How to Beguile a Beauty. Кейси Майклс
pleased with it. “No, Justin, Lady Lydia and I are friends, nothing more.”
“And now you’ve disappointed me, and after I’ve been so forthright and truthful with you.”
Tanner looked into the ballroom, to see Lydia dancing with a fairly well set-up young man he didn’t recognize. She was talking to him, smiling up at him, just as she had done with Justin. Definitely a blooming flower, a butterfly suddenly shed of her cocoon, taking flight for the very first time, her new wings glittering in the sunlight.
“She looks very happy, doesn’t she?”
Justin turned to look into the ballroom. “And that’s unusual? Tanner, have I ever informed you that I loathe a mystery? And even worse, that I will now feel it my duty to pick at you and pick at you until you’ve told me what I want to know?”
“I’m sensing that, yes. And I admit it, I’m a poor liar. Very well. Lydia was all but betrothed to a good friend of mine,” Tanner explained, once more turning his back to the ballroom. “Captain Swain Fitzgerald. He was killed at Quatre Bras.”
“Damn,” Justin said, also turning to lean his forearms on the railing. “A deuced tricky thing, stepping into a dead man’s boots.”
Tanner’s smile was rueful. “I wouldn’t have put it quite that way, but yes, it is. I was the one who was with him when he died, promising him I’d take care of Lydia for him. I was the one who brought her the news of Fitz’s death, delivered his personal belongings, what turned out to be his final letter to her.” He drank the last of his wine and carefully placed the glass on the railing. “Oh, how she hated me for that.”
“A natural reaction, I’m afraid.”
“I’ve never seen such grief, Justin. Lydia is a young woman of strong emotions, although she keeps them well tamped down beneath her quiet, rather shy demeanor. I’ve often wondered since then, would I ever inspire any woman to grieve so over me?”
“Planning on sticking your spoon in the wall, are you? No, don’t bother to explain. I understand what you mean. You wondered—wonder—if anyone would ever love you quite so much. We all do, my friend, and we are all, for the most part, doomed to disappointment. But we have begun to digress, so let us return to my original question. Clearly you envision a time when you and the lady are more than friends. Tell me to back away and I will.”
Tanner shook his head. “No, I won’t do that. I have no claim on Lydia.”
“And I’m selfish enough to take you at your word, even as I believe you’re still lying to at least one of the two of us. Now please tell me about Miss Harburton. Another very beautiful young woman.”
“Jasmine? She’s my third cousin.”
“Yes, she told me that during our dance. She told me about your father’s dying wish, as well. A very…sharing young woman, your cousin. She certainly kept me from the burden of cudgeling my brain to make scintillating conversation with a near stranger.”
“Jasmine talks when she’s nervous.”
“Really? Then shame on me, for I must then have truly terrified the poor child.”
Tanner laughed. “Oh, it’s good to have you back, old friend. I fear I’ve been much too sober and serious this past year, living a more quiet life.”
“And yet here you are this evening, with both Lady Lydia, who you say you lay no claim to, and Miss Harburton, whom you have likewise not claimed. That’s your idea of a quiet life, juggling two beauties in the same evening? And, then, as if you didn’t have problems enough, a handsome reprobate with an appreciation of if not a genuine affection for beautiful women stumbles into the Second Act. Yes, Richard Sheridan wouldn’t have been amiss if he’d said he saw the foundation for a rather marvelous comedy of manners, even a true farce to outdo The Rivals. It might have been the remaking of his career, as a matter of fact, poor dead fellow that he is.”
Tanner shot him a dark look, but then smiled. “Remind me why I’m your friend.”
“You don’t see me in the role? I could be the black sheep with a tarnished past but a heart of gold.”
“You have a heart? That’s good to know.”
“Ouch! Now I’m wounded to the quick. But, as I seem to be a glutton for punishment, I think we have hidden my shameful self out here long enough. And if I haven’t thanked you for standing my friend in there, I do now.”
“What you need, Justin, is a new scandal, to take everyone’s attention away from you. That shouldn’t take too long, I imagine. In the meantime, you might want to consider not, well, forcing yourself on Society.”
“After this evening, I have no invitations at all, so that’s not a worry. But you’re correct. I shouldn’t be jumping back in with both feet quite so dramatically, should I?”
“I’m sorry, Justin…”
“Don’t be. I could have been hanged, you know. Having Molton and a few others dealing me the cut direct is at least not fatal. Ah, and as if I just conjured him up. Tanner, go away. You don’t need to be involved in this.”
Tanner saw Lord Molton advancing toward them, his cheeks flushed with drink and false courage. He stepped forward, putting himself between Justin and the viscount, placing his palm against his lordship’s chest. “Not the time nor the place, sir,” he warned quietly.
“Robbie Farber was m’friend.” Molton leaned around Tanner to point an accusing finger at Justin. “And he killed him, shot him down like a dog while poor Robbie stood there with an empty pistol.”
Tanner took one step to the side, once more blocking Molton’s path, staring pointedly into the man’s wild eyes. “Because he’d turned and fired on two. Do you remember that part? I do, because I was there. Farber bears at least as much blame as Justin here. Let it go. It’s over. Let the dead lie, and leave the rest of us to get on with our lives. Robbie’s death was unfortunate, but it was eight long years ago. The baron is sorry. Of course he is. We’re all sorry your friend is dead.”
Molton once more shifted his fevered gaze to the baron, who was standing with his arms at his sides, his relaxed posture and amused smile not really aiding the tense situation, and then back at Tanner. “He doesn’t care. Do you see that? He doesn’t care.”
Molton turned on his heel and stomped back inside the ballroom.
“You could have said something, offered him something,” Tanner pointed out to Justin.
“I suppose I could have, yes. We could then have asked everyone to form a line and I could apologize in turn to each and every person who thinks that firing in self-defense is a crime for which I should beg forgiveness. I apologize once, Tanner, and it would never end.”
“You challenged the man to a duel, Justin. You do remember that part, don’t you?”
“Did I have a choice? Answer me that, my friend.”
Tanner had been present to hear what Robert Farber had said about Justin’s wife. About how she had the beauty of a Venus and the sexual prowess of a block of stone, about how he could have serviced himself with more satisfaction, and saved the effort of having to talk her into bed. Robbie Farber had been an idiot, and to make such a statement in Justin’s presence could by some be considered suicide, and not murder.
“No, you had no choice. You had to defend Sheila’s honor. But you do have a choice now.”
Justin raised one well-defined eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“I don’t know what I mean. You’ve served notice that you’re back, that’s most definite. But will you continue to butt your head so forcibly up against the ton, or perhaps pull back for a space, let the ton become accustomed to seeing you in the park, on Bond Street, wherever. You seem to be trying to do it all in one go—rather pushing everyone’s