He’d liked the firm contours of her waist beneath his fingers. This time, he would twirl her as he had earlier, holding her closer so that her legs would press his. His mind snapped to attention. She was smiling at the viscount again. She had seemed such an innocent, it hadn’t occurred to him that she might have learned how to wield her feminine wiles with such skill. The viscount’s smile broadened. Was the wench flirting with him? She knew she was coming to the ball to meet the man she was supposed to marry. Yet she was looking at Seton as if he were the only man on the dancefloor.
***
The cotillion ended and Lucy allowed the viscount to escort her off the floor. She scanned the nearby guests. Where was Chastity? The one time she needed her older sister and she wasn’t in sight. She dared not look back to see if Baron Delny was headed in her direction. He would have to escort his partner to her place among the guests before he could seek her out for their second dance. Maybe he didn’t want to dance with her. What had he meant by his comment on the dancefloor? She had a feeling he didn’t like her dancing with other men. But why?
She and the viscount reached a group of young women and halted.
He bent over Lucy’s hand. “Thank you for the dance, my lady.”
She angled her head in thanks and expected him to release her hand. To her horror, he held on for another two heartbeats before letting go. His gaze locked with hers and she startled at the way his eyes darkened. She’d seen men look at Chastity and Olivia that way. Desire. Her stomach soured. She was looking forward to learning about the pleasures of being in a man’s arms, but she found the viscount strangely repellent. Baron Delny stepped up beside her. She groaned inwardly. Why was he here? He clearly didn’t like her.
“I believe I have the next dance, my lady.” His attention shifted to the viscount, and Lucy became aware of a strange tension between the two men. “Seton,” the baron said.
“Delny.” The viscount’s tone sent a chill down Lucy’s arms.
Quinn held out his hand and she placed her palm upon his, then he led her toward the dancefloor.
Out of earshot of the viscount, he said, “Is that the sort of man you want to marry?”
Lucy snapped her head up and met his gaze. “What?”
“You said you weren’t a husband-hunting woman. Yet you smiled at him.”
She narrowed her eyes. “God have mercy upon my soul. I committed the cardinal sin of smiling at a man.”
He frowned, but was prevented from replying for they’d reached the dancefloor and the orchestra began playing a country dance. They joined the dancers, backs facing into the circle. Lucy waited as the woman to her left stepped forward then turned to face her. Lucy stepped to the side in time with the music, then halted in front of the woman and curtsied. They clasped hands and turned. Lucy began dancing lessons at age six, and could perform the steps in her sleep.
She glimpsed Baron Delny taking a turn with a petite red-headed woman. His eyes met Lucy’s and she jerked them away as she separated from her partner. Even the brief look told her he was still angry, though she didn’t understand why smiling at another man should anger him. When they’d left the refreshments room, she had been certain he harbored no interest in marrying her. Now, he behaved as if they were betrothed and she’d cuckolded him.
They twirled and switched partners, and the baron grasped her hands as they danced to the left at the end of the line. They separated, then grasped hands again and danced between the other dancers.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he whispered.
They separated, danced between other dancers, then came together again. “I have no answer for you, sir. Your question is not only ridiculous, it is impertinent.”
“Impertinent?” he repeated, then turned and danced around a woman, before he rejoined Lucy. “Did you not attend this ball with the intention of meeting your betrothed?”
“You do not want to marry me,” she retorted.
Her fingers tightened in his. He jerked his gaze onto their joined hands. She was right—or she had been right. Bloody hell, what had gotten into him? He had no intentions of marrying, despite Stirling’s threats and even his possible disappointment. He couldn’t bear to hurt the man who’d stood by him with more determination and caring than many blood brothers did. Still, Quinn hadn’t intended on marrying the girl. Why, then, did he care who she danced with?
A mental picture flashed of Viscount Seton waltzing with Lucy, holding her close, and Quinn’s jaw tensed. Bloody hell, Lucy couldn’t be more than eighteen—maybe seventeen. He didn’t bed virgins. The women he dallied with were full grown temptresses who knew what they wanted. Some were more beautiful than Lucy. Nae, that was a lie. He’d never known a woman more beautiful.
Quinn danced around another woman and cast a covert glance at Lucy as she made a turn around the Earl of Ellington. The man was nearing forty and looking for a wife. What could he, a wealthy nobleman, want with the fourth daughter of a duke? Quinn knew exactly what the earl would want with an innocent like Lady Lucy. Quinn didn’t seduce virgins—that was something Stirling had impressed upon him. Even his father frowned upon debauching innocents. But most men didn’t hold with such morals.
Lucy dipped in a curtsy to the earl and Quinn caught the flick of the man’s eyes to her breasts. Watching her on the dancefloor was driving him mad. He had to get her away where they could speak alone. He shook his head to clear it. What was he thinking? Get her alone? He didn’t want to be alone with her to make love to her—well, that wasn’t true either. He very badly wanted to make love to her. More than that, however, he wanted to remove her from the wolves that were waiting to ravage such a beautiful girl.
Where was her sister, the negligent chaperone?
He and Lucy were paired again. She kept her eyes on his chest. Guilt burrowed deep. He’d hurt her. God help him, he was a fool.
The dance ended and Lucy maintained a stubborn silence as he led her from the dancefloor. He caught sight of Stirling and Lady Chastity near a grouping of potted palms. A small measure of relief eased the tension in his shoulders. They would protect her from the wolves. Then he realized the next wolf was probably the man who had reserved her next dance. His temples began to throb. He would not survive this night.
They reached Stirling and Lady Chastity, and Lucy said. “I am tired, Chastity. Do you mind if we return home?”
The elder sister frowned. “Are you ill?”
Lucy gave a small smile. “Nae. It is just a lot of excitement. I have danced five dances in a row.”
Lady Chastity nodded. “I will find Papa and our sisters.”
“No need,” Stirling said. “I will find your father and sisters. Quinn will see you two home.”
“There is no need,” Lady Chastity began, but Stirling cut her off.
“Your father entrusted Quinn and I with your safety.”
“You might as well give in, Lady Chastity,” Quinn said. “When Stirling makes a decision, there is no changing his mind.”
“We do not need him to make decisions for us. Our coachman will take us home,” she said.
“What of your sisters?” Stirling asked. “How will they get back to Gledstone? Be sensible, Lady Chastity. Quinn can take you in his carriage. I will make sure your father knows you have gone.” Her mouth thinned and he added, “You will be there to chaperone, my lady. Quinn will be a perfect gentleman—just as he was with Lady Lucy. Right Quinn?”
Quinn resisted an urge to glance at Lucy, who stared at the floor. Some gentleman he’d been. The lass would never speak to him again. A man appeared at Lucy’s side. It took Quinn an instant to recognize the Marquess of Kinlow.
The marquess bowed to Chastity. “Lady Chastity. You are looking fine, as always.”
She curtsied. “Thank you, my lord.”
The marquess scanned the men. “Stirling, Delny.” He faced Lucy. “My lady, I believe the next dance is mine.”
Quinn started. The Marquess of Kinlow wanted to dance w
ith the fourth daughter of a duke? The orchestra began playing a waltz. A waltz was never played more than once at a soirée. How—
Quinn turned hard eyes onto the marquess. “Interesting that the orchestra is playing another waltz.”
The man frowned. “What?”
“Lady Crawford never allows a waltz to be played more than once at one of her parties.”
Kinlow arched a dark brow. “You must be mistaken.”
Quinn gave him a cold smile. “I am rarely mistaken.”
The marquess shrugged. “I supposed you will have to take the matter up with Lady Crawford.” He turned to Lucy and offered his arm. “Are you ready, Lady Lucy?”
Quinn’s jaw tensed at the thought of Lucy’s gloved hand touching the marquess. Understanding struck. He was jealous. He’d never been jealous over a woman in his life. She lifted her hand to slip it into the crook of the marquess’s arm.
Quinn grasped her arm and pulled her back a step. “My betrothed does not dance the waltz with anyone other than me.”
***
The clock struck midnight as Quinn stared at the fire in his library, his sherry glass full for the third time in the last half hour. When Stirling sat in this library two days ago and told him he was to marry, Quinn had been positive he could avoid wedlock. Then he’d stepped willing into the marriage noose—with no urging from Stirling. Even now, Lucy’s face clear in his memory, he knew he wouldn’t change a thing. He had gone mad.
The door behind him softly opened, then clicked shut and booted feet padded on the carpet toward him.
“Don’t give me that look,” Quinn said when Stirling neared.
Stirling came into view at the sideboard to Quinn’s right. He picked up a sherry glass, then crossed to the chaise beside Quinn and lowered himself onto the cushion.
Quinn drank his sherry in one gulp and set the class on the side table. “You knew full well what you were about when you pushed that girl into my arms.”
Stirling filled his glass from the decanter on the table, then leaned back in the chair. “I told you it was time you married—though I never dreamed your declaration would nearly bring you to blows with the Marquess of Kinlow.”
“I have truly lost my mind.” Quinn shook his head.
Stirling laughed. “Women do that to a man.”
Quinn looked at him. “How did you know?”
Stirling stared at his glass of sherry. “Truth?”
“Aye.”
“Her father showed me miniatures of his daughters. I saw Lucy and thought of you.” Stirling shrugged. “There is nothing more.”
“You have an uncanny knack for business that almost borders on black magic. Perhaps you are also a magician when it comes to love. Have you matches for the other sisters?”
He gave a single nod.
“What of you and Lady Chastity? Her father doesn’t have enough money to tempt you and I’ve never known you to care about a title.”
“Perhaps,” he murmured. “But Sir Stirling James, Duke of Roxburgh, has a nice ring to it.”
Chapter Six
A knock on the door of the parish chapel’s drawing room snapped Chastity’s gaze onto the plain wooden door. She stared for a heartbeat, then looked at Lucy, who sat on the settle near the window.
“Open the door,” Lucy urged.
“This is madness,” Chastity said.
Lucy silently agreed. Two days ago, she’d danced with a man who clearly had no desire to marry her. This morning, she wore an ivory gown as her wedding dress and she was about to walk down the aisle to pledge herself to this stranger.
More knocking.
“Please, open the door Chastity,” Lucy said.
Chastity looked more distressed than Lucy felt, but she did as Lucy wished.
The vicar’s wife stood in the doorway. She was only nineteen-years-old, and she appeared as nervous as the sisters.
“Are you ready, my lady?” She smiled tremulously at Lucy.
“Aye.” Lucy stood. As ready as she would ever be.
The vicar’s wife led them down a short hallway and into the parish foyer. Through the open doors, Lucy glimpsed two dozen guests seated in the ancient pews. She took a deep breath, inhaling cold air that smelled of age, incense, and candle wax. A tremor rippled through her belly. She couldn’t see him, but she knew Baron Delny stood before the vicar at the end of the aisle, waiting for her.
Her father emerged from the chapel and strode toward them. “You may go to your seat, Chastity.”
She looked at Lucy. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
“Chastity,” the duke warned.
“Nae,” she said. “Lucy has a choice in this matter.”
“We did agree to this,” Lucy said. “Papa trusts him, and I trust Papa.”
Chastity started to reply, but the duke shook his head. “Take your seat, or go home.”
“Please.” Lucy touched her arm. “Do not leave.”
Chastity’s mouth thinned. But she nodded and headed toward the chapel. She disappeared.
The duke grasped Lucy’s shoulders and searched her eyes. “I hope you understand why I do this.”
“You want us safely wed.”
“I want you happy,” he said.
She lifted on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I know.”
He nodded, and she was sure she glimpsed moisture in his eyes before he faced the doors and angled his arm. She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and they started forward. When they entered the chapel and she caught sight of Baron Delny standing before the pulpit, her heart fluttered. She’d never seen a more beautiful man. His black tailcoat contrasted beautifully with his ivory waistcoat, and his tanned neck encircled by a crisp white cravat made her mouth go dry. They neared the pulpit and the intensity of his gaze caused her to flush. They reached his side and her father kissed her.
“Take care of her or I will shoot you.” Without another word, Papa turned and took three steps to his seat in the front pew.
Lucy stared at him. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. For all his bluster about marrying them off, he was going to miss her.
“Take her right hand,” the minister instructed the baron.
The baron did so and her stomach did a somersault at his gentle touch.
“Dearly beloved,” the vicar began, and Lucy started. She was truly getting married.
Was this a dream? Like many of her sex, she wanted a husband, children, a home of her own. But her sisters had yet to marry, and she had assumed—feared—she would have difficulty finding a husband.
“I require and charge you both,” the vicar continued, “as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it.”
Lucy’s heart pounded. Would Chastity challenge the marriage? She tensed in readiness for her sister’s voice to ring out in the small chapel. The baron gently squeezed her hand. She snapped her head up. He smiled down at her with such kindness and understanding that the sudden need to cry rushed to the surface. His brow furrowed and she startled when he lifted a hand and brushed a tear from her cheek. She hadn’t realized she was crying.
The vicar’s eyes flicked to the baron’s hand and pleasure transformed his face. All the guests remained quiet and he went on. “Quinn Ramsey, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
Lucy held her breath.
Quinn locked gazes with her and said, “I will.”
The vicar looked at her. “Lucy Hamilton, will thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in
health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will,” she whispered, and was surprised at the relief that flooded the baron’s expression.
“Have you the ring?” he asked Quinn, and Quinn withdrew a gold band with a three-carat emerald.
Lucy gasped. Had she ever seen anything so beautiful? Her fingers shook as he grasped her left hand and held the ring while he repeated after the vicar, “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship—” something flickered in his eyes and she flushed with the thought of what lay ahead for their first night as husband and wife “—and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
He slipped the ring on her finger and it seemed to Lucy that her hand suddenly weighed five times its normal weight.
“Have you a ring?” the vicar asked her.
She reached into a small pocket and pulled out a simple gold band. When she grasped the baron’s large hand and repeated in a near whisper the same vow he had made, her stomach did another somersault as she slipped the ring onto his finger.
“Please kneel,” the vicar instructed.
She lifted her skirt and Quinn grasped her hand to steady her kneel, then he knelt beside her.
The vicar looked down at them. “Forasmuch as Quinn Ramsey and Lucy Hamilton have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth each to the other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” He closed the book.
Lucy couldn’t bring herself to look at Quinn as he rose, then pulled her to her feet. He kept hold of her hand and they followed the vicar to the register, which lay open on a stand to their left.
Quinn first signed his full name, then she did the same. They faced the guests and Lucy’s gaze met Chastity’s. A strange sense of finality settled over Lucy.
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