Page 20 of Tempting the Marquess

Faint lemon scent hit him with the force of a cannonball, and his fingers clenched the carved wood as his eyes burned. Trinkets. Her favorite hair combs. Handkerchiefs. Reticules. And evening shawls.

“Will! Look what your father brought me back from his trip. Isn’t it beautiful? I am very spoiled.”

“Not spoiled enough, Sophia,” said Richard gruffly, adjusting the silver shawl over his wife’s shoulders.

William could only stare in wonder. Made of lace as fine as cobweb, it looked like Mama wore a thousand sparkling, shifting diamonds. “Where did you get it, Father? Which town were youin?”

“Oh, some market somewhere,” said Richard, shrugging in that maddening way. He never said where hewent.

Reaching into the trunk, William selected the silver shawl. Then he slammed the lid back down on memories he didn’t want to think about, and returned downstairs to the foyer.

“Here,” he said, almost shoving the shawl at Lady Samantha in his eagerness to not be holding something of his mother’s.

She blinked. “My lord. That…that is…exquisite. I can’t wear it, it’s too precious.”

“Please put it on,” he said curtly, about ready to beg. “The others are waiting.”

“Oh. Of course. I’m so sorry for the trouble,” she replied, draping the shawl around her neck and shoulders, and thankfully covering her breasts entirely. “This is the loveliest thing I’ve everworn.”

William offered his arm. “To the diningroom.”

Here he recalled his third mistake, Lady Samantha seated immediately to his right. Thank God there were other people present. George and Louisa sat to his left, Stephen sat next to Samantha, and next to him was Caroline. Thomas Reid MacLeod, Marquess of Ardmore, sat next to Louisa.

“At last! Here’s to you, Standish,” Thomas announced, raising his brandy glass. “Many happy returns, oldman.”

“Less of the old, if you please,” William shot back. His father would have had palpitations at his friendship with possibly the most disreputable peer in England, but behind Thomas’s overlong red hair and devil-may-care manners sat a razor sharp mind, and he ruled his trade empire with an ironfist.

“Face the facts, my friend, you’re on a slippery slope. Starts out with a few birthdays, next thing you’re bald and walking with acane.”

“Really?” he replied, eyebrows raised. “I’ll have to take your word for it, olderman.”

“Humblest apologies for my lateness,” said Alexander Langley, Duke of Southby, as he marched into the room and paused beside William’s chair. “His Majesty wished to discuss a matter of great import.”

William gave his closest friend a sardonic look. “Indeed? What troubled the king today?”

“Invasion by chickens,” Alexander muttered, running an impatient hand through his jet-black hair. Then he stopped and fixed his icy pale green gaze directly on Lady Samantha, and William felt every hackle rise. If Alexander switched into his “I am the premier duke of the realm, offend me and you’ll be unwelcome everywhere, forever” persona with her, there would be serious trouble.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Alexander intoned, his huge frame looming over her. “Southby, at your service.”

She appeared frozen in place, her eyes wide. William cleared his throat to speak when Stephen stood. “Your grace, may I present my cousin, Lady Samantha Buchanan. She very recently made her come out, and now thanks to your walking, talking glacier routine, has forgotten how to breathe. Please plant your esteemed ducal backside in a bloody chair so we can eat and she can drink until her face regains some color.”

“Hear, hear,” said Thomas.

“At once, before we all perish of hunger,” added George.

Alexander bowed mockingly, continued on, and sat at the other end of the table.

William leaned toward Lady Samantha. “Don’t be alarmed, he’s the same with everyone.”

“Really?” she replied hoarsely, her tongue darting out to wet her pink lips in a way that had him shifting in his chair.

“Indeed. Actually, you held up remarkably well to the Southby stare. I’ve witnessed swooning, crying, and teeth chattering, which is rather disconcerting. Especially in the House of Lords.”

Finally she smiled. As the evening continued with a first course of fragrant herb and tomato soup, she appeared to relax further, even occasionally laughing at the lightning-fast banter flying back and forth across the table. Always the way with this group, but he, Alexander, and Thomas had been friends since Eton. Stephen was four years younger, George another year still, but they’d been part of the circle for as long as he could remember.

“I say, Lady Samantha, that is a stunning shawl,” George said, raising his glass.

“Coming from the best dressed man of the ton, I am well complimented!” she replied with a warm smile.