Lord Harry's Folly by Catherine Coulter (good romance books to read TXT) 📗

smile so disarming that for an instant she forgot who he was. He was a monster, he had to be, to show the world such a pleasant face and jest so easily, and yet be so evil beneath.

Miss Caroline grabbed Hetty’s hand and whispered, “Is Lord Oberlon not the most dashing, handsome man you have ever seen, Miss Rolland? Ah, I feared he wouldn’t come tonight, for he isn’t known to come to such insipid affairs as this. He has just returned from Italy, you know, so I dared to hope. He is Lady Melberry’s nephew, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know that,” Hetty said. She resolutely turned her back upon Lord Oberlon and nodded stiff-lipped, for Miss Caroline to continue.

“Lord Oberlon’s father, like Lord Melberry, was very influential in the ministry before his death several years ago,” Miss Caroline said behind her gloved hand. “Of course, my mama and Lady Melberry are the dearest of friends. Poor man, such tragedy he’s borne. He needs pleasure; he needs beauty.” She rose, her movements intensely feminine, the look in her eyes predatory. “Ah, you must excuse me, Miss Rolland, but I really must pay more attention to our kind hostess.”

Really, Miss Caroline, Hetty thought, you think to gain his attention? Perhaps he’ll give it to you, but there will be a price. She watched Miss Langley move quickly to where Lady Melberry and Lord Oberlon stood in amiable conversation. She herself sat back to watch Lord Oberlon with forced objectivity, but she could not. The familiar hatred welled up inside her. Here he was carefree and quite at his ease, laughing, damn him, while Damien lay dead, forgotten by all save his family. Poor man, indeed. How ironic it was that she should finally be in the same room with him, not as Lord Harry but as Henrietta Rolland. The fates must be against her.

She continued to study him. She was forced to admit, grudgingly, that he was a superb guest who would delight any hostess, for he mingled easily with ladies and gentlemen alike. It occurred to her that his good manners might lead him to even seek her out, and she rose swiftly and slipped into a half-hidden position behind a curtain.

Later in the evening, when Hetty had relaxed her vigilance, she chanced to see him approaching her. Not only were the Fates against her, they were trying to kill her. She quickly turned her shoulder and attempted painstaking conversation with the deaf old dowager next to her. She thought she saw a puzzled frown sweep over his brow at her blatant rudeness. But then, he turned easily, and was soon caught up in Caroline Langley’s gay chatter. Had he wondered who she was? Had his aunt Melberry told him to seek her out? She wondered what he thought.

What the marquess was thinking was that the Rolland girl his aunt had directed him to meet was wearing one of the most unfortunate gowns and caps he’d ever seen. He didn’t know if she was as unfortunate of face as she was of clothing, but it seemed likely. She’d turned away from him. She was either very rude or very myopic. He smiled at something Caroline Langley said, though he hadn’t heard anything.

Hetty turned reluctantly at the sour, whining voice of Miss Maude Langley. “I fear my sister must learn decorum. Isn’t it shocking, Miss Rolland? She has been hanging on Lord Oberlon’s arm all evening. Of course, you must know about him.”

Hetty, who had drawn a fatalistic sigh at Miss Maude’s jealous attack on her sister, now raised her eyes to the young lady’s face, all attention. “No, Miss Langley, I fear I don’t know about Lord Oberlon, save that he is Lady Melberry’s nephew and the Marquess of Oberlon. He appears to be charming to all of Lady Melberry’s guests.”

Miss Maude arched a thick brow, darted her eyes once again in Lord Oberlon’s direction. “Oh la, Miss Rolland, you are new to London. Our mama wouldn’t approve my saying so, but you must know he is a rake. But then, from all that I have heard, I suppose a gentleman who is a rake is perforce charming.”

“But why is he a rake, Miss Langley?”

Miss Langley lowered her voice even more and cupped her gloved hand over her mouth. “Listen to this, Miss Rolland. His poor wife died but eight or nine months ago, in childbirth. He left England immediately, scarce after her funeral, and traveled to Italy. His exploits with the Italian ladies were all the talk of London. Indeed, I have seen him with a new mistress; he flaunts her all about London in the most high-handed way. Haven’t you seen them, Miss Rolland?”

“Only from a distance, Miss Langley.” Elizabeth had died in childbirth? Surely Miss Langley must be mistaken, for had Elizabeth not married Lord Oberlon only seven months before her death? Hetty said, “Who was Lord Oberlon’s wife, Miss Langley? How sad that the poor lady died so quickly after their marriage.”

“Elizabeth Springville was her name. She and I were both in our first season last year. She was loose, Miss Rolland, and a flirt. I suppose that she was pretty enough, but I can’t excuse her easiness with the gentlemen, no lady could. Lord Oberlon was only one of several gentlemen dangling after her. When he suddenly married her by special license, and then removed her immediately from London to one of his estates in the West Country, there was much speculation. I will tell you, Miss Rolland, that I don’t need to speculate. My mama is Lady Melberry’s best friend, and she is, of course, Lord Oberlon’s aunt well, I know for a fact, that Elizabeth was in the family way. She was pregnant with Lord Oberlon’s child.”

Hetty said, “Then it would appear to me, dear Miss Langley, that Lord Oberlon behaved in a most honorable way. Surely a rake wouldn’t have married the lady.”

Miss Maude looked pityingly at Hetty. Hetty wanted to smack