He knew exactly what Talbot meant. The man liked breasts as big as melons.
“And her eldest brother, the Marquess of Huntington, is rolling in money.” The grin on Talbot’s face widened.
Indeed. Lady Nina Trent would be perfect. He liked the woman, and he’d bet his last coin that Huntington would offer a sizable dowry. The funds would help solve his financial woes and allow him to not only make repairs to his derelict properties but give his sister, Meg, the come out she deserved next year. Yes, Lady Nina might be the answer to all his problems.
“Aren’t her brother and sister-in-law hosting a ball next week?” Talbot asked, taking a pen and writing something in the thick tome before tossing it on a table.
Elliot laced his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Yes, and I’m attending. So Lady Nina it is.”
“I don’t know, Elliot. Even if you win her over, her brother might object to the match. Some say Lord Avalon proposed last year, and Huntington didn’t allow her to accept the offer.”
Not true. Elliot’s cousin Victoria had sworn him to secrecy. Nina had accepted the earl’s proposal, but before the family announced it, she’d found out the man had a pretty French mistress in Paris. “Everyone knows Avalon is a cad.”
Talbot’s bark of laughter sounded like a small explosion. “And you aren’t? You better convince the chit that you love her, or her brother will never let you wed the girl. Huntington dotes on his wife and feels only a love match will do for his sister.”
A love match? What rubbish. There was no such thing. His own parents had resided in separate homes. It was a miracle he and Meg had ever been conceived. His grandparents’ marriage had been worse. They’d needed to reside in separate countries.
Another roll of thunder shook the walls of the townhouse. A piece of the ceiling’s plaster landed on the floor with a thump.
“Bloody hell!” Talbot stood and brushed the flecks of plaster off his clothes.
Elliot released a slow breath. Before this blasted townhouse came crashing down around him, he’d convince Lady Nina to wed him.
* * * *
Sitting in the drawing room of her family’s Park Lane residence, Lady Nina Trent tried not to say a word as Grandmother lectured her. Arguing with the woman would only cause the matriarch to repeat everything she’d said in an elevated voice. The best way to contend with this situation was to remain as quiet as a church mouse until the sermon concluded.
“Are you listening to me, child?” The old woman thumped her cane.
“Of course, Grandmother.” Nina forced a sugar-infused smile.
Nina’s eldest brother, James, had always said Grandmother lived by three rules: God, country, but most of all, honor to the Trent Family name. In Grandmother’s eyes, her grandchildren had botched the latter. Though James, once known as the Murdering Marquess, had redeemed himself, her brother Anthony had not. He gambled too much, drank too much, and fornicated too much. And Nina’s broken betrothal to that bounder Lord Avalon had only added to the old woman’s displeasure.
“I heard a new whisper of scandal regarding you.”
Nina’s gaze narrowed on the woman like a hawk spotting a field mouse. A cold chill moved down her spine. “What is being said?”
“That Avalon decided not to propose to you because of some character flaw you possess.” Grandmother’s hand tightened around the gold knob of her cane as if she wished to thrash something with it.
“That is balderdash. He did propose.” Though it had not been publicly announced yet. “I ended the engagement, and I am not the one with a character flaw. That cad is. Hopefully, such an untruth will die in the wind.”
“Or it might pick up speed and sweep through the ton with the intensity of a gale force. If that happens, then your chances of making a good match will wither away. I wish you’d overlooked Avalon’s shortcomings and married the earl.”
Shortcomings? Is that what Grandmother called them? The man had professed his undying love to Nina until she’d found out he had a mistress—a very pregnant mistress.
“I refuse to marry a man who intends to keep a paramour.” Nina squeezed her hand so tight, her nails bit into her palm.
“Some married men keep a mistress.”
“Then I pity their wives.” Nina was sure Grandmother knew why she hated adulterous men. Her father had been unfaithful, and her mother had spent her life collecting more heartache than any woman should have to endure while dealing with her philandering husband.
Grandmother thumped her cane again. “It is your duty to stem the flow of gossip. You have a responsibility to not only the Trent family name but to your brother James.”
A stab of guilt poked at Nina. James had recently crawled out of his own pit of gossip and reestablished himself as a prominent member of the nobility.
“You don’t want to hurt his renewed standing in society, do you?”
She didn’t. She loved James. He’d not only been a brother, but a father to her and she wanted to please him more than anyone else in this world.
Grandmother leaned forward, and her light gray eyes pinned Nina. “The Duke of Fernbridge has recently arrived in London and is looking for a wife. If you were to marry a man of such high standing, it would disavow any whispers that taint your name. You need to set things right. You owe that much to your brother.”
* * * *
From where Nina stood behind a potted fern, she surveyed the Duke of Fernbridge. The man possessed the blondest hair she’d ever seen—like a halo it almost glowed under the string of lanterns and moonlight on her brother’s terrace. She parted two leaves to get a better look.
Though not classically handsome, his features were striking.
Since her conversation with Grandmother, she’d found out more about the gentleman. He was twenty-seven, didn’t run with a fast crowd, rarely gambled, and didn’t keep a mistress.
“What are you looking at, Poppet?” a deep, masculine voice asked.
Like a mouse cornered by a cat, Nina squeaked and spun around.
Lord Elliot Ralston favored her with a lackadaisical smile.
The man was a scoundrel of the highest order, perhaps even more wicked than Nina’s shameful sibling Anthony—a hard feat indeed. He was the type of man a sagacious woman should never choose for her husband—even if his dark wavy hair and deep blue eyes made him more visually appealing than any other man of her acquaintance.
She opened her mouth to chastise him for startling her. “Lord Ralston—”
“Eyeing the Duke of Fernbridge?”
“I wasn’t eyeing him.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
His smile broadened. “Do you realize that when you lie your cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink?”
Nina fought the urge to deny it, but she could feel the warmth flooding her face. “What concern is it of yours?” Her words came out a bit sharper than she wished. Ralston possessed an odd ability to turn her normally serene mood tempestuous.
“I’ve known you since you and my cousin Victoria became friends. How long has that been, five years?” He arched a brow.
Nearly six. And she could still remember the way her fifteen-year-old heart had leaped the first time she’d met Ralston. He’d stepped into the room where she and Victoria had been playing a duet on the piano. His bespoke clothing had accentuated his impressive physique. He’d leaned close to her to turn the page of the music sheet, and she’d gotten a whiff of his scent—a mixture of soap and vetiver. The same pleasant scent that presently filled her nose.
“Nina?” His silky, deep voice pulled her from her thoughts.
She blinked. What had he asked her? Ah, if they’d known each other for about five years. “Yes, about that amount of time,” she agreed, though she knew it longer.
He placed his index finger under her chin and tipped her head back, bringin
g her gaze to his. “In that time, we’ve become friends, so I want to make sure you get what you want.”
“And what do you believe I want?” she asked.
He jerked his chin in the direction of the Duke of Fernbridge. “I presume like so many other women this season you want an introduction to that milksop.”
Milksop? Perhaps the duke didn’t possess Ralston’s urbane manners or breath-stopping looks, which caused women to risk society’s wrath and make complete cakes of themselves, but Fernbridge was the type of man she wished to marry. Trustworthy and—
“Safe?” Ralston said.
The man really possessed the uncanny ability to know what she was thinking. It was unsettling, to say the least. Ralston was a warlock. “Better to marry a man like Fernbridge who is steadfast than a scoundrel like you.”
He theatrically set his hand over his heart. “You wound me.”
Doubtful. Ralston possessed a conscience as impenetrable as a suit of armor being prodded by a feather. He flirted with women to several degrees beyond what propriety dictated, then after they fell like toppling lawn pins, the black-hearted devil moved on to his next conquest.
“I went to university with the man, and I know exactly what he wants in a wife, and you are too free-spirited for him. He’d do better to marry someone like my cousin Victoria.”
Victoria? No, that wouldn’t do. Victoria was as sweet as a petit four and just as cute, but Grandmother was right, Fernbridge would be perfect for Nina. Marrying him would stifle any vicious gossip and please James. “I disagree.”
“Sweeting, do you really wish to be with a man who still prefers country dances to the waltz? Whose idea of excitement is hunting with his hounds?” He spoke in a low voice. “Who’s in bed by nine o’clock? And most likely without his wife.”
The heat already flooding her face traveled to her ears. Beyond the pale for Ralston to mention such things.
“You don’t want to marry a man as dull as unpolished silver, do you?” Ralston’s blue eyes held her gaze as he stepped even closer. So close, his breath touched her lips.
If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was trying some of his womanizing sorcery on her. But he didn’t dally with those looking for a husband. Widows were more to his liking.
She glanced over her shoulder and peered through the fronds to where Fernbridge still conversed with Lord Pendleton. Most likely, Ralston was trying to discourage her, so his cousin could become a duchess. It would explain the reason he was paying her so much attention. He probably hoped to distract her, so Victoria could swoop in. Didn’t he know his cousin was sick and wouldn’t be attending tonight?
“It sounds like a very comfortable existence,” she replied.
“Comfortable existence? Don’t you mean dreadfully dreary?” Ralston arched a brow.
In truth, life with Fernbridge did sound rather dull, but wasn’t that what she wanted? A reserved man who would be faithful. Someone different than Lord Avalon who’d professed his undying love while sharing his mistress’s bed. And though her brother James would not want her to marry a man she didn’t love, she knew he would be pleased if she chose someone sensible like Fernbridge, and Grandmother would be ecstatic.
“The gentleman spends all his time rusticating in the country,” Ralston said.
“What is wrong with that? I favor reading and horseback riding. I’d have more time to do so.”
“Darling, there can be more to do than either of those activities once one is married.” The curve of his lips left no doubt as to what he meant.
Scandalous man.
“Very well, I see there is no dissuading you. Do you wish for an introduction?”
“Yes, would you present me?”
“Of course, anything for you, Poppet.”
When younger, she’d enjoyed him calling her by that nickname, now it grated on her nerves. “Must you call me that? I’m nearly twenty-one.”
“Practically on the shelf.” He grinned and offered her his arm.
The man irritated her to no end, yet as they moved across the flagstone terrace an unsettling sensation crept over her. Ralston probably had such an effect on all women. It was the way he smiled with his sensual lips, along with the way his blue eyes held your gaze as if you were the only woman in the room. Nina gave herself a mental slap. Victoria had revealed one too many stories about her cousin’s womanizing exploits. The rogue had probably perfected his seductive expression at a young age while peering at his reflection in a mirror.
As they crossed the terrace, Lord Pendleton who’d been conversing with the duke strolled away.
“Fernbridge, old chum, how are you?” Ralston asked, shaking the other gentleman’s hand.
The two men looked like night and day. Fernbridge was blond with a fair complexion, while Ralston’s brown hair verged near black and his skin was a warmer sun-kissed shade, as if he’d recently spent time outdoors.
As Ralston made the introductions, the Duke of Fernbridge took her gloved hand in his. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Nina.”
“I hope you are enjoying London, Your Grace.” Nina offered her most congenial smile.
He wrinkled his nose. “I must admit I’m anxious to return to the country. These late London hours take some getting used to.”
From the corner of her eye, she noticed the I-told-you-so curve of Ralston’s mouth.
“It’s only ten o’clock, Fernbridge. The merriment is just getting underway,” Ralston said.
His grace released a slow breath as if the thought of staying up a minute longer weighed heavily on his shoulders, and in truth, they were nice shoulders. Not as broad as Ralston’s but impressive, and he stood close to six feet, a couple of inches shorter than the scoundrel standing next to her.
Fernbridge possessed a round, pleasant face. His eyes were a pale shade of gray as if watered down, and his blond hair tended to curl at the ends. He looked like an angel in comparison to Ralston.
Yet, her stomach didn’t flutter when she looked at him, but Nina realized compatibility and genuine regard could grow between two people once married. Loving someone left one vulnerable to heartache. Hadn’t she witnessed that firsthand watching her mother? Though like her mother, Nina seemed to have a propensity to gravitate toward scoundrels. She’d proven that last season when she’d fallen for Avalon. Now she wanted a man who would be steadfast.
Nina pitched her distracting thoughts away. “Your Grace, since arriving in Town have you taken in any plays?”
“No. Not yet.” He turned to Ralston. “How went the hunting season in Hampshire?”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t gone hunting in some time.”
“If I recall correctly, you’re a dashed good trap shooter.” Fernbridge frowned.
Ralston gave a weak smile, but something in his expression seemed odd. “Yes, but I’ve not engaged in the sport lately.”
The musicians struck up the first song of the evening, and Nina glanced through the French doors to the orchestra.
“Ah, a waltz,” Ralston said. “Might I have this dance, Lady Nina?”
She wanted to kick him in the shin. She’d hoped Fernbridge would ask her. She tried not to grit her teeth as she forced a smile. “Of course, my lord.”
“If you’ll excuse us, Fernbridge.” Ralston offered his arm.
As they strode inside, she narrowed her eyes at him.
“I told you he doesn’t waltz,” he said, once again reading her thoughts. He leaned close. “Do you know that the best way to snag a man is to make him realize you are a prize catch? Especially a man like Fernbridge, who enjoys the hunt. You are going about this the wrong way, darling. If you seem too readily available, he’s less apt to be interested.”
What was he saying? That she could win Fernbridge’s eye if he thought someone else was also vying for her hand? Surely, Ralston didn
’t mean he was willing to play the role of a gallant suitor to make Fernbridge more interested. “Are you offering to play the faux competition?”
Ralston cringed like the idea was distasteful, then a slow smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Why not? It might be entertaining. Yes, I’ll sacrifice myself for the good of the cause.”
“Sacrifice? I always thought you a smooth talker. Now I’m wondering what’s your appeal.”
As they reached the dance floor, he set his warm hand to her back and pulled her close. As he spun her into the flow of those moving in tandem to the music, he whispered, “It’s not the way I talk to a woman, darling. It’s something much more wicked.”
About the Author
Renee Ann Miller writes sexy historical romances. She’s a 2015 and 2016 finalist in the prestigious Golden Heart Contest® from Romance Writers of America®. Renee loves romantic stories, excessive amounts of chocolate, and gardening. She lives in the Northeast with her wonderful husband.
You can find out more about Renee and the stories she’s working on at www.Reneeannmiller.com and connect with her on twitter @reneeannmiller.
Never Dare A Wicked Earl
They are the infamous lords, unrepentant rogues whose bad behavior makes for good gossip among the ton. But these sexy scoundrels have stories no one knows. And it takes a special touch to reveal the true hearts behind their devilish disguises…
Known as a brazen philanderer, Hayden Milton, Earl of Westfield, is almost done in by a vengeful mistress who aims a gun at a rather essential part of his anatomy—but ends up wounding his thigh instead. Recuperating in his London townhouse, Hayden is confronted by his new medical attendant. Sophia Camden intrigues him, for behind her starched uniform is an enticing beauty better suited for bedding than dispensing salves and changing bandages.
Unshaken by his arrogance, not to mention impropriety, Sophia offers Hayden a dare: allow her ten days to prove her competency. If she resigns in exasperation like her two predecessors, she will be beholden to this wicked seducer. As a battle of wills begins, Sophia finds herself distracted by the earl’s muscular physique…and discovers that the man within longs only for a second chance to love.
The Taming of Lord Scrooge Page 10