Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

G enevieve ran up to Matilda and Charlotte the moment she spied them waiting outside Lord and Lady Whitford's Mayfair home. Large candelabras sat outside the front steps, lighting the way for those invited inside their magnificent home. Carriages bustled along the street, delivering the ton to the many entertainments on offer this warm London evening, but only this event interested Genevieve.

Not because she was particularly fond of Lord and Lady Whitford—in fact, she hardly knew the earl and his countess—but the invitation had been directed at her, not her parents, and gave her the perfect opportunity to attend without her mother watching her every move. If she were to catch the interest of Mr. Venzellons, she needed to appear not as the debutante her mama continued to treat her as, but as a woman of one and twenty.

"Oh, I'm so very excited for this evening," Matilda gushed, her cheeks rosy, her long strawberry-blonde hair curling about her shoulders and accentuating her perfect complexion. Charlotte all but bounced beside Matilda, her smile wide and captivating any gentleman who passed them by. Their "good evenings" were deep with meaning and interest.

"We shall have the best of time and without our mamas breathing down our throats," Genevieve said. "We shall only have to contend with them if they find out we attended at all, but alas, the chastisement will be worth it. Certainly, if I'm successful in gaining Mr. Venzellons' interest. Oh, how I would love to live in New York. I heard his home is quite grand, and he has over fifty staff in his city estate alone."

"Not to mention he's handsome and wealthy, enough to satisfy your papa," Charlotte declared.

All true. Mr. Venzellons was suitable and would be her ticket out of England and away from Lord Tyndall and his ilk. Even now, her cheeks warmed at the memory of throwing herself at him like some lost, poor, desperate soul.

With a sigh, she pushed the horrible memory aside and reminded herself that he would've forgotten all about that incident and would not even know what she was talking about should she mention it again. Which, of course, she would not.

But it was time she found a husband. A fourth Season would be dreadful and humiliating for a duke's daughter, and over the past year, her father had lost patience with her, and she did not want to disappoint him anymore. No, it was time to make the best of her situation, do right by her family and marry.

They linked arms and entered the townhouse. The home was by no means as grand as her own or her friends'. They were three heiresses in London, termed The Graces after the goddess sisters of beauty, grace, and charm. However, this evening, they could add another element to their moniker: schemers.

"Oh look, Lord Anson is here this evening, and Lord Wolfson, Matilda," Genevieve mentioned, knowing Matilda harbored feelings toward Lord Wolfson for the past year. Not that the marquess seemed at all aware of the fact. The man was supposedly very much bookish and kept to himself, except when he needed to attend events such as these to keep the mamas of the ton happy, his own included.

Genevieve schooled her features when she noticed Mr. Venzellons watching her, a small, teasing smile playing about his handsome mouth. She ignored the urge to check her attire and, instead, excused herself from her friends and stepped in the direction of whom she hoped would be her future husband. Everything was going splendidly before a wall of muscle, and a familiar, sandalwood-smelling gentleman stepped before her and halted her path.

"You're not supposed to be here, Lady Genevieve," the deep baritone growled in her ear. He stepped to the side, his hand secure on her elbow as he walked her to the edge of the room and away from the throng of guests.

Genevieve wrenched free of his hold and stopped herself from stomping on his boot. She glared at him, noting how tall he had become over the past several years. How devastatingly handsome he was in his superfine coat and perfectly tied cravat. Her attention moved over his body, taking in his strong, muscular legs, thanks to the many hours of riding, possibly not always on horses…

Rogue.

She swallowed the jealousy that ripped through her at the thought of him with anyone else and narrowed her eyes. "You're not my family and cannot tell me what I can and cannot do. I'm at a ball. There is nothing wrong with that." She went to move away, and he ripped her back against him. Her chest grazed his waistcoat, and for a moment, she was left breathless and at sea.

"Everything is wrong with it when your family is not chaperoning you. I shall escort you home this instant."

"You will do no such thing." Genevieve poked Lord Tyndall in the ribs, making him flinch. "Are you truly going to run back to my brother like a good little boy and tell on me? Tell my father what a bad girl I've been?"

Something in Lord Tyndall's eyes darkened, and his mouth pursed into a displeased line. "Do not tempt me, Genevieve."

"I do not believe I have given you leave to use the familiar name my family gifted me, my lord. Unless you would like me to call you Beckett?"

Again, an emotion she could not understand flashed in his gaze before he looked over the ballroom floor with displeasure. "I know why you're here, and I'll not have it. You cannot abandon your family, you must find a husband of good English blood and roots, not sail away to New York and never return."

"What if I want to sail away to New York and never return? What is that to you? Nothing, that is what." Genevieve took a deep breath and reached up to adjust her wig, which was exceedingly itchy this evening. "I do not have to marry anyone from England, and in fact, Mr. Venzellons seems the perfect gentleman with whom I can see myself very happy."

"So you would be happy getting the pox? Because that is what will happen if you marry that rutting animal and return abroad."

She gasped. Surely, that was not true. That would foil all her plans, indeed, and not be what she would wish for, not for anyone. "You lie. Mr. Venzellons does not suffer such an affliction."

"No, perhaps not yet, but he is quite the energetic gentleman about town, if you understand my meaning."

"I understand your meaning perfectly well."

"Do you?" Lord Tyndall crossed his arms and stared at her with amusement, as if he believed she did not. A little wickedness came over her at his highhandedness, his arrogance of her feeble female mind.

She stepped against him, close enough to smell the brandy on his breath. "I know all about what happens between a man and a woman. And his ventures before marriage, I'm certain, will only make the marriage bed more pleasing for me. I know all about the ecstasy that can be reached for both men and women, and in fact, I look forward to feeling what is described as exquisite, otherworldly tremors throughout one's body."

"Dear God." Lord Tyndall paled, his attention dipping to her lips.

Genevieve dampened hers, the overwhelming thought of his mouth on her overriding her good sense and annoyance.

"Who spoke to you of such things? That is not an appropriate conversation for a woman who is still a maid."

Genevieve shrugged, not caring what Lord Tyndall thought. "You should keep your nose out of my business, my lord. I did not ask for you to gate-keep me at any balls and parties, and while you may be a friend of the family, my brother's best friend, we are not. I can do as I wish, and I wish to do Mr. Venzellons." Genevieve frowned at her words, certain they had not come out as she had hoped.

Lord Tyndall cleared his throat. "I would be failing in my duty if I did not take you home."

"Oh no." She wagged her finger at him. "You thwarted my evening the other night bringing home my brother. You shall not do it again. I'm one and twenty, I can do as I please, and I do not need a man telling me otherwise."

"What you need is a good spanking."

Genevieve stared at Lord Tyndall, who stared back, his eyes wide as if he had only just now realized what he had said. An odd fluttering took flight in her stomach, and she raised her chin, refusing to acknowledge what that feeling was.

Nerves. Right?

She would not allow him to make her tense ever again. She had conquered that reaction when around him years ago.

"Good evening, Lord Tyndall. Do keep out of my way, and we shall remain cordial, but if you do not heed my wishes, then we will be enemies, and as one of The Graces, you know what that will mean?"

"What?" He crossed his arms, not giving any of his emotions away bar annoyance.

"As a demigod, I would be forced to kill you." Genevieve smiled sweetly. "Good evening, and goodnight…my lord."