by V J Dunraven
Jeremy’s smile froze on his lips at the sight of Cassie. By God, she’s beautiful! He clamped his teeth together to keep himself from uttering the words aloud. The aquamarine and gold gown Cassie wore, highlighted her curves and suited her coloring becomingly. The low neckline exposed her shoulders and the creamy tops of her breasts. A choker of diamonds and emeralds adorned her throat and a matching set of earbobs dangled from her ears.
He had never seen her so exquisitely attired before. She always preferred simple and comfortable cotton day-dresses that did not do anything to flatter her figure. She never favored jewelry either and kept her hair confined in a long braid almost every day.
But tonight, in this ethereal silk confection with her titian hair done in Grecian fashion, gathered high on the back of her head with the length of it flowing in curls over one shoulder to her right breast, she stood out amongst the sea of debutantes.
He curbed the instinctive response his body made in the proximity of an alluring female. This particular female was Cassie—his childhood friend. Keep that in mind, he scolded himself.
“What are you staring at, brat?” He pasted a nonchalant expression on his face and cocked his head at the dance floor. “Come on. Let’s dance.”
“I believe Lady Carlyle owes me this dance, my lord.” Lord Winterley, a young, pleasant-looking gentleman who was as thin as a witch’s broomstick and had an easy disposition, interjected behind him.
Jeremy arched a dark brow at the man and surveyed him up and down, demonstrating his displeasure with a marked frown. “Go away, Winterley.” He glared mightily at him as if he were a little mouse that got away from under the cat’s paw.
Lord Winterley colored into a beet red, but stood his ground, albeit on unsteady feet. “I say!” he exclaimed indignantly, the crimson stain high on his cheeks. “Not to be rude, my lord, but—”
Jeremy hoisted a finger in front of Winterley’s nose. “Go. Away.” he repeated in a sterner tone, poking the tip of Winterley’s nose with the pad of his forefinger with a quick, firm push, making the young man flinch. “Scram.”
“Lord Winterley, please pardon Lord Waterford,” Cassandra interrupted with a pointed glower at him, offering her hand to poor Winterley. “Of course, we can dance.”
Lord Winterley darted his eyes at Cassandra and her outstretched hand, then made a cautious move to take it. Jeremy bared his teeth and made a snarling sound. Lord Winterley recoiled, casting Cassandra a helpless look before he swiftly scampered off, muttering under his breath.
“Oh, you detestable, boorish, oaf!” Cassandra stabbed a forefinger at his chest. “Look what you’ve done!” She fisted her hands on her hips and turned to her brother, who was observing the whole scene, noticeably trying to suppress his laughter. “Allayne! How can you just stand there and let this—this—”
“Handsome scoundrel,” Jeremy supplied with a grin.
“Shut up, Jeremy Huntington!” She slapped him on the arm. “Why are you here? I specifically recall informing you in writing that I quite clearly forbade you to come to London!”
“Cassandra!” Mama stood up from the bench she was sitting on with her Papa. “Keep your voice down! Whatever is the matter with you?”
Cassandra pursed her lips and scowled.
“Come now.” Jeremy nudged her with an elbow after her Mama gave them a sharp lecture on proper behavior, delivered in an undertone before returning to her seat. “Don’t be in such a snit. I just saved you from Winterley. He may look harmless, but he’s a gambler and has no consequence. He’s not a suitable match for you.”
“Humph. This coming from you—the worst libertine in London,” she snorted and rolled her eyes.
“Yes,” he replied on a serious note. “I know my kind, which is why I’m here—to see to it that you don’t end up with one of us.”
Cassandra stared at some vague point past his shoulders and remained quiet for a moment, seemingly weighing her reaction to what he had just said, before she turned her gaze back at him. “Jeremy—I didn’t mean what I said.” she shook her head in frustration. “I was just—oh, I hate London and I hate balls! I’m hungry and my feet hurt. I don’t know what I’m about anymore. I just want to go home!”
“It’s all right, I had it coming.” he shrugged and looked away. “You wouldn’t want to be involved with a man like me, Cassie. You deserve better.”
“Oh, Jeremy, I’m so sorry! What I said was uncalled for.” She reached out to squeeze his hand. “If anything, you’ve been a most wonderful friend to me for the past few years.”
“And you, to me.” He offered his arm and gave her one of his most charming, crooked smiles. “Come—are you going to dance with me or what?”
Cassandra chuckled and placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Ready when you are, my lord.”
“Well then, let’s hurry to the dance floor.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Your mother is glaring daggers at me.”
Cassandra let Jeremy lead her onto the middle of the ballroom floor. They joined the other couples as the opening chords of a waltz flowed from the tantalizing strings of the orchestra. Jeremy put his arm around her and placed his hand on the small of her back, pulling her to him and pressing her breasts to his chest in an intimate, and certainly less-than-decent manner.
Cassandra stiffened. “What are you doing?” she rasped angrily in his ear. “Release me, you oaf!”
“Be quiet and trust me.” He took her right hand and held it in his. “Put your left hand on my shoulder.” He gathered her to him so closely that his breath fanned the little hairs on her temple and their faces almost touched.
“Jeremy Huntington—this is outside of propriety!” she said through clenched teeth as they fell into the first slow steps of the waltz. “People are watching and talking!”
“I don’t give a damn what they think or say.” He twirled her around the dance floor. “But I do have a plan that would be highly beneficial to you.”
“What plan?” Cassandra knitted her brows and narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “I do hope this is not another one of your demented schemes again.”
“Far from it.” Jeremy darted his eyes about the room. “Look at them—they’re watching us closely—whispering, wondering. By the time this dance ends, Cassie, you will be the talk of the ton. The women will be speculating on why I singled you out, and the men will be formulating various conjectures on what aroused my interest in you.
“I may have a notorious reputation when it comes to the opposite sex, but the fact remains that I am still one of the wealthiest and most eligible bachelors in all of England, with a high ranking title to match. The women will want to know your secret for snaring an excellent catch, and the men will view you in an entirely different stratum simply because you have attracted my attention.”
“And the whole idea behind this deranged ruse of yours is—?” Cassandra lifted her eyebrows.
“To take the quest for your hand to new heights and raise the bar of rivalry to a more select and befitting group of gentlemen.” Jeremy bestowed her with a besotted expression.
“You are beautiful, Cassie. You come from an excellent family and have a sizeable dowry. Fortune hunters like Winterley, and social climbers like Bosworth over there, who has been ogling you for the past five minutes, by the by—will come after you in droves.” He glowered fiercely at the gentleman in question.
“In the meantime, the titled gentlemen in the very upper echelons of society will snub you because your father is a mere Viscount and they couldn’t care less about the value of your dowry.” He spun her in a graceful circle in the center, in tandem with another dancing couple.
“So you’re saying that the likes of you will ignore me simply because I am beneath your status.” Cassandra frowned at him.
“Precisely. As much as possible, we prefer to
form alliances that are above or equal, but never beneath our rank.” He gazed at her with what one would postulate as a love-struck twinkle in his glorious eyes.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” She furrowed her brow at him in annoyance.
“Because I’m breaking the rules for you, my dear little brat.” He gave her a heart-stopping grin and brought her right hand, the one he held, to his lips.
“This is not funny, Jeremy!” Cassandra snatched her hand away, but he caught it right back in his again.
“Be quiet and stop fighting me.” He lowered his long thick lashes and raked his dark, devilish eyes over the exposed creamy expanse of the tops of her breasts. “Very nice indeed.”
“Jeremiah Huntington! I swear I’m going to twist your balls right this very second!” she hissed, stepping on his toe on purpose.
“Good.” Jeremy buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply. “The more indifferent you are to my charms, my dear brat, the more intriguing you’ll come across. They’re already fascinated by you, Cassie.” He raised his head and swept his gaze about the room. “I can see the Earl of Bristol and the Duke of Kingston hovering, circling like vultures awaiting their prey.”
Cassandra gasped and swiveled her head to look in the same direction he had fixed his eyes on. Two fine-looking gentlemen stood not more than three yards apart and were watching her with interest. She also noticed that many of the ladies were whispering behind their fans and looking their way.
The waltz ended and Jeremy released her gently from his hold, save for her hand. He bent his dark head over her fingers, right there in the middle of the dance floor—in full view of everyone—and planted a warm, lingering kiss on her knuckles.
“Welcome to your first—and last season in London, Cassandra Carlyle,” he whispered with smoldering eyes, before he placed her hand on the crook of his arm and led her back to her mother, who was gaping in shock, and her brother, who looked ready to murder him.
Thankfully, her father stepped in.
“Well done, Jeremy, my boy,” the Viscount beamed. He took Cassie’s hand from Jeremy’s arm and gave the younger man an approving wink.
“I am delighted to have pleased you, Sir,” Jeremy drawled, bestowing her with another syrupy gaze and a devastating crooked smile, before melting away into the crowd, leaving a roomful of whispers and hot speculation in his wake.
Chapter 8
Richard Christopher Radcliffe
Marquess of Sunderland
Almack’s Assembly Rooms
St. James, London
A fortnight later
Richard Christopher Radcliffe, heir to the dukedom of Grandstone, had it all figured out. For the past two weeks, he had worked with his father’s chief steward and solicitors to familiarize himself with the operation of his father’s estates. He had fulfilled his father’s wish for an alliance with the Duke of Glenford, and had announced his betrothal to Glenford’s daughter, Lady Desiree, to bring finality to their arrangement.
He never once faltered in his decision to ask for Desiree’s hand. After all, she was a diamond of the first water—so excruciatingly beautiful that he would be foolish not to agree to the match. Everything was perfect. They were an ideal couple of equal social standing, and with an enormous fortune to their names.
Richard glanced over his shoulder at his betrothed, surrounded by adoring gentlemen who were endlessly showering her with praise. She had been basking in all the male attention for the past hour, while he had been standing here with an empty lemonade glass in his hand.
Hell, but he was bored out of his mind! After their guests left three days following the luncheon, Desiree and her father stayed for another week for the sole purpose of encouraging the two of them to spend time and get to know each other better. It would have been a wonderful idea—if only Desiree had the ability to experience some enjoyment derived from the simple pleasures of country life.
Richard frowned at the thought of the agonizingly long, lackluster week he had with Desiree. She had refused to go with him to the beach for fear of burning her ivory skin under the sun. She had stayed inside the coach and declined to socialize with commoners when he took her to the village to visit some of the tenants. When he asked her to go riding with him, she obliged—but only to let her horse go at a slow trot. He had almost fallen asleep at the saddle by the time they reached the gates of the estate.
As the fourth day of the week rolled by in her company, he had been in such a state of ennui that he felt as restless as a tiger in chains. He was not used to idleness. He was a man who loved to explore nature and pursue several types of sport, testing his physical prowess to its extreme and reveling in the joys of youth.
To relieve his tedium, he had sought out Jeremy at Waterford Park in Cornwall only to be told by Barton, Jeremy’s butler, that he had left for London twelve days earlier. He then proceeded to Rose Hill Manor to call on Allayne and Cassie if they might want to go riding with him along the coast, but Morton, the Rose Hill butler, had told him that the entire family had decided to spend the season in town and closed the door on his face without further ado.
If it were not for his father’s scheduled visit to his physician in the city at the end of the week, he was quite certain he would have pulled his hair out from the monotony and lack of physical activity that his betrothed seemed to favor.
Richard threw another look at Desiree and stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. He would much rather go to White’s with Allayne and Jeremy than stand in this insipid ball that he had allowed her to drag him to.
He decided to stroll about the ballroom, looking for acquaintances that might amuse him with the latest goings-on in parliament. He likewise kept an eye out for Jeremy and Allayne, though, for the life of him, he knew not why they would be interested in attending Almack’s—unless they were looking for their future brides. Both of them would probably hang themselves before getting leg-shackled, he thought in amusement.
The room was a crush, particularly in the direction where he was headed. A large cluster of gentlemen seemed to have congregated together in one spot, transfixed by a single point of interest. The gathering was quite impressive. He recognized a few earls, three marquises and four viscounts, not counting the rest of them that he was not familiar with—who nevertheless exuded the aura of good rank.
He caught sight of the Earl of Bristol and the Duke of Kingston, both men three to four years his senior. Richard blew a sigh of relief. Ah, he’d finally found his group. They were probably discussing some recent important developments on the implementation of new irrigation systems for farmlands. He strolled with enthusiasm towards the men.
“Why, if it isn’t Sunderland.” the Duke of Kingston, a tall, handsome, well-dressed man with blond hair and pale blue eyes, shook his hand.
“Your Grace.” Richard inclined his head at the duke, then, turned to shake the Earl of Bristol’s hand.
“We heard you’ve gotten yourself affianced.” the Earl, a man of average height with brown hair and warm brown eyes said.
“Er, yes,” Richard nodded with slight embarrassment. His recent engagement had become the talk of society ever since the banns had been published in the papers.
“Brilliant match, old chap.” the Duke of Kingston patted him on the shoulder. “My felicitations.”
“And mine,” the earl added with approval.
“Thank you, Your Grace, Lord Bristol.” Richard shifted his gaze towards the other gentlemen in the crowd. “What is the meeting all about? I see half the lords in parliament here.”
The Duke of Kingston chuckled and shook his head. “There’s no meeting, Sunderland. All of us are simply vying for the attention of a very special young lady.”
“Is that a fact?” Richard raised his eyebrow in disbelief and craned his neck over the gentlemen’s heads.
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“You wouldn’t look so skeptical once you see her,” the Earl of Bristol said. “You might even momentarily forget about Lady Desiree, if you’ll pardon my presumptuousness. For this jewel is as beautiful as your betrothed—if not more so, and charmingly witty too.”
Richard snorted. “I doubt it, Bristol,” he said with a sardonic laugh. “If what you say is true, then she must be an angel descended from the heavens who brought her gifts of wisdom for the consumption of mortals. A mere woman cannot embody such perfection.”
“Prepare to be surprised, then.” the Duke jerked his chin towards the middle of the crowd in an invitation for him to view their subject.
“Very well,” Richard inclined his head in acceptance and wove his way through the group of men.
The first thing he saw was a glimpse of red-gold hair. It shone beneath the lights of the chandeliers and cascaded in loose ringlets from the top of her head down to her nape, snaking into a mass of silky curls on the side of her neck before disappearing over her shoulder.
Richard felt the sudden urge to twine his fingers into the rich, gleaming locks and bury his nose in its softness. Who was this woman who held captive such an impressive audience?
Intrigued, he pushed his way closer.
From where he stood behind her, the elegant line of her neck came into view, tapering onto feminine shoulders exposed for male appreciation by the scoop neckline of her dress. The same neckline plummeted several inches at the back to display the gentle curve of her spine. Richard followed the slight indentation the column made on her back, from the base of her hairline to the place where her dress concealed the rest of its length. Her skin was smooth and glowing with health, neither pale nor white, but with subtle tones of peaches and cream, which made it apparent, she loved spending a little time under the sun.
His interest peaked.
He shouldered his way to the front where he might behold her face. His build and his height gave him the advantage he sought to carve his place among the worshipping men.