Darius: Lord of Pleasures

Lady Leah.” He offered Leah a slow, deep bow, one unmistakably intended to convey respect, and took his leave, Lady Cowell on his arm.

Darius nodded at Reston’s retreating back. “So where did you meet that?”

“I met him in the park with Emily,” Leah said. “Where did you meet her?”

Swimming in the Channel with a school of sharks who will cheerfully destroy you.

“She’s frequently at the same functions you are,” Darius lied, oh, so easily to his dear sister. “She travels in a slightly less genteel circle.”

“Lord Reston apparently frequents the same set.”

“You needn’t sound so offended.” And to anybody but her brother—any of the hundred or so people milling around the ballroom with them, she probably wouldn’t have. “I doubt either of them will be joining us for supper.” He’d run screaming into the night if Blanche presumed that far.

“I think we might see more of Lord Reston. He seems to have taken an interest in Emily.”

The topic was now familial, so Darius took his sister’s arm and steered her toward the corner of the room reserved for chaperones, companions, and other wallflowers. “And Wilton will probably allow it. The man’s heir to an earldom, though birthing his get will likely kill little Em.”

“You don’t like Reston?” Leah asked, her curiosity evident.

“I like him well enough, though I can’t say I know him.”

“What do you know of him?” Leah asked, and Darius was reminded she’d asked about Reston before.

“He’s a favorite with the ladies, at least the ladies like Lady Cowell,” Darius said meaningfully. “He pays his bills, looks after a herd of younger siblings, and is quite the horseman. Not sure what else there is to tell, except that he’s the largest titled lord I’ve seen, and his papa, the earl, is old as dirt. Haven’t I said as much previously?”

“And his papa is not in good health,” Leah added, causing Darius to study her more carefully.

“Is he trifling with you, Leah?” He’d flatten the man if he were. Leah had troubles enough as it was, and a good bare-knuckle fight would fit on Darius’s schedule with appalling ease.

“He most assuredly is not. Is Lady Cowell trifling with you?”

Sisters knew how to shut a man up. “I am not going to dignify that. Shall I lead you out or find you a place to hide?”

“Leave me in peace.”

Because Hellerington hadn’t been again in evidence, Darius acceded to her wishes. He danced with his share of wallflowers, kept an eye on Leah, and saw her later sharing supper with Reston. Wouldn’t that spike Wilton’s guns, if Reston were courting Leah and not angling for little Emily?

When Darius loaded his sister into the coach, he tucked an arm around her shoulders, and she budged up with a sigh of relief.

“Do I tell you often enough what a good brother you are?”

“I’m not a good brother,” Darius replied, thinking of John hidden away in Kent and Lucy threatening what little peace Leah enjoyed. “But I am a noticing brother. What was that business with Reston and the strawberry?”

“The strawberry?”

“He sequestered himself with you behind the ferns, Leah, and in the course of sharing supper with you, fed you a strawberry from his own hand.”

“He was flirting.” Leah yawned. “Nick likes to flirt.”

“Nick.”

“Lord Reston.” She straightened up, but Darius gently pushed her head back to his shoulder.

“You said he might be trolling for Em,” Darius reminded her. “What if he’s trolling for you?”

“He might offer, just to wave Hellerington off.”

“He might hurry Hellerington up, if he offers.” Darius frowned into the darkness. “Do you need me to speak to him?”

“No.” Leah sounded firm on that. “If there’s ‘speaking to’ needed, I can address the man directly.”

“That’s unusual, for you to be forthright with a man other than me or Trent.”

“He’s an unusual man.” Leah’s voice was dreamy, and Darius wished there were enough light that he could assess her expression. “He said to warn you off that woman all but humping your arm.”

The description left no room for confusion. “Blanche is a casual acquaintance.”

“If Nick said to beware of a lady, and Nick makes no bones about enjoying women, mind you, then you need to take heed.”

“Nick, Nick, Nick.”

“Lord Reston.”

Darius jostled her affectionately. “Keep telling yourself he’s Lord Reston, but to me, it looks like he’s already gotten to first names, strawberries, and God knows what else.”

“And if he has?”

“Marry him,” Darius said flatly. “He’s big enough and man enough to face down Wilton, Hellerington, me, whomever.” Lucy and Blanche. “You could do much worse, Leah, and he’d take care of you. If he’s courting you, he has my endorsement.”

It wasn’t something he’d been able to say before, not about the puppies who had sniffed about her skirts five years ago, not about her would-be elopement partner, not about the few men who’d shown an interest so far this year.

“Don’t tell him that,” Leah said on a weary sigh. “He’s arrogant enough as it is.”

“Not arrogant,” Darius said, almost to himself. “Reston is self-assured, and that’s a different thing entirely.”

When Leah was dozing on his shoulder, he let the conversation lapse but sent a prayer up to whatever God listened to creatures such as he that Reston took on the problem that was Leah and her situation, and please, heaven, let it be soon.

* * *

“You are kind to think of me.” Vivian accepted a cup of tea from Portia, knowing it would lack sugar, for Portia deemed sugared tea unfit for breeding women. Since learning of Vivian’s pregnancy, Portia was a veritable font of odd ideas regarding childbearing, and even child rearing.

“Public school builds the character,” Portia announced. “Look at Able, and he’s a product of Rugby.”

Look at Able? One could barely see the man for the way he avoided his wife’s company. Able had stayed about a week then hared back to the country, there to plough and plant and enjoy his wife’s absence, no doubt.

“And what will you name this child?” Portia inquired as she sipped her own tea—heavily sugared.

Lindsey Longstreet had a nice sound and would fit either gender—she’d yet to suggest this to William. “I assume William will want a family name.”

“And good heavens, what if it’s a girl?”

Portia’s own gender must have temporarily escaped her notice, so great was her dismay at this possibility. “We’ll love any child God sees fit to give us, Portia.”

“But a girl can’t inherit the viscountcy, and then where will we be?”

“We’ll manage, Portia.”

Except Vivian wasn’t going to manage another minute of the woman’s conversation.

“I’m for a little shopping,” she decided, though what she’d shop for was a mystery. “How about you?”

“Shopping?” Portia’s eyes took on a gleam, and Vivian realized she should have been more devious. “I might need to pick up a few things.”

“You must accompany me then.” Though invariably, Portia needed something at every shop they browsed, and somehow, Vivian ended up paying for it. Portia’s maid forgot her pin money, or her reticule, or didn’t think to bring quite that much with her. The excuses were as endless as they were lame.

No matter, every outing was a potential opportunity to cross paths with