Wicked? At this moment, they were abundant. When Elliot leaned close, she wondered what it would be like to have his sinful mouth on her skin. She stepped back. “My thoughts are quite pure.”
“What a shame.” The corners of his mouth turned upward into that devilishly handsome smile he’d perfected. “Though I’m sure you walking about sans clothing would have caused your grandmother to swoon.”
The mention of her grandmother caused Nina to glance at the old woman. Thankfully, she was engaged in conversation with Lord Pendleton and hadn’t noticed Nina and Elliot.
“The lessons I have planned for you are much subtler.” Elliot’s low and sensual voice sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine.
“I told you I don’t require lessons. And I don’t think this plan of yours will work. Fernbridge hardly notices me. He probably wouldn’t even if I was naked. Perhaps if I wore a feathered grouse costume and squawked like a bird.”
“Nina, tell me why you are interested in Fernbridge?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Because he is a duke?”
If she married Fernbridge, she would finally win her grandmother’s approval. But more important than that, it would please James, and her brother had sacrificed so much for them. Fernbridge might not be the most attentive person, but she believed he would be a steady husband. Not a man like her father or Avalon.
She held Elliot’s intense gaze. “Will you help me or not?”
For a long minute, he didn’t say anything. “I will, but there will be lessons, and the first one is, don’t practically drool when you look at the man.”
Without thinking, she touched her chin. “I do not drool.”
“No, not literally. But you hang on his every word, and you try too hard to engage him in conversation.”
“I’m being polite.”
“You are, and you’re exceptional at it, but it adds to his sense of self-importance.”
“What do you want me to do? Ignore him?”
“No, but don’t try so hard. Remember a man like Fernbridge wants to feel you are a challenge.”
Nina opened her mouth and clapped it closed when Lord Talbot walked up to them.
“How are you, Lady Nina?” the man asked, looking as if he was attempting to hide behind them.
“I’m well.”
“What are you about, Talbot?” Elliot narrowed his eyes at the other man.
“Lady Clifton spotted me as soon as I stepped into the ballroom. I’m trying to avoid that matchmaking mama.”
“Lord Talbot!” Lady Clifton waved at the viscount as she marched toward them with her daughter Georgiana in tow.
Talbot mumbled something under his breath and glanced about as if searching for a quick escape. “Damnation. No avoiding her now. If you’ll excuse me.”
“I take it Lady Clifton is hoping for a match.” Nina smiled at Elliot.
“Talbot will be a duke one day, and it appears dukes are in high demand.”
Nina felt her cheeks warm. Somehow his comment had made her sound mercenary, or as if she’d somehow disappointed him. Well, she would not allow a rascal like Lord Elliot Ralston to make her feel guilty for contemplating wedding a man who didn’t run with a fast crowd.
“The musicians are warming up their instruments.” Elliot offered his arm. “Might I have this dance?”
“I don’t wish to dance with you,” she answered, still feeling the sting from his unspoken censure. He did not understand how much she owed James. How he’d raised them after Mama’s and Papa’s deaths. She wanted to please him, especially since her brother Anthony was causing James so much distress.
“You enjoyed it last time.”
“I didn’t. I just pretended I did.”
“Liar,” he whispered.
She tried to ignore the way her stomach fluttered. “Your conceit is overwhelming.”
“Oh, darling, how you enjoy wounding me.” He flashed his white teeth in a devil-may-care smile. “How are we to pull off this ruse if you won’t dance with me?”
Elliot was right. If they were to pretend he was interested in courting her, she needed to dance with the scoundrel. She placed her hand on his sleeve. “I’m only dancing with you because I want Fernbridge to see us. No other reason.”
As they joined the flow of others waltzing, she tried not to smile. He was correct. She did enjoy dancing. Moving in tandem with a man as the strains of a waltz filled a ballroom could be thrilling. However, dancing with Elliot verged on provocative.
Perhaps it was the way he looked at her. Truly held her gaze for long moments of time while twirling her around the room. Many of the men she’d danced with were peacocks who watched the crowd to see who observed them, but Elliot’s attention centered on her.
It made her feel as if they were the only two dancers in the room. It also made her feel hot—not only where his gloved hand touched her back, but everywhere. And occasionally, little sparks flickered in her stomach. Agitated by her reaction, she forced her gaze away from his blue eyes.
“No one will believe you are enchanted with me if you continue to frown.”
“You’re holding me too close,” she said snappishly, more irritated with herself than him.
He pulled her incrementally closer. “I didn’t think I was holding you close enough. Tell me why you’re so prickly?”
“It’s exceedingly hot in here.”
The next thing she knew, he guided her through one of the open French doors.
“Elliot, we cannot be out here alone.”
With a slight lifting of his chin, he gestured to several other couples who danced on the terrace. “We’re not alone.”
“But my grandmother—”
“Was still engaged in conversation with Lord Pendleton. Probably advising the man on how they could achieve world domination.”
She laughed. “You might be right. But I thought your whole reason for dancing with me was to impress upon Fernbridge your interest in me.”
“Glance to your left.”
She turned her head slightly. The duke was standing with three other gentlemen at the far corner of the terrace. She hadn’t noticed him leave the ballroom. Probably because she’d been too entranced by Elliot.
“Us dancing under the stars will get his attention.” Stars? She glanced up. Indeed, there were stars scattered above as if someone had tossed them haphazardly into the heavens. Though only a short distance from Town, Lord and Lady Pendleton’s Richmond residence felt more like a country home since it was absent the fog that clung over London like low clouds.
The strains of the waltz stopped, and Elliot pointed at the sky. “There’s Ursa Major.”
“You know the constellations, my lord?”
He gave a short laugh. “Does that surprise you?”
It shouldn’t, but she didn’t want to think of him as anything else but a rogue. Placing him firmly in that category made him less appealing, and he already appealed to her more than she thought wise, especially since all his attention was a ruse.
He held her gaze, waiting for her response.
She shouldn’t answer. If she said yes, it would be insulting. If she said no, it would inflate his opinion of himself. Yet, she didn’t want him to think she thought him too perfect. “A little.”
As if used to others underestimating his intelligence, he said nothing. That bothered her. As a woman, she contended with men who questioned her intellect. Not her brothers, but others. Her sister-in-law, Caroline, had grown up with a father who had not thought her worthy of conversation. Nina was sure it was the reason Caroline had wanted to become a journalist. Elliot had given her a glimpse of himself—something she didn’t think he often did because of his carefree reputation. She liked him more than she wished to admit.
Guilt prompted her to ask, “How do you know about the constellations?”
“When younger, my family holidayed in the Lake District. Like here, the stars shine brightly. Since my sister enjoys astronomy, I
bought her a book on the constellations, and at night, we’d search them out.” The tone of his voice clearly betrayed his affection for his sister. Victoria had mentioned the girl but knew little about her. From the story Victoria told, when Elliot was younger, his parents had taken to living in separate homes. The sister had gone to live with her mother in the country, then to a private school after her mama’s death.
“Victoria mentioned you have a younger sister.”
“Yes. Margaret, but I’ve always called her Meg.” His smile cemented Nina’s opinion that he cared deeply for the girl.
“Do you and she still stargaze?”
“Occasionally, though we haven’t been to Swan Cottage in many years.”
“Swan Cottage?”
“That’s the name of the property I own in the Lake District. It will be part of Meg’s dowry.”
Nina wondered if Elliot was as protective of his sister as James had become of her since Nina’s botched betrothal to Lord Avalon. Thoughts of her eldest brother reminded her he wouldn’t be pleased she stargazed with Elliot. Neither would her grandmother. “We should return. Grandmother is probably wondering where I’ve gone off to.”
He smiled. “She might already be plotting my demise.”
She grinned. “What, my sweet Grandmother?”
He laughed. “Earlier, Fernbridge mentioned he will be attending Lord and Lady Hathaway’s house party. Will you be going?”
“Yes. You?”
“I will, now that you are.”
They moved to reenter the ballroom.
Near the French doors, Fernbridge still chatted with several other men. Odd, she’d completely forgotten about the man. That sentiment seemed mutual. Fernbridge also seemed oblivious to her presence. “I don’t think your plan is working one whit.”
As if on cue, Fernbridge turned and glanced over his shoulder at her.
Elliot offered her his arm. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
As they walked toward the French doors, the duke strode toward them. He offered a warm smile. “Lady Nina, Lord Ralston.”
She opened her mouth to ask him if he was enjoying the unseasonably warm night. Remembering what Elliot had said about acting indifferent, she clapped her mouth closed. Such advice seemed odd, but Elliot did have the ability to make women swoon, and most likely the more the rascal ignored a woman, the harder she would vie for his attention.
Nina forced her expression to remain bland. “Your Grace.”
The smile on his lips slipped a notch.
She glanced into the ballroom as if it held more appeal than the duke’s company.
“Pleasant weather this evening,” Fernbridge said.
Goodness, Elliot clearly knew what he was talking about. The more indifferent she acted, the harder Fernbridge tried to engage her in conversation.
“Yes, very nice weather. If you’ll excuse us, Your Grace, I’ve promised the next dance to Sir Thomas. I should return to the ballroom.” With that said, she and Elliot walked back into the ballroom, but she could feel the duke’s gaze on her.
When they were out of earshot, Elliot laughed. “Well done, darling.”
Back inside the ballroom, Elliot watched Nina and Sir Thomas as they moved across the dance floor to a Venetian waltz. His regard shifted to Fernbridge, who stepped into the ballroom. The man’s gaze, like his own, followed Nina and her partner. The duke’s interest was piqued. Elliot wondered why he was helping Nina get Fernbridge’s attention. It was as if he was sabotaging his own plan, but it had been the only way he could figure to compel Nina to spend time with him.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Fernbridge heading toward him. Elliot took a glass of champagne off a passing footman’s tray.
His Grace cupped his chin as if in deep thought. “Ralston, tell me about her.”
“Who?” Elliot knew damn well Fernbridge referred to Nina. The man’s gaze followed her like a bear’s tracking salmon moving upstream.
“Lady Nina Trent.”
The idea of listing several disagreeable habits Nina possessed flashed in Elliot’s mind, yet he couldn’t think of anything. He could make something up, such as she had a terrible habit of picking her nose or suffered from excessive flatulence, but he couldn’t lie. He’d sunk low, but not that low.
Instead, he offered the truth. “She’s lovely.”
“Yes, she’s quite handsome.”
Of course, the man thought he solely referred to her beauty, but Elliot had meant it as so much more.
Fernbridge cleared his throat. “So, tell me why Avalon stopped courting her? I’ve heard gossip.”
It wasn’t his place to say that Avalon had a very pregnant mistress. A woman he was presently entertaining in France. That, contrary to his family’s desires, Avalon had not been willing to give up his lover. “He didn’t stop courting her. She was not interested in furthering an alliance.”
“I’d heard differently.”
Yes, some vicious gossipmonger has been spreading that lie. He wished he knew who. He wanted to grab them by the shoulders and shake them senseless. He blinked, startled by his vehemence. “A misinformed tattler.”
“Ah, I’m learning London is full of them. I’ve heard some colorful things about you.”
“Have you?” Not surprising.
The man smiled. “Lady Nina is not a widow. Does that mean you wish to court her?”
“She interests me.” Elliot tipped the champagne flute to his mouth.
“Then that makes two of us,” Fernbridge said and walked away.
He’d suspected his interest in Nina would draw the man’s attention. In school, Fernbridge had always tried to compete with him.
Well, hopefully the lessons Elliot had planned for Nina at the Hathaways’ house party would remove all thoughts of Fernbridge from her mind.
Chapter Eight
Elliot sat in his club in St. James with several chums, which included Talbot, Roger Monroe, and Lord Joshua Winters.
“You look like you haven’t slept in a fortnight, Elliot.” Winters grinned. “Who’s been warming your bed?” The man leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table as if awaiting a titillating story.
Talbot burst out laughing. “Wait until you hear. Go on, tell them, Elliot.”
Elliot shot Talbot a scathing look.
“Good Lord, who is it?” Roger leaned back in his chair and tipped his mug of coffee to his mouth.
“Veer your minds away from any salacious thoughts. Only that massive bloodhound he inherited.” With a hearty laugh, Talbot pounded his palm on the table.
Roger half-laughed, half-coughed, sending a spray of dark brew into the air. “Zeb?”
Of course, Zeb. He didn’t own any other eighty-five-pound bloodhounds who insisted on sleeping with him.
Winters wrinkled his nose and sat back. Though Elliot wasn’t sure if it was disappointment over not hearing some lurid tale or disgust over the coffee specks Roger had spat all over the sleeve of Winter’s coat.
“I’m glad you gentlemen find humor in this.” Elliot scrubbed a hand over his face. “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in—”
“A dog’s age?” Talbot’s grin broadened.
“You should send him to your country home, so he might roam about.” Winters picked up a napkin and dabbed at the coffee flecks on his sleeve.
Elliot had contemplated that idea. Most bloodhounds would enjoy the country, but Zeb wasn’t like most dogs. He was old and melancholy, and he didn’t roam, he slugged. Besides that, who would take care of him at Ralston House? He’d let everyone go except the housekeeper and a groundsman. If they ignored the animal, his ennui might worsen.
“Or give him to someone else,” Winters continued. “You don’t hunt.”
“That’s what I suggested,” Talbot said.
Who would want a bloodhound who didn’t hunt? One who laid about all day? He ignored the suggestion. “Are any of you going to the Hathaways’ house party this weekend?”
They all answered in the negative. Lord and Lady Hathaway’s house parties were usually subdued affairs.
“Why are you going there?” Roger asked, looking rather put off by the idea of attending such a tame gathering.
“Lady Nina Trent will be at the house party.” Talbot winked at the other men.
“Don’t tell me you’re seriously considering settling down?” Winters looked at Elliot as if he’d decided to cut off a leg.
“Lady Nina’s quite pretty.” Roger twisted the end of his moustache and gave a salacious grin.
Elliot wasn’t sure why, but the look on Roger’s face made him want to invite the other man to Clapton’s Boxing Club and trounce him. Without answering the question,
Elliot pushed back his chair and stood. He needed to leave before he did something foolish, plus he’d promised to take Zeb for a walk. A rather depressing adventure.
Outside of his club, Elliot pulled on his leather gloves. The warmth that had cloaked London yesterday had given way to the return of Old Man Winter. He settled inside his carriage. Normally the interior of one’s vehicle on a bitter day would be a blessing, but Uncle Phillip’s equipage lacked benevolence. An odor one could only call unpleasant clung to the faded brown upholstery like a forlorn lover.
“Walk,” his coachman, Rigby, instructed the horses.
The two bays moved, sending the rattling of their harnesses and clopping hooves to add to the composition of sounds that filled the busy London street. They’d no sooner turned off Pall Mall when the carriage hit a rut. Elliot bounced so high on the seat his head almost rammed against the roof. Besides needing new upholstery, the carriage needed new springs.
As he stretched his neck to relieve the tension in it, an image of Swan Cottage burrowed to the forefront of his mind. If he sold the property, he would be able to place his feet more firmly on solid ground, perhaps even crawl out of the financial pit he was sinking into like quicksand. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Meg loved the cottage. Plus, he’d already promised it would be part of her dowry. He would not go back on his word. He owed her that much, and so much more, after what he’d done.
Never Conspire with a Sinful Baron Page 6