Too Many Matchmakers

by Allison Lane

  “You must help me,” she begged. “Flirt with Miss Parker. Convince her to release Lord Eastbrook from that absurd betrothal.”

  “What?” He recoiled, leaving her hand dangling in space.

  “Please? George is the man of my dreams. He is exactly the husband I need – kind, considerate, sober-minded. He shares both my love of the country and my disgust of London society. I love him, my lord. That betrothal is something his father dreamed up seventeen years ago – it is ridiculous that parents can be so feudal in this day and age!”

  He grimaced. Sophia was old-fashioned herself, when it suited her. “He signed the settlements after reaching his majority,” he reminded her, revealing that he had already checked on the match.

  “He was forced! He didn’t even know her! For heaven’s sake, she was only eleven at the time. Now he is trapped. He is far too proper to back out.”

  Propriety had nothing to do with it, of course. No gentleman could break a betrothal if he ever wished to be received again. “Encouraging you to form an unsuitable attachment does not sound at all proper. And you know this is unsuitable, Lady Sophia. Betrothals are binding. Turn your eyes to eligible gentlemen.”

  “I can’t.” Tears glistened, one of them trickling down her cheek. “Why should a betrothal be binding for men and not for women? George was barely ten when it was proposed, and Miss Parker only a babe. But their parents insist on it, though she will make him miserable.”

  “Sophia—” he warned, but she refused to listen.

  “He needs a wife who can share his interests. Miss Parker is far too wild. You wouldn’t believe the radical ideas she has picked up from that awful Lady Bounty! She actually claims it would be fun to explore the wilds of America or heathenish lands like Egypt and China. And she lacks any hint of decorum. I saw her galloping in Hyde Park only yesterday!”

  “Control yourself,” he ordered sharply. “Do you wish to become the latest on-dit?” The refreshment room was empty at the moment, but that would not remain true for long. The day had been unusually warm. Someone was bound to come in search of lemonade.

  She sighed. “Forgive me. The way they manipulate George is criminal. He will be miserable – and she will surely be just as unhappy.”

  “If they wish to end their betrothal, they can do so merely by speaking with their parents,” he pointed out.

  “But George would never consider it. He is far too proper.”

  “If he is so proper, why has he discussed his displeasure with you?”

  “Of course he has never put it into words! That would be quite—”

  “—improper,” he finished for her. “So what makes you think he wants to terminate his betrothal – or that he would turn to you if he did?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “I just know. We have often talked at length – he dislikes dancing, though he is obligated to escort the Parkers to balls. He is irritated by Miss Parker’s persistent flirtations, wishing she was of a more sober mien. He pays lip service to her parents’ claim that she is merely enjoying her introduction to society, but I know he does not really believe it.”

  Nicholas bit back a sarcastic retort. How had he gotten himself into this mess? Sophia was usually rigidly proper, but her parents’ pressure had made her desperate. Did Eastbrook have any feelings for her, or was she imagining him as a white knight because she was so eager to escape Langley?

  He frowned. There was a darker explanation for her behavior. Sooner or later, most girls developed a tendre for one of society’s rogues. No one knew that better than a man who had been the recipient of more than his share of coming looks. Only his bleak prospects had spared him from worse. Was Sophia attracted to Charles? Not that she would ever admit it, for he was the antithesis of what she claimed to want. But she was now in a position to win that prize. By pursuing a man who was unavailable, she could drift through the Season without another offer, then tearfully accept Charles in the end.

  Not that it mattered. Whether she truly cared for Eastbrook or was simply using him to win Langley was irrelevant. He could not get involved with Miss Parker. The girl had grown up expecting this match, and had probably convinced herself that she loved Eastbrook. Flirtation could only hurt her.

  “I will have nothing to do with Miss Parker,” he announced firmly.

  “But you must!” Again that entreating hand touched his arm.

  “Absolutely not. Have you considered what jilting Eastbrook would mean to her? Aside from tarnishing her reputation – if not outright ruining it – she and I would both be harmed if we did not immediately wed.”

  She frowned. “I had not considered that, though she seems far more suited to be your wife than George’s.”

  “No.” He set his face into an intimidating glare. “I have no intention of setting up my nursery just yet.”

  “But everyone claims you are looking for a wife.”

  “My mother’s doing. She has been pressing since I came into the title. Her mistake was in wanting a grandchild so badly that she convinced herself that I agreed,” he lied. “Are you making the same mistake? Eastbrook has never admitted that he is dissatisfied or that you are more than a friend.”

  “Just because his manners are impeccable does not mean that he likes his situation. I know him far better than you think. He may not have admitted it, but he loves me just as much as I love him.”

  He sighed. “Perhaps I can talk to the Parkers,” he agreed at last. “If their daughter is unhappy, they might reconsider.”

  “Thank you.” Both hands now gripped his arm. He could feel the excitement thrumming through her fingers, and it gave him pause. Perhaps she really did love Eastbrook.

  “No guarantees,” he said soothingly, covering her hands as he loosened her fingers. “You may have to accept his betrothal.” Pressing a cousinly kiss to her forehead, he turned to go.

  His eyes clashed with Diana’s. She stood just inside the doorway, the hint of a smile curling one side of her mouth. That half-smile had always weakened his knees, and today was no different. Lust was becoming a constant companion.

  Anger followed. She was a witch. She had to be. How else could she continue to attract him long after he had learned to despise her for leading him astray? Their dance had been infuriating. An hour later he could still feel her breasts pressed into his chest.

  Her sensuous mouth widened into a full-blown smile before she turned away to accept a glass of lemonade from a footman. His hand trembled – with fury, he assured himself grimly. She had deliberately provoked him. Driving him crazy was her way of retaliating.

  Well, it wouldn’t work. He would be leaving in the morning for the Harrisons’ house party. Perhaps when it was over, he would visit Meadowbrook. It wasn’t far away, but he had not checked its condition since acceding to the title. His secretary claimed that all was well, but he preferred to see for himself.

  * * * *

  Diana nearly choked on a very unladylike gulp of lemonade. So the rumors were true. And Nicholas had stuck to his vow. Now that he needed a wife, he was pursuing the wealthiest heiress. She almost felt sorry for him. He would be miserable with Lady Sophia, who in five Seasons had gained a reputation for sharp-tongued disapproval. But in light of his heartless pursuit of money and power, he deserved no better.

  And she didn’t care. His life had nothing to do with her.

  Yet the image of that parting kiss – reasonably chaste in deference to the audience of servants – was burned into her mind.

  She needed to get away for a few days – especially since Lady Hardesty was determined to throw her into Nicholas’s company. For some reason, seeing him was resurrecting all her old reactions – purely from habit, of course. A week would allow her to reassert control. And a short holiday would spare her from watching him make a fool of himself.

  But she was not running away, she insisted, appalled at the direction her thoughts had taken. Never before had a Season weighed so heavily on her shoulders. Usually she thrived in town, mixin
g light entertainment with the stimulating discussions favored by her closest friends. But this year she could not relax. Nicholas moved in the same circles, so she never knew where she would find him. Even such innocuous activities as shopping did not spare her from his company. And every meeting resurrected the pain of his cruelty. Since revealing that would award him more importance than he deserved, she fought a constant battle to keep her face indifferent. Success required that she expect him around every corner. The strain was too much.

  Finishing the lemonade, she returned to the ballroom. Perhaps she should accept Lady Harrison’s invitation after all. A house party would provide enough time to regain her equilibrium.

  It would also let her keep a friendly eye on Chloe. The girl had been flirting with Langley again. Nothing could come of her growing tendre, so it was best to sever the connection. So far the Parkers remained ignorant – but only because Lady Parker had spent the last week recovering from a chill. A few days in the country would let her talk some sense into the girl.

  She tried to devise a way to make Chloe see reason, but her mind kept returning to that image of Nicholas kissing Lady Sophia. Was he really courting her?

  His raking grew more scandalous every day. He had abandoned all restraint and was making little effort to conceal his liaisons. Some of the higher sticklers were already looking at him askance. Was this the behavior of a man ready to settle down?

  She doubted it. Yet his attentions to Lady Sophia had to be serious. She was not his usual target for seduction. The rest might be no more than a last wild fling before marriage. He could even be using indiscriminate sex to balance having to ingratiate himself to someone so straight-laced. Not that it mattered.

  Putting him out of her mind, she went in search of the hostess. It was time to go home.

  * * * *

  Nicholas paused in the shadow of a potted palm, sighing in relief as Mrs. Turkell gave up the pursuit and forced her daughter onto Lord Rufton. None of his goals had been reached tonight. He’d found no gentleman who might interest Sophia. After their chat, he had hoped to speak with Miss Parker to determine her thoughts on her betrothal, but she was again escorted by a rigidly proper mother. Not only did that prevent him from approaching her, but her apparent contentment cast doubt on Sophia’s claims.

  “You must help me convince dear Diana not to leave so early,” declared Lady Hardesty, making him jump in surprise.

  “Perhaps she has a headache,” he suggested, cursing himself for allowing the woman to sneak up on him. He was the one who ought to leave. Dodging the machinations of multiple matchmakers drained any enjoyment he might have derived from the evening. Contacting Miss Parker was best postponed until the Harrisons’ house party.

  “Nonsense. Take the girl out and dance with her – or would you prefer to partner Miss Willowby,” she added, nodding toward the approaching lady.

  “We’ll dance.” He dragged Diana onto the floor. Damn! Another waltz. But at least he had escaped the Willowby chit.

  “Shouldn’t you at least have asked me?” she snapped, fury plain in her eyes.

  “Take pity on me, Diana,” he begged. “Miss Willowby would find a way to drag me outside, where her mother would appear and scream compromise.”

  “Have you no will of your own?”

  “I thought so until tonight. Lady Hardesty is nearly as bad as Mrs. Willowby.”

  “Hardly. She creates opportunities, but does not use force. If you fear her so much, why go along with her?”

  “Perhaps I enjoy playing with fire,” he responded lightly, relaxing into social repartee.

  “That would account for the frequency with which your liaisons have entertained society’s drawing rooms of late,” she agreed. “Mrs. Drummond-Burrell’s brows disappeared into her hair when Lady Beatrice revealed your carriage mishap the other night.”

  “That incident has been grossly exaggerated,” he swore, hiding chagrin. Unfortunately, it hadn’t. He had been accompanying Lady Alston home when her carriage had partially overturned in Berkeley Square. She had tumbled out, her hair in disarray and her gown pushed down to expose her breasts. Despite the late hour, several gentlemen had witnessed the scene. And not all of them had had their eyes glued to her bosom when Nicholas slipped out of sight.

  He twirled Diana into a dizzy sequence of turns, cursing himself for succumbing to Lady Alston’s advances. He felt unclean.

  “Or do you give in to Lady Hardesty because you know you are safe with me?” she demanded, apparently not caring that he had been caught in an embarrassing indiscretion.

  “Neither,” he snapped, unaccountably hurt. “The lady is as devious as any other matchmaker. I plan to avoid her in the future.”

  “Scared?” she taunted, her smile clearly malicious.

  “Never.” He smiled back. “As disinterested as ever, my dear. And far too old to succumb to implied dares.” He noted a flash of pain in her eyes and again cursed. He hadn’t meant to hurt her.

  “I issued no dares, implied or otherwise. Inferring one can only be a defense against admitting that I don’t care.”

  This was clearly getting out of hand, he decided, setting aside his anger. Adopting a glare to hide his own pain, he quitted the conversation. He should not have danced with her again. And he certainly should not be raging with lust. But lust was inevitable just now. He ran into her nearly everywhere he went, keeping his nerves on edge and giving him no chance to regain his composure. A few days of calm would restore his balance. Thank God he was leaving town in the morning.

  Diana suppressed a shudder as his hand burned into her waist. Every reaction to his touch irritated her more. No wonder she was turning into a sharp-tongued shrew. How else could she protect herself from his wiles?

  She cursed Lady Hardesty. In the past, the woman’s antics had been mildly amusing, but no more. She was becoming dangerous. Thank God for the Harrisons. They offered the perfect chance to escape both of her problems for a few days.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “They hate me!” Chloe waved her arms as she paced Diana’s room at Harrison Court.

  Diana sighed. Her maid had barely finished unpacking before Chloe rushed into the room in near hysterics. She still didn’t know what had happened – and wouldn’t until she could calm Chloe enough so the girl made sense.

  “Of course your parents don’t hate you,” she said soothingly. “They only want what is best for you.”

  “Ha!” Tears trembled on her lashes. “If they cared, they would never force me to wed a man who will make me miserable.”

  “Sit down.” Handing Chloe the tea she had not had time to drink, she waited. By the time the cup was empty, the girl had calmed. “Now, tell me what has overset you.”

  Chloe dabbed at her eyes. “Papa rode down from London, so Mama and I were alone in the carriage. I told her that I disliked George and asked that the betrothal be set aside so that I could find a more congenial husband. You would have thought I had admitted to murder. She ranted and raved for the rest of the journey. George has every virtue known to man. I am displaying too many vices. But they will forgive me, as I am suffering from wedding nerves, which makes me incapable of rational thought. Forgiveness is conditional, of course. I must set aside my fears and thank them for providing such a responsible husband.”

  Diana sighed. “That was not a very good place to begin an argument. You knew you would be confined for at least two hours.”

  “Which was why I chose it. I thought that would give me time to convince her. She usually ignores anything I say. If I persist, she either sets me some urgent task or recalls a chore needing her attention.”

  “You still have much to learn about people, Chloe. That is not a criticism,” she added, cutting off an indignant protest. “I was just as ignorant at your age.” She paused to swallow a sudden lump. If only she had known more when she’d met Nicholas. But it was Harry who had taught her about human nature.

  “What don’t I understand?”


  Diana sighed. “George is a sober, responsible gentleman who cares for little beyond his estate – exactly like your father. Your parents’ match was arranged, but your mother has grown to love him. Why would she expect you to respond differently?”

  Chloe wiped a tear from her eye. “I should have figured that out, especially since Mama believes that I am exactly like her. But our argument did not end the discussion. The moment we arrived, Mama told Papa that I was being missish, and he threatened to fetch a special license if I did not behave myself. He wants to be rid of me as quickly as possible.” She broke into sobs, burying her face in Diana’s shoulder.

  “Hardly. He wants to see you settled. And he despises scandal. Jilting George would cause scandal – and would call his judgment into question for arranging the match. Unless you can produce very convincing evidence that George is a frivolous loose screw who is both dishonest and dishonorable, he will never consider voiding your betrothal.”

  “Then what am I to do? I won’t wed George.”

  “He is a decent man, Chloe. Have you given him a chance? Are you sure that your disillusionment doesn’t arise from your parents’ pressure?”

  “I’m not an ignorant child!” she spat, recoiling from Diana’s side. “Are you turning against me, too?”

  “Of course not!” She paused to control her temper. Chloe was too upset to think rationally, but one of them must stay calm. “I am merely trying to decide what to do. Is George really so impossible?”

  “More than impossible!” She made a visible effort to rein in her emotions. “He is far worse than Papa. Dull. Boring. Stupid. And he thinks I am an infant.”

  “If you treated him to one of your temper tantrums, that is hardly surprising.” A raised hand stopped Chloe’s protest. “You know that you are prone to emotional outbursts.” She gestured to the door, reminding her of her entrance only a quarter hour past.

  “But I am usually restrained. With you, I can be myself, because you understand and accept me.”