The line of worry between her brows eased. “And, of course, there’s Thomas.”
He was braced for the subject of his brother, but somehow he wasn’t able to prevent the slight stiffening of his muscles.
Naturally Mater sensed it. “I’m so glad you came, Griffin. Now is the time to put that little contretemps behind you two.”
Griffin snorted. He hardly thought his brother considered the matter a “little contretemps.” Thomas acted with propriety in all things, and he’d not have argued with Griffin over anything trivial. To have done so would be to let emotion rule him, which for someone as proper as Thomas was anathema. For a moment, Lady Perfect’s wide gray eyes came to mind. She, no doubt, would’ve gotten on famously with his priggishly correct brother.
Griffin made an attempt to appear pleased at the prospect of seeing Thomas again. “Of course. It’ll be wonderful to talk to Thomas.”
Mater frowned. Obviously he needed to work on his pleased expression. “He misses you, you know.”
He shot her an incredulous look.
“Truly, he does,” she insisted, though he noticed two spots of color had flown into her cheeks—even Mater had doubts about Thomas’s reception of him. “This estrangement must end. It’s not good for the family, it’s not good for you both, and it’s not good for me. Why it ever dragged on this long, I’ll never know.”
Griffin caught a flash of moss green out of the corner of his eye, and he turned, his pulse picking up. But the lady wearing the dress had already disappeared into the crowd.
“Griffin, pay attention,” his mother hissed.
He smiled down at her. “Sorry, thought I saw someone I wanted to avoid.”
She huffed. “I’m sure there are any number of disreputable ladies you wish to avoid.”
“Actually, this one is rather too reputable,” he said easily. His hand had drifted to his coat pocket, and he fingered the little diamond earring. He ought to return it to her, he supposed.
“Really?” For a moment, he thought his mother might be diverted from her harangue. Then she shook her head. “Don’t try to change the subject. It’s been three years since you and Thomas began this wretched argument, and my nerves are terribly frayed. I don’t think I can take one more freezing letter between the two of you or dinner watching my every word for fear I’ll raise the wrong topic of conversation.”
“Pax, Mater.” Griffin chuckled and bent to kiss her outraged cheek. “Thomas and I shall shake hands and make up like good little boys, and you shall dine with the both of us while I’m in London.”
“Promise?”
“On my honor.” He held his palm to his chest. “I’m going to be so pleasant and thoroughly nice that Thomas won’t be able to stop himself from falling on me with protestations of fraternal love.”
“Humph,” she said. “Well, I certainly hope so.”
“Nothing in the world,” he assured her blithely, “can possibly stop me.”
“HAPPY?”
Hero turned at the deep male voice and saw her dear elder brother, Maximus Batten, the Duke of Wakefield. For a moment, her mind blanked at the question. In the two months it had taken to arrange her engagement to the Marquess of Mandeville, Maximus had asked her several times if she was content with the match, but he had never asked her if she was happy.
“Hero?” Maximus’s straight dark brows drew together over his rather arrogant nose.
She’d often thought that Maximus’s looks suited his rank perfectly. If one closed one’s eyes and tried to paint the perfect duke in one’s mind, Maximus would appear. He was tall, his shoulders broad but not heavy, his face long and lean and just a tad too coldly commanding to be truly handsome. His hair was dark brown—though he cropped it close, as he habitually wore immaculate white wigs—and his eyes were brown as well. Brown eyes were often thought warm, but one impatient glance from Maximus was enough to disabuse anyone of that notion. Warmth was the last thing one would associate with the Duke of Wakefield. But despite all that, he was still her brother.
Hero smiled up at him. “Yes, I’m quite happy.”
Was that relief she saw in those stern eyes? For a moment, she felt a traitorous flash of irritation. Maximus had shown no sign before this moment that her happiness might be a factor in the match. The consolidation of lands and interests, the strengthening of his parliamentary alliance with Mandeville, those were the important considerations. Her feelings, as she well knew, played no part at all in the negotiations. And that was fine with her. She was the daughter of a duke, and she’d known from the cradle what her purpose and place in life was.
Maximus compressed his lips, surveying the crowded ballroom. “I wanted you to know that there is yet time for you to change your mind.”
“Is there?” She glanced about the ballroom. Mandeville House was exquisitely decorated. Blue and silver swags—the Batten family colors—intertwined with Reading scarlet and black. Vases of flowers stood on every table, and the marquess had hired and outfitted a veritable platoon of footmen. Hero looked back at her brother. “The contracts are settled and signed already.”
Maximus frowned in ducal displeasure. “If you truly wished to escape this engagement, I could break it.”
“That’s very generous of you.” Hero was touched by Maximus’s gruff words. “But I am quite pleased with my engagement.”
He nodded. “Then I think it time we joined your intended.”
“Of course.” Her voice was steady, but her fingers trembled just a bit as she laid them on her brother’s deep blue sleeve.
Fortunately, Maximus didn’t seem to notice. He led her toward one side of the ballroom, moving unhurriedly but with his usual determination. Sometimes Hero wondered if her brother even realized that his way was made smoother because people were quick to step out of his path.
A man stood by the dance floor, his back to them. He wore somber black, his wig a snowy white. He turned as they approached, and for a moment Hero’s heart stuttered in disbelief. Something in the set of his shoulders and the jut of his chin in profile reminded her of the rogue she’d argued with just minutes before. Then he faced her, and she curtsied gravely to the Marquess of Mandeville, chiding herself for her silly imagination. It was hard to think of anyone less like Lord Shameless than her betrothed.
Mandeville was tall and appropriately handsome. If Mandeville smiled more often, his looks would come perilously close to beautiful. But one felt somehow that beauty in a marquess would be gauche, and gauche was the last thing one could call the Marquess of Mandeville.
“Your Grace. Lady Hero.” Mandeville executed an elegant bow. “You are even more lovely tonight than usual, my lady.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Hero smiled up at him and was pleased to see a faint softening of his usually somber lips.
Then his gaze moved to the side of her head. “My dear, you’re wearing only one earring.”
“Am I?” Hero automatically felt both earlobes, her face heating as she remembered what had happened to the missing earring. “Goodness, I must have lost one.”
Hastily she removed the lone diamond earring and gave it to her brother to place in his pocket.
“That’s better,” Mandeville said, nodding approvingly. “Shall we?” he asked the question of her but glanced at Maximus.
Maximus nodded.
Mandeville signaled to his butler, but already the room was growing quiet as the guests turned toward them. Hero pasted a serene smile on her face, standing straight and still as she’d been taught from the nursery. A lady of her rank never fidgeted. She disliked being the center of attention, but it rather went with being the daughter of a duke. She glanced at Mandeville. And a marchioness would draw even more stares.
Naturally.
Hero suppressed a small sigh and inhaled and exhaled slowly, softly, and imagined she was a statue. It was an old trick to get through events such as these. She was a hollow, perfect facade of a duke’s daughter. Really she—the woman within—di
dn’t have to be here at all.
“My friends,” Mandeville boomed. He was well known for his oratory in parliament, his voice rich and deep. Hero rather thought there was a touch of the theatrical about it as well, but of course she’d never say so to his face. “I welcome you all here tonight for a very important celebration: the engagement of myself to Lady Hero Batten.”
He turned and took her hand, bending and kissing her knuckles very prettily. Hero smiled and curtsied to him as their guests applauded. They straightened and were immediately surrounded as the guests surged forward to offer their congratulations.
Hero was thanking a rather deaf elderly countess when Mandeville called behind her. “Ah, Wakefield, Lady Hero, I’d like to introduce you to someone.”
She turned and met wickedly amused light green eyes. Hero could only stare, speechless, as Lord Shameless bowed and took her hand, brushing smooth, warm lips over her skin.
Distantly she heard Mandeville say beside her, “My dear, this is my bother, Lord Griffin Reading.”
Chapter Two
Queen Ravenhair had ruled her kingdom fairly and peacefully ever since the death of her husband, the late king. But it is not an easy thing for a woman to wield power in a world of men. For though she had advisors and ministers and men of letters, she could not fully trust any of them. Which was why every night Queen Ravenhair stood upon her balcony and held a little brown bird between her cupped palms. She would whisper her secrets and worries to the bird and then, opening her hands, let him fly free, high into the night, carrying her cares with him….
—from Queen Ravenhair
Hero took a deep, steadying breath and fixed a social smile—neither too wide nor too small—upon her face. It was a very middling expression that in no way revealed the shock of finding out that Lord Shameless would soon be her brother-in-law. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Lord Griffin.”
“Are you?” He was still half bent over her hand so only she could hear his murmur.
“Naturally.”
“Liar.”
Her middling smile became a bit rigid as she hissed under her breath, “Don’t you dare cause a scene!”
“A scene? Me?” His eyes narrowed, and she realized that she might have made a tactical error.
Hero tried to retrieve her hand, but the awful man tightened his hold as he straightened unhurriedly. “How delightful to finally meet my new sister. You don’t mind if I call you ‘sister,’ do you, my lady? I feel as if we already know each other. Soon we’ll be rubbing shoulders at every family gathering—dinners, breakfasts, tea, and the odd snack here and there. The prospect simply takes my breath away, dear little sister. What a jolly family we’ll be.”
He grinned wickedly at her.
Hero’s soul revolted at this rogue using such a familiar term. He was in no way fraternal to her. “I don’t think—”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” he murmured.
She grit her teeth and surreptitiously yanked on her hand. His grip held firm.
“Lord Griffin, I—”
“But pray will you dance with me, my lovely new sister-to-be?” he asked with jaw-dropping innocence.
“I don’t—”
He raised his eyebrows at her words, his green eyes sparkling with sly mirth.
“—believe,” she gritted, “that would be a good—”
“Of course.” He bowed his head, his eyes downcast. “Why would such a proper lady wish to dance with a wastrel such as I? I’m so sorry to have importuned you.”
His lips actually trembled. Hero felt her face heating. Somehow he had made her the villain of this piece.
“Well…” She bit her lip.
“It’s a pretty offer, Hero. What do you say?” Maximus rumbled beside her.
She started, just a little bit, but Reading squeezed her fingers in warning. Good Lord! She’d almost forgotten they were in the midst of a crowded ballroom. Such a thing had never happened to her before. No matter where she was, Hero was always completely conscious of being a duke’s daughter, completely conscious of how she should act.
She looked at Reading in consternation and saw that he had lost his mocking smile. In fact, there was no expression at all on his face as he turned to his brother. “With your permission, of course, Thomas.”
Standing together, she could see now the similarities between the brothers. They were of the same height, but beyond that they both tilted their square chins in a certain way, as if challenging any other man in the room. Studying the brothers, Hero thought that Reading’s countenance looked the older of the two, though she knew he was the younger by several years. Lord Reading’s eyes were deeper set, more lined, and much more cynical. He looked as if he’d experienced lifetimes more than Mandeville.
Mandeville had not answered his brother, and the pause was growing awkward. The dowager marchioness stood between the men and was looking anxiously at her elder son. Perhaps she communicated something silently to him.
Mandeville nodded abruptly at his brother and smiled, though only his lips moved.
Reading immediately turned and started leading her toward the dance floor. His pace seemed unhurried, but Hero found herself halfway across the room before she knew it.
“What are you about?” she hissed.
“A minuet, I believe.”
She gave him a speaking glance at the childish witticism.
“Now, now, dear sister, mine—”
“Stop calling me that!”
“What, sister?”
They were on the dance floor now, and he pivoted to face her as other couples took their places around them.
Hero narrowed her eyes. “Yes!”
“But you will soon be my sister,” he said slowly and patiently, as if talking to a not-very-bright toddler. “The wife of my elder brother, above me in rank if not in age, always to be deferred to. What else should I call you but sister?” He widened his eyes so guilelessly she nearly laughed.
Fortunately she was able to restrain herself. Lord knew what Mandeville—let alone her brother—would think if she giggled like a schoolgirl at her engagement ball. “Whyever did you ask me to dance?”
He feigned hurt. “Why, I thought to celebrate your wondrous engagement to my brother, of course.”
She raised her left eyebrow, sadly ineffective though it was.
He leaned toward her and whispered hoarsely, “Or perhaps you’d like to discuss the particulars of our meeting in front of both our families?”
The music began and Hero sank into a curtsy. “Why would I mind? It seems to me that you have more to lose than I should the circumstances of our meeting be made public.”
“One would think so,” he replied as they circled each other. “But that supposition does not take into account my brother’s incredibly stodgy personality.”
Hero frowned. “What are you trying to insinuate?”
“I’m stating,” Reading murmured, “that my brother is a narrow-minded ass who, if he had discovered you in that sitting room with Belle and me, would have immediately leaped to several unfortunate and wrong conclusions.”
The movements of the dance parted them for a moment, and Hero tried to grapple with the notion of a man with a mind so blackened he would think the absolute worst of his own brother.
When they again met, she said softly, “Why are you saying these things to me?”
He shrugged. “I merely speak the truth.”
She shook her head. “I think not. I think you strive to alienate my affections from your brother, which is a very wicked thing to attempt indeed.”
He smiled, though a muscle jerked under his right eye. “Lady Perfect, we meet again.”
“Stop calling me that,” she hissed. “I do not think Mandeville is as ill-willed as you seem to believe.”
“I hesitate to contradict a lady, of course, but you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She glared. “You are insulting, sir, both to your brother and to me. I cannot thi
nk what your brother has ever done to you to deserve such infamous treatment.”
He leaned over her, so close she caught the scent of lemons and sandalwood. “Can’t you?”
She couldn’t repress a shiver at the implied threat of his proximity. She wasn’t a small woman—in fact, she stood taller than many of her female acquaintances—but Reading was male and loomed at least a foot over her. He was using that physical fact to intimidate her.
Well, she wasn’t so easily intimidated. She snorted softly and turned to look him in the eye. “No. No, I can’t conceive of a wrong so terrible that you would vilify your brother’s character to me.”
“Perhaps, then, your imagination is defective,” he said, his eyes hooded.
“Or perhaps it is you who is defective.”
“In your eyes I probably am. After all, I do not possess the perfections of my brother. I am not a leading member of parliament, and I do not have his beauty or his grace. And”—he leaned close again—“I do not have his lofty title.”
For a moment, she stared at him in disbelief; then she laughed softly under her breath. “Are you so jealous of him that you think I’m marrying your brother only for his title?”
She was gratified to see him jerk his head back, a scowl on his face. “I am not jealous—”
“No?” she interrupted him sweetly. “Then perhaps you’re merely a fool. Mandeville is an honorable man. A good man. And, yes, a man respected by his peers and by everyone he deals with, as well as my brother’s friend and ally. I am proud to be his fiancée.”
The dance broke them apart, and when they rejoined, he nodded stiffly. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I’m merely a fool.”
She blinked, caught off guard. The rogue she’d thought him would not admit so readily to a human failing.
He glanced at her, a corner of his mouth quirking up as if he knew her thoughts. “Will you tell Thomas about our meeting?”
“No.” She didn’t even have to think about it.