, and he stood where he was and stared thoughtfully into the darkness. Cardemore. He was more than half tempted to go to the man’s house and bid him to the devil. Or personally send him to the devil, more like. The man had claimed to love his sister so well. Love! Graydon thought with silent disdain The inconsiderate swine wouldn’t know what love and care were if they walked up and bit him on the…

“Good evening, Lord Graydon.”

Graydon turned to face the owner of the voice that hailed him. He recognized at once the slender, well-dressed man who’d repeatedly appeared in various corners and side streets during the past several days while Graydon had attempted to repay his debts. He’d been hesitant, at first, to believe that the fellow was one of Cardemore’s minions, but it had become clear, despite the gentleman’s obvious civility and manners, that he was fully adept in the business of being an efficient shadow.

“Your master must pay you well, sir,” Graydon stated, his voice low and calm. “Day and night, is it?”

“I’m paid well enough for services rendered.” He made a slight bow, never taking his eyes from Graydon’s.

“I see. Do you intend to accompany me to my mistress’s home and wait for me until I’ve finished with her? Will you watch over my house while I’m sleeping? Surely Cardemore doesn’t expect me to flee the country in the middle of the night.”

“You’d have to ask Lord Cardemore what he thinks, my lord,” the man answered evenly. “I don’t make a habit of questioning my employers.”

“Certainly you don’t. Dogs are obedient to their masters.”

A thin smile curled the man’s lips. “Wise dogs are, my lord, which is a lesson I recommend you learn to live by until you’ve regained your debts. I was curious to see that Lady Lillian left Almack’s shortly after you did. Perhaps you’d best tell me what transpired, as I shall need to know what to report back to Lord Carde—”

Graydon shoved the man up against the wall of the nearest building, easily lifting him by the collar until they were eye to eye. “To Lord Cardemore? You need to know what to report back to your demon master?” He thrust the man harder into the bricks. “You tell him that he should’ve warned me beforehand that the sister he claims to love so well is mute. You tell him, you filthy cur, that I very nearly humiliated that same sister tonight because I wasn’t prepared, because of my shock. I can only thank a providential God that my mother taught me so well never to embarrass a female in any event, else Lady Lillian surely would have found herself dancing alone on the floor at Almack’s. That’s what you tell him. Understand?” He hauled the smaller man a few inches higher for emphasis.

“Put ’im down, m’lord.”

Graydon glanced briefly to one side, seeing the two burly men who stood nearby.

“Ah, so the shadow has shadows of his own, does he?” His lips pulled back into a feral smile. “How very convenient.”

“Now, if you please, m’lord. We don’t want to make you do it.”

“Don’t you?” Graydon asked softly, lowering the other man slowly to his feet. “But I should like very much to see if you could.” To his captive he said, “Remember the message I want you to give your master. Word for word, you understand? And remember, too, that if I ever see you sneaking around and about me again I’ll make you very sorry indeed.” Then, raising one fist, he deftly sent the man flying into the arms of his guardians. “Now,” Lord Graydon said as his assailants stared at him in disbelief. “Shall we do this one at a time or all together?”

“Guess we’d better teach ‘im a lesson, Bill,” the taller of the two said as he carelessly tossed Cardemore’s insensible minion to the ground. “You hold ‘im, and I’ll school ‘im.”

Smiling, Graydon began to pull the gloves from his hands, but stopped when he heard Lord Daltry’s rather bored voice emanating from the darkness.

“I’m very sorry to interrupt,” said Daltry as he strolled into their midst, “and I know you’ll not forgive me for spoiling your fun, Tony,” he added affably, placing his large, muscular person companionably near his friend, “but out of respect for your dear mother, I fear I must. I would appreciate it if you…gentlemen—” he drew the word out meaningfully “—would take your friend and leave.”

“Your timing is unfortunate, Matthew,” Graydon said. “I was going to enjoy this.”

“I know,” Daltry said apologetically as the two ruffians took in his size with some dismay. “But, devil take you, can’t you confine your amusements to more conventional venues, like gambling and drinking and women?” With a nod at the man lying on the ground, he repeated, “Take him and go before I change my mind and let my friend vent his ire on you. I can assure you that his temper is dismally volcanic.”

Exchanging glances, the men clearly decided that they’d be better off doing as they were told. When they had dragged their companion away, Daltry turned to Graydon with a sigh. “You,” he said, “are getting to be an exhausting fellow to know. Here.” He pushed a dark garment at him. “You left your cape at Almack’s, along with your coach. I think tonight must be a record of some sort. You’ve managed to set London’s tongues wagging, send your coachman into a state of apoplexy wondering whether he should wait for you to return to Almack’s, and expose yourself to a deathly chill all in an hour’s time. Quite exceptional, even for you.”

“Yes, Mama,” said Graydon, setting the elegant cloak about his shoulders.

“Never seen you look so thunderstruck on a dance floor before,” Daltry continued pleasantly. “Was it the angel’s beauty that put you in such a state, or was it something she said?”

“The angel,” Graydon replied, leaning wearily against the wall, “didn’t say anything. She can’t speak. Either that or she won’t speak. She’s mute.”

Now it was Lord Daltry’s turn to look thunderstruck. “Mute? Cardemore’s sister? Are you certain?”

“I’m certain. Didn’t you wonder why such a beautiful woman wasn’t being fought over by every man in the room? Lady Jersey said that none of the men she’d introduced her to had asked Lady Lillian to dance. I can’t say that I wouldn’t have found some excuse to keep from asking her myself, if I’d known. Fortunately, she seems to be able to hear well enough. She must, for she clearly understood what I was saying to her, and she was able to dance in time to the music. But unless she’s profoundly unable to make simple conversation, I can only conclude that she is mute.”

“But surely Cardemore would have said something.”

“One would think so,” Graydon agreed. “Any decent, normal, civilized man would have. But not Cardemore. I can’t begin to fathom why he kept it from me, but it was a disastrous omission, especially for his beloved sister. I was so surprised when I realized the truth that I very nearly humiliated her, and disgraced myself.” He leaned his head against the bricks, staring up at the sky. “What was she thinking all that time while I chattered on? I don’t even remember what I was saying…some idiotic talk about London, I think. It must have been a nightmare for the poor girl. The way she looked when she knew I’d realized why she was silent.” He groaned and rubbed his forehead. “I can only pray that we finished the dance cheerfully enough that the vultures will be somewhat tempered on the morrow.”

“You recovered well,” Daltry assured him. “And if that look you had on your face when she smiled at you was an act, then you should take up the stage, my boy, and stop depriving the world of your talent.”

Graydon remembered with some discomfort how thoroughly Lady Lillian’s smile had stunned him. She was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, but when she smiled she was something else again. Just the memory made him feel slightly dazed.

“Was she all right after I left?” he asked. “I should have stayed, but I was so angry that it was either leave and take my tongue with me or stay and bid Cardemore to the devil in front of too many of the ton’s best gossips.”

“She seemed a little embarrassed, if that’s what you mean,” Daltry confided, “but no damage was done. A few other fellows approached her. Seaborne Margate, for one. I suppose, having seen you come out of the experience intact, they decided she was safe.”

“She danced, then?”

“No. She evidently didn’t appear safe enough for that. But it didn’t matter. Lady Isabel declared that she was tired and wanted to leave. They make a habit of keeping country hours in the city, or so the chit informed me.”

“Lady Isabel?” Graydon grinned at his friend. “Did you dance with her, Matthew?”

“If you could call it that.” Lord Daltry gave a wry chuckle. “It was more like a wrestling match, trying to lead her about. Gad, she’s got more muscle on her than my younger brother. And when she got excited, which was every five seconds, she squeezed my fingers so hard I can swear that they’ll be bruised in the morning.” He shook the hand in question as if to drive the painful memory away. “They go riding every morning, she and Lady Lillian, sun, rain or snow, and she wanted to retire early so that she might rise before the dawn. Lady Lillian looked thoroughly relieved to go.”

“I’ll wager she did.” With a sigh, Graydon turned and began to walk back in the direction of Almack’s. “A woman without a voice. What does Cardemore expect of me? She’ll be accepted only so far in society, to the point where her muteness doesn’t make those around her uncomfortable, but beyond that…”

“I don’t know why she should have any trouble,” Daltry put in. “A beautiful woman who can’t chatter a man half to death sounds like the ideal female to me. I should think every unmarried man in Christendom would want to wed her.” He grinned at his somber friend, who didn’t share his attempt at humor.

“It’s a damned shame,” Graydon said, “for a remarkable beauty to be cursed with such a frailty.”

“You make too much of it,” Daltry argued. “So she hasn’t got a voice. That doesn’t mean she can’t make herself understood, perhaps even well enough to manage a house and be a hostess and raise a herd of children. A man doesn’t want more than that in a wife, does he? And who needs a voice to listen to when you’ve got a face like that to gaze at across the breakfast table?”

“Would you marry a woman who couldn’t speak, Matthew?”

“Me?” Lord Daltry sounded as shocked as he looked.

“I thought not,” Graydon said. “You see how it is. And that’s not the worst of it. You know what people think of the deaf and mute. She’ll be labeled a lackwit, or demonpossessed.”

“I suppose that’s so,” Daltry put in more thoughtfully. “I’ve read Sir Benjamin Hatton’s treatise on deaf-mutes. He claims they’re essentially amoral, and under a curse from God. Born that way, they are. But Lady Lillian isn’t deaf, you said.”

“It doesn’t matter. She’ll still be labeled as more animal than human. Only those of us blessed with voices evidently possess souls. Sir Benjamin’s been quite influential in spreading such opinions. Lady Lillian will have far more than her lack of speech to combat if she wishes to make her way in polite society.”

“You’re going to tell Cardemore that what he wants is impossible, then?”

“Not at all. I’m going to do exactly what he asked of me. His sister wants to enjoy her stay in London, and enjoy it she shall. I doubt she knows what she’s asking for, but for the next three months I intend to make certain that Lady Lillian Walford has the time of her life.”

Chapter Four

The Earl of Cardemore disliked change, especially when it involved his own home. He disliked having the place lit up so that even the least used hallway was as bright as day in the middle of the night, and having more servants about than he required for his lone care, with maids and footmen constantly cleaning and scrubbing and carrying and fetching.

He felt exposed in the light. The scars on his face were more readily visible and it was impossible to hide his overlarge, bulky self. Even when dressed in the most elegant and gentlemanly of fashions, he felt society’s eyes upon him, staring with the kind of revulsion that made him feel more like a beast than a man. Not that he gave a damn about what society thought, but there were a few people whom he didn’t care to distress with his ugliness, and having the most significant among them residing in his home for several months was, for Cardemore, an acutely unpleasant sensation. Every time Lady Margaret looked at him with one of her steady gazes he wanted to put a hand up and cover his face. She was the only woman—the only person—who had the power to make him wish he was something other than what he was.