A Wanton for All Seasons Read online

  The lady smiled that same beatific smile of delicate amusement that grated on Annalee’s last nerve. “I do suppose you are correct. All the papers can and do talk about is your relationship with Wayland. Therefore, it isn’t really a confirmation I’m seeking.”

  Had she really considered her . . . a kitten? That was the last time Annalee would make that underestimation. A tiger. A ruthless tiger, not unlike the one Annalee had observed in rapt horror and fascination at the Royal Menagerie who’d made quick work of devouring his lunch.

  From across the room, where she stood conversing with Lady Scarsdale, fresh from her honeymoon, and her sister, Isla Gately, Valerie caught Annalee’s gaze, a silent offering there. One that said the former boxer had not only sensed Annalee’s disquiet but also that she would cross the room and apply those former pugilist skills.

  Alas, just as Annalee had looked after herself that day in Manchester, so, too, would she handle her own proverbial battles. “What is it, exactly, that you are seeking, then, Lady Diana?”

  Lady Diana stopped so quickly that the change in motion brought Annalee stumbling. “Why, I would like to join you.”

  “Join me?”

  “No, as in a permanent membership with your club.”

  Her stomach sank. Bloody hell. “As I told you, we are a society,” she said coolly.

  Alas, caught up in her plan and chattering as she was, either the determined young miss failed to hear that correction or she didn’t care. And small as Annalee was feeling that day, she would wager on the latter.

  “I want to join you,” she said, throwing her arms open.

  Nay, Lady Diana wished to keep an eye upon Annalee. Having dealings with some of the most ruthless and shocking sorts, Annalee had become an excellent judge of character, and as such, she knew that was what the other woman truly meant.

  Lady Diana gestured to the parlor, indicating the other women engrossed in discourse, before settling her focus on Kitty. “Why, Wayland clearly admires those of you attending this . . .”—she curled her lip in an impressive sneer—“venture, and as such, I would be part of it and learn how the other half lives.”

  “There is no other half,” Annalee said coolly. “There are just women who come together, discussing the inequities of the world and looking to improve our place within it.”

  Lady Diana beamed. “Splendid. I look very much forward to being part . . . of that, and learning whatever it is Wayland likes about . . .”—she gave a wave of her hand—“this.”

  “I wasn’t saying—” Annalee needn’t have bothered. The buxom beauty had already clapped her hands, signaling to the dutiful servant poised close by. Together, with her lady’s maid trailing at the noxious but respected distance expected by Polite Society’s standards, Lady Diana took her leave.

  Annalee stared after the lady . . . the woman Wayland was intended to wed.

  Valerie joined her. “Who was that?”

  “It would seem our latest member,” she muttered under her breath.

  God help them all.

  Chapter 18

  The carriage ride would eventually end.

  “It is grievous that you were involved with such a scandal . . .”

  It had to.

  “It could have been a good deal worse . . .”

  Alas, until it did, Wayland was forced to endure the never-ending jabbering of his mother and her thoughts on Wayland’s attack of Lord Welles the evening prior.

  And Annalee.

  “You knowwww we must be above reproach . . .”

  And Wayland and Annalee together.

  “And to dare risk our reputations for her, of all people . . .”

  Wayland balled his hands into fists.

  “Why, the lady’s own parents will not tolerate her,” his mother said. Snapping open her fan, she fluttered it before her face.

  Wayland’s patience broke. “Will you have a care and some respect for the lady and the family,” he said tightly, “who, if I might point out, have been welcoming of us from before we were titled, and who were gracious enough to extend us an invitation this evening?”

  “Gracious enough.” She sniffed. “Roles are reversed, and we are hardly the scandalous ones any longer. Why, I would say in going to their musical that we are doing them a favor.”

  “Oh, yes, honoring them with our presence,” he said dryly.

  Sarcasm, however, had long proven lost upon his mother.

  Kitty shot up a hand. “With the exception of me, if I may point out, who is now part of the Mismatch Societ— Owww.”

  Their mother snapped open her pearl-handled fan once again and waved it slightly. “You may point out no such thing.” Angling her head, she attended the passing streets out the carriage window. “The only reason I’m even tolerating your participation is because Lady Diana has joined.”

  He frowned. Lady Diana had joined Annalee’s group? The radical nature of what Annalee and those other members did didn’t fit with what he knew of the duke’s daughter.

  “She’s not a real member, though. She is only there because she’s heard Wayland has been dancing attendance upon Annalee and fears that he won’t come up to scratch where she is concerned,” Kitty mumbled.

  Their mother gasped. “Kitty! You should not speak so disparagingly of the duke’s daughter.”

  This time Wayland’s sister was wise enough to draw her fingers close, sparing her knuckles a second thrashing. “Oh, hush. It’s the truth.”

  “Yes, well, even if that is, then it would be commendable for the lady to be watching after her future husband’s activities and guarding herself against the interference of another . . .”

  Wayland’s body went stiff.

  “I for one would rather pluck out my lashes than see Wayland marry Lady Diana,” Kitty continued over her mother’s horrified gasp.

  “Kitty!”

  “What? I would. The lady is cold. The last thing Wayland needs is more coldness.”

  Fire in her eyes, their mother surged forward on her bench, jabbing her fan under Kitty’s nose. “A connection through marriage to that cold lady, as you refer to her, will be what saves you in Polite Society, Kitty Smith. They may be hesitant to join you now, but when your brother weds His Grace’s daughter, then your path will be smoothed, as will all of ours.” With every word she spoke, their mother’s voice climbed in a rare lapse in self-control from a woman who went through every day desperately fashioning herself as a proper lady. “So just hold those insolent words inside your head and be grateful that, for whatever reason, they’ve graced us with their approval, and that your brother will do the right thing and marry Lady Diana!” His mother fell back on her bench, her chest heaving, her words ringing in the confines of the carriage, managing to silence even Kitty.

  His entire body tense, Wayland scrabbled with his cravat, the fabric choking him, and then he caught his actions reflected in the windowpanes, the thorough rumpling he was giving the folds his valet had meticulously made of the silk. He forced his hands to his sides.

  The words his mother uttered really weren’t all that different from ones she’d spoken so many times over the years. There had been . . . an unspoken understanding between their families that someday Wayland and the lady would marry. Given her tender years at the time of the attack in Manchester, and until recently, he’d not put much thought into a match. The reality of it, however, had been something he’d not entirely shied away from, either. Why, then, should Wayland, of a sudden, be fueled with this . . . restlessness?

  Nay, he knew.

  The reason for it was because of the sudden resurrection of a lover from the past. Nay, not just a lover, but a woman whom he’d desperately loved, and who’d loved him in return.

  And also a woman who’d refused to respond to his notes after that day in Manchester. From that rejection to the life she’d lived afterward, she had indicated it was entirely over.

  There’d not really been a closure, however. And mayhap that was what accounted fo
r his mind and soul suddenly balking at the expectations his mother—and society—had for him where Lady Diana was concerned.

  He’d do well to remember all of Annalee’s rejection, and the lessons from it. No good could truly come from anything between them. And even less good could come in throwing over the relationship he’d fostered between his and Lady Diana’s families on nothing more than memories of how wonderful it had once been with Annalee.

  Annalee, who, for that matter, didn’t even tend to frequent the same events as Wayland, and therefore running into her these past several days, coincidences offered by fate, was playing games with his mind and his memories.

  The carriage rolled to a stop outside the stand-alone residence, more manor than townhouse, its size and positioning on Mayfair’s streets marking the wealth and power of the family who lived within.

  Their driver drew open the door, and Wayland’s mother immediately placed her hand out first, always one to lead the way into formal affairs. It had been a role she’d reveled in since their change of circumstances.

  Wayland stepped out and held up a palm for Kitty. They continued at a slower pace behind their mother.

  “I think it was gallant,” Kitty murmured as they started the ascent up the earl and countess’s limestone steps.

  Wayland gave her a quizzical look.

  “What you did for Annalee.”

  Ah, beating Welles senseless. “Violence isn’t an answer,” he said gruffly. Or that had been a guiding principle he’d adhered to after the British government had turned their swords and gunfire on the masses.

  “Do you regret knocking him out?” she asked as they made their way inside.

  He looked her in the eye. “No.”

  He’d resolved to be proper, and to conduct himself honorably. But he’d quite happily thrash the bounder again on the altar of Westminster Abbey on Sunday were Wayland to discover him so much as looking sideways at Annalee.

  Kitty smiled.

  They were shown to the music room, where guests had already assembled and now milled.

  Wayland did a sweep of the room, spying Jeremy alongside his betrothed. He tensed. Jeremy, who no doubt had questions, and coward that he was, Wayland had given thanks when the other man had not shown up that morn to discuss . . . Annalee, or what had transpired. Because too many other questions and explanations were owed along with it.

  Then the crowd parted, and his gaze landed upon a lone figure off to the fringe of the gathering, close enough to not be seen as standoffish, but still removed as to not truly be part of it. And yet, how could every eye not be upon her? Clad in gold, with her flaxen tresses worn down, hanging loose about her shoulders, she was very much the goddess of beauty herself.

  Annalee chewed at her fingernail, a distracted habit she’d had since she was a girl. He couldn’t help the smile.

  A hopelessly bored-looking Annalee . . . and nervous. Because he knew her gestures of old as sure as he knew the lines upon his palm. That habit of biting at her nails. The slightest bend to her right shoulder in how she postured herself that lent her an uneven stance.

  It was an incongruity. Lady Annalee, as she existed now in his mind, was wholly confident, unbothered by opinions from the mere mortals around her.

  She passed a stare over the room.

  And then their gazes met.

  Letting her arm drop, she inclined her head, lifting it the slightest fraction, and several curls bounced at her shoulders, bringing his gaze to her neckline, modest, and yet, Annalee had forever been splendorous in whatever garment kissed her skin.

  “If you’ll excuse me?” he said distractedly.

  “Wayland?” There was a question in his mother’s tone. “Wayland?” she repeated. “Get back here this—”

  Kitty slid between them, preventing their mother’s attempt to block Wayland, and he made his way across the room, pausing occasionally to greet familiar members of Parliament and other gentlemen whom he’d made acquaintances with through his years. None of them really friends.

  Only two in the whole room.

  Only one at the moment whom he cared to see now.

  Even with his mother’s lecture and the silent warnings he’d given to himself about Annalee.

  He reached her side.

  She straightened. “Wayland Smith, Lord Darlington,” she said by way of greeting. “You see tales of my corrupting the innocent hold truth, yet you continue to invite scandal . . . again.”

  By speaking with her.

  Wayland dropped a bow. “Conversing in the middle of a musical hosted by your family? I daresay I’ll take my chances.”

  They shared a smile.

  “I am surprised to see you,” he remarked. And more than a little . . . happy to see her here. A good deal more than was safe, and a great deal more than he was willing to admit to himself.

  “Alas, so are my mother and father.” She tipped her head ever so faintly in the direction of the countess, conversing with one of her distinguished guests; all the while the evening’s hostess paused to watch Annalee. “I fear I’ve crashed the affair.”

  He frowned. Crashed the affair? Which suggested . . . Surely not. “You did not receive an invitation?”

  “A lady of my reputation?” She snorted. “Certainly not.”

  Their own daughter. Jeremy’s own sister. But then, after what she’d shared about her family cutting her off from her dowry, and turning her out, he shouldn’t be surprised . . . and yet . . . In an instant, Wayland proved a liar in all the beliefs he’d held in terms of brutality. He was filled with the sudden urge to do violence once more to the lady’s faithless brother. Because goddamn it, a brother was supposed to protect his sister before anyone else. And yet where the hell had the other man been when Annalee’s life had fallen apart, and rakes and cads had begun to be her company of choice?

  As though you have grounds to pass judgment when you robbed the lady of her innocence without the benefits of matrimony.

  Guilt sluiced through him, commingling with his rage.

  “I never had an opportunity to thank you,” she said softly, pulling him back from a dark place that involved him hunting down all the men who’d ever taken advantage of her . . . and then finishing himself off . . . because he was included in those ranks. “For what you did last night.”

  Wayland clenched and unclenched his fists. “I didn’t do it for thanks. I did it because he deserved it for how he treated you.”

  A sad little smile played with the corners of her lightly rouged lips. “I do believe you are the only person to have felt that way where I was concerned.”

  God, how he hated the outcast she’d become. The way in which she was treated . . . by all. Including her own family.

  “Why would you come?” he asked, sliding closer.

  “And put myself through the joy of my parents’ displeasure? I’m on a path to proper, Wayland.” She lifted a hand. “I’ll not be deterred.”

  Because of her Mismatch Society.

  It bespoke a devotion to the women who were members that she would endure the hell of this room and the unkindness of strangers. She was braver and greater than all the women present, combined.

  And it made him wish he might have given her a different answer. If he had been able to.

  “You’re rumpled,” she murmured, shifting so that she was concealed by the back he’d presented to the room. Reaching up, she tenderly adjusted the folds of the cravat he’d ruined on his way here. When she’d finished righting the article, she patted it gently. “There.” And there was such an intimacy to those almost casual actions, ones that a devoted wife might have seen to, that a wave of longing spread through him. “You’re being summoned,” Annalee murmured.

  He blinked slowly, and then he followed her stare.

  And the magic of the moment was shattered.

  From across the room, where his mother stood conversing with the Duke and Duchess of Kipling, she waved a hand impatiently, urging Wayland over. He furrowed his
brow deeply. “Where?” He made a show of glancing about. “I’m afraid I do not see her.” Lifting his fingers to his forehead, he continued his over-the-top perusal of the music room.

  A startled laugh spilled from Annalee, tinkling and clear and bell-like, not the jaded, husky one he’d come to recognize as her feigned humor.

  He winked. “She is . . . nothing if not . . . obvious.”

  “Yes, one might say that.” Annalee nudged him slightly with her elbow. “Go.”

  Yes, he should go. He’d lingered here alone with her certainly long enough to merit looks, particularly following the recent pairing of their names. He hesitated. “Is that what you want?”

  “Lila and her husband are due to arrive!” Did he imagine there was a forced cheer to that pronouncement? “You should go. I’ll be fine. Truly.”

  And yet as she rushed off, it didn’t escape him that not only had she not answered his question . . . she’d also given every indication that she was not fine.

  Chapter 19

  The night was destined to be miserable.

  Not only was she at a musical hosted by her parents, but her brother and his betrothed wouldn’t look at Annalee, let alone speak to her.

  Lila, who’d been scheduled to attend, still had not arrived.

  The only briefly bearable moment had been when Wayland had come to speak.

  He’d sought her out, and he’d been willing to stay despite his mother’s tangible outrage. He’d also risked the wrath of the powerful Duke and Duchess of Kipling.

  Is that what you want?

  Despite the scandal that had followed his attack on Lord Welles and their being discovered, he’d still come over, and ultimately left the decision as to whether he should stay or go in Annalee’s hands.

  Given the changes to his demeanor and the way he carried himself, the last thing she’d expected was that he would boldly cross a room and greet her, and offer to defy a duke and duchess for her.

  Of course, she’d also not expected he’d ever lose control and beat a man senseless, and certainly not for her. But he’d done that, too.