LOVE AND THE SINGLE HEIRESS

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  His gaze tracked her slim, regal form as she made her way around the perimeter of the room, and his heart executed the same erratic hop it performed every time he looked at her. If he’d been capable of laughter, he would have chuckled at himself and his gut-level reaction to her. He felt like a tongue-tied, green schoolboy—quite deflating as he normally considered himself a man of at least some finesse.

  Rolling his shoulders to loosen his tense muscles, he pulled in a lungful of air and prepared to step from the shadows. A firm hand grasped him by the shoulder.

  “You might want to straighten your cravat before heading into the fray, old man.”

  Andrew turned swiftly and found himself staring into Philip’s amused, bespectacled brown eyes. Frustration instantly gave way to concern. “What are you doing here? Is Meredith all right?”

  “My wife is fine, thank you, or at least as fine as a woman in the final weeks of pregnancy can be. As to why I am here, for reasons I cannot fathom, Meredith insisted I make an appearance at Father’s birthday celebration.” He shook his head, clearly bemused. “I did not want to leave her, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past few months, it is that only a fool argues with an expectant mother. So I reluctantly left her side and suffered the three-hour journey to London to bestow my felicitations upon Father. Meredith suggested I remain here overnight, but I flatly refused. My coach is being brought ‘round even as we speak. However, I couldn’t leave without talking to you. How goes the progress on the museum?”

  “Very well. Hiring Simon Wentworth as our steward was one of the smartest things we’ve done. He’s extremely organized and keeps the workmen on schedule.”

  “Excellent.” Philip’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “How goes the Charles Brightmore investigation?”

  Andrew blew out a sigh. “The bastard doesn’t appear to exist, except on paper as the author of the Guide, but that only serves to intrigue me further. Trust me, I have every intention of collecting the impressive sum Lord Markingworth and his friends have promised me for identifying the author.”

  “Yes, well, that’s why I recommended you. You’re tenacious and unrelenting when it comes to ferreting out the truth. And thanks to your ties to the museum and your association with the, ahem, exalted likes of me, you have access to both Society’s finest and persons of, shall we say, more humble origins. People would be far more inclined to confide in you than a Runner, and your presence at these types of soirees doesn’t raise a brow, as a stranger’s or a Runner’s would.”

  “Yes, that is to my advantage,” Andrew agreed. “It has been my experience that clues are often inadvertently revealed during casual conversations.”

  “Well, I’ve no doubt of your success. I only hope that revealing this Charles Brightmore’s identity puts a stop to this damnable Ladies’ Guide. I want that book pulled from the shelves before Meredith manages to secure a copy. My lovely wife is by far too independent as it is. Keeping her in check already requires nearly more energy than I can muster.”

  “Yes, I’m certain that it’s your beautiful wife’s independence that drains your energy.” His gaze skimmed over Philip in a pointed fashion. “You do not appear to be suffering overmuch at her hands. But fear not—I intend to unmask this Brightmore person. I’ll not only have the pleasure of exposing the charlatan, but the money I’ll earn doing so will help further my campaign with regard to your sister. I have every intention of giving Lady Catherine the luxury to which she is accustomed.”

  “Ah. Speaking of which—how goes the courting of my sister?”

  Andrew looked toward the ceiling. “Rather slowly, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, quit dawdling about. I’ve never known you to be anything less than relentless when you wanted something. Why are you dilly-dallying?”

  “I’m not dilly—”

  “And for God’s sake, quit tugging at your hair. You look as if a lightning bolt struck you.”

  Andrew scraped a hasty hand through his apparently lightning-struck hair and frowned. “You’re a fine one to talk. Have you consulted a mirror lately? Your manner can only be described as harried, and your own hair looks as if you were caught in sudden freakish storm.”

  “I am harried, but considering that my first child is soon to be born, I at least have a valid excuse for yanking at my hair and behaving oddly. What the devil is wrong with you?”

  “There is nothing wrong with me, other than frustration. I haven’t had an opportunity even to speak with Lady Catherine. Every time I finally spot her in the crowd, another museum investor or potential investor claims my attention.” He shot Philip a pointed stare. “I was attempting to approach her for the fourth time this evening when I was again waylaid—this time by you.”

  “And you should be glad you were. If she’d seen that mess of a coiffure, she would have run screaming from the room.”

  “Thank you. Your encouragement warms my heart. Truly. Although I find it difficult to take fashion advice from someone whose own attire and coiffure most often resemble a squirrel’s nest.”

  Instead of taking offense, Philip smiled. “True. However, I am not attempting to court a lady this evening. I have already succeeded in winning the woman I love.”

  “Yes, and almost in spite of yourself, I might add. If not for my advice on how to woo and win Meredith...”Andrew shook his head sadly. “Well, let us just say that the outcome of your courting was highly questionable.”

  A rude sound escaped Philip. “Is that so? If you are such an expert, then why haven’t you yet succeeded with Catherine?”

  “Because I’ve yet to start with her—thanks, most recently, to you. Tell me, is there not some other house in Mayfair you can haunt?”

  “Fear not, I’m on my way out the door. However, if I leave now, I won’t be able to tell you about the two very interesting conversations I had this evening. One was with a Mr. Sidney Carmichael. Have you met him yet?”

  Andrew shook his head. “The name is not familiar to me.”

  “He was introduced to me by Mrs. Warrenfield, the wealthy American widow.” Philip lowered his voice. “If you happen to speak with her, be prepared to listen to her describe, in detail, her plethora of aches and pains.”

  “Thank you for the warning. If only you’d told me an hour ago.”

  “Ah. Something struck me as rather odd about the lady, but I cannot put my finger on it,” Philip said, frowning. “Did you notice anything?”

  Andrew considered a moment. “I admit I was preoccupied when I spoke to her, but now that you mention it, yes. I think it’s her voice. It’s unusually deep and raspy for a lady. Combined with the veiled, black hat she wears, which obscures half her face, it’s a bit disconcerting to speak with her.”

  “Yes, that must be it. Well, back to Mr. Carmichael. He’s interested in making a very sizable investment in the museum.”

  “How sizable?”

  “Five thousand pounds.”

  Andrew’s brows shot upward. “Impressive.”

  “Yes. He was most anxious to meet my American partner as he spent a number of years living in your country. I’m certain he’ll seek you out before the evening is over.”

  “I suppose for five thousand pounds I can work up a bit of enthusiasm.”

  “Excellent. Your tone, however, and the fact that you keep looking about indicates a decided lack of curiosity about my other conversation, which was with Catherine.” Philip heaved a long sigh and flicked a bit of lint from his dark blue jacket sleeve. “Pity, as the conversation concerned you.”

  “And naturally you’ll tell me, in recompense for saving your life.”

  Philip’s face screwed up into a confused scowl. “If you’re referring to that incident in Egypt, I thought I’d saved your life. When did you save mine?”

  “Just now. By not tossing you out headfirst through the French doors into the thorny hedges. What did Lady Catherine say?”

  Philip cast a surreptitious glance around. Once assured that
they weren’t in danger of being overheard, he said, “It appears you have competition.”

  Andrew blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re not the only man attempting to win my sister’s favor. Apparently other men are showing interest in her.”

  Andrew stared, feeling as if he’d just been slapped. Then a humorless sound pushed past his lips at his own conceit. Why hadn’t he anticipated this turn of events? Of course other men would cast their lures in Lady Catherine’s direction. He cleared his throat to locate his voice. “What sort of interest?”

  “Surely an expert such as yourself should know. The usual romantic gestures. Flowers, invitations, trinkets. That sort of thing.”

  Annoyance, along with a hefty dose of jealousy, smacked Andrew. “Did she indicate that she enjoyed these attentions?”

  “On the contrary, she indicated that she found these gentlemen bothersome, for she has, and I quote, ‘no intention of ever compromising my independence by leg-shackling myself to another man.' I must say, my sister has become startlingly blunt of late. That, added to the headstrong streak I’ve detected in her manner lately and these other suitors...”A sympathy-filled wince pinched Philip’s features. “Not a stellar start to your wooing campaign, my friend, although I did try to warn you of that.”

  Andrew brushed aside the vaguely uncomplimentary description of Lady Catherine as being blunt and headstrong. Didn’t sisters always seem that way to their brothers? However, there was no ignoring the rest, and his eyes narrowed to slits. “Who are these men?”

  “Egad, Andrew, that frigid tone doesn’t bode well for the fellows, and I don’t believe I’ve ever seen that particular glare in your eyes before. Hope I’m never on the receiving end of it.” He considered for several seconds, then said, “She mentioned some village doctor. Then of course there’s the Duke of Kelby whose country estate is near her home in Little Longstone. And then there was an assortment of earls, viscounts, and the like, a few of whom are here this evening.”

  “Here? This evening?”

  “When did you develop this troubling habit of repeating everything I say? Yes. Here. This evening. For example, Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth.”

  “Our investors?”

  “The very ones. I ask that you please remember they would no doubt withdraw their funding if you bloodied their noble noses.”

  “I suppose that means knocking them onto their noble asses is also out of the question.”

  “I’m afraid so, although that would make for a fine evening’s entertainment. Apparently Kingsly also made an overture toward Catherine.”

  “He’s married.”

  “Yes. And has a mistress. Then there’s Lord Darnell.” Philip jerked his head toward the punch bowl. “Note his besotted expression.”

  Andrew turned, and his jaw clenched. Lord Darnell was handing Catherine a glass of punch and looking at her as if she were a delectable morsel from which he longed to take a nice, big bite. Several other gentlemen, Andrew noted grimly, hovered about, all wearing similar expressions.

  “Looks like I’m going to need to purchase myself a broom,” Andrew muttered.

  “A broom? Why is that?”

  “To sweep that bastard Darnell and his friends off Lady Catherine’s porch.”

  “Excellent idea. As her brother, I can’t say I like the way Darnell is looking at her.”

  Andrew forced his gaze away from the group surrounding the punch bowl and looked at Philip. “Can’t say I like it myself.”

  “Well then, since you’re quite capable of handling yourself, I’ll take myself off so you can proceed. I’ll send a letter once I’m a papa to let you know if the tyke is a boy or girl.”

  Andrew smiled. “Please do. I’ll be anxious to know if I’m an aunt or an uncle.”

  Philip laughed. “Good luck in your quest to win my doesn’t-care-to-be-won sister.” Amusement flashed in Philip’s eyes as he glanced toward the group at the punch bowl. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to witness the wooing as I’m certain it will prove very entertaining. And may the best man win.”

  After seeing Philip off, Andrew started up the brick walkway to reenter the town house, anticipating finding Catherine. He hoped there would be no further interruptions—

  The front door opened and a group of gentlemen exited the town house. His jaw clenched as he recognized Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth. Both young lords were impeccably dressed, complicated cravat knots adorning their throats, their coifs artful arrangements of careless, rakish curls. Each wore large jeweled rings that glistened in the moonlight as they indulged in a bit of snuff. Andrew decided they would not look quite so well turned-out sporting swollen jaws and blackened eyes.

  And that reprobate Kingsly was with them. With his paunch, puckered lips, and beady eyes, Kingsly was already a remarkably unattractive fellow, but Andrew would be more than happy to make him even uglier if he continued his pursuit of Lady Catherine.

  The thin, bespectacled Lord Borthrasher looked at Andrew down his long nose. With his pointed chin and sharp eyes with their unwavering, cold stare, he reminded Andrew of a vulture. Two gentlemen Andrew did not recognize rounded out the group. The last thing Andrew wanted was to speak to any of them, but unfortunately there was no way to avoid them.

  “Ah, Stanton, care to join us for a smoke?” asked Lord Kingsly, his beady eyes raking over Andrew in a way that set his teeth on edge.

  “I don’t smoke.”

  “Stanton, did you say?” One of the gentlemen Andrew didn’t know raised a quizzing glass and stared at him. Like his peers, this man wore perfectly tailored evening clothes, a complicated cravat and a jeweled ring. Although he was clearly older than his companions, he was surprisingly well built and broad-shouldered, leading Andrew to wonder if the man’s physique was enhanced with padding. “Been wanting to meet you, Stanton. Heard a great deal about this museum.”

  “May I present his grace, the Duke of Kelby,” said Kingsly.

  Ah, the suitor whose estate was near Catherine’s. Andrew offered a brief nod, only partially mollified by the fact that the duke, hearty though he appeared, resembled a carp.

  “I’d hoped to meet you as well.” The other gentleman unknown to Andrew stepped forward and extended his hand. “Sidney Carmichael.”

  Andrew recognized the name that Philip had mentioned as the potential investor of five thousand pounds. Of average height and build, he judged Carmichael to be in his late fifties and wearily wondered if he was but yet another suitor. He shook the man’s hand, noting the firm grip that pressed the ring he wore against Andrew’s fingers.

  “I understand from Lord Greybourne that you’re American,” Mr. Carmichael said, his assessing gaze clearly taking Andrew’s measure, a favor Andrew returned.

  “The instant he opens his mouth ‘tis obvious he’s from the bloody colonies,” Lord Kingsly said with a loud guffaw, which drew laughs from the group. “Not that he says a lot. Man of few words, eh, Stanton?”

  Ignoring Kingsly, he said, “Yes, I’m American.”

  “Spent some time in your country during my travels,” Carmichael said. “Mostly in the Boston area. Where are you from?”

  Andrew hesitated only half a beat. He didn’t care for answering questions about himself. “Philadelphia.”

  “Never visited there,” Carmichael said with a regretful air. “I’m a lover of antiquities. Avenbury, Ferrymouth, and Borthrasher have been singing the praises of your and Lord Greybourne’s museum. I’d like to discuss an investment with you.” He pulled a card from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Andrew. “My direction. I hope you’ll call upon me soon.”

  Andrew slipped the card into his pocket and nodded. “I will.”

  “I’d like to discuss investing with you as well, Stanton,” chimed in the duke. “Always looking for a good opportunity.”

  “Always looking for investors,” Andrew said, hoping his smile was not as tight as it felt. “If you gentlemen will excuse me...” He nodded and ma
de his way around them.

  As he passed Lord Avenbury, the young lord said to the group, “Ferrymouth and I are off to the gaming tables. I’d wanted an opportunity to dance with Lady Catherine, but I suppose there’s always next time.”

  Andrew froze and glared at the young man’s profile.

  “Delectable tidbit, she is,” Lord Avenbury said. He licked his lips, and the group laughed. Andrew had to clench his hands to keep from discovering how Avenbury would look without any lips at all.

  “Her estate is close to mine, you know,” the duke said, lifting his quizzing glass, jeweled ring flashing. “Very convenient.”

  “Really?” Lord Kingsly said, a distinctly lecherous gleam in his beady eyes. “I might need to pry an invitation from you, Kelby. Yes, I believe I feel a sudden urge to visit your place and take the waters.”

  “Excellent notion,” seconded Lord Ferrymouth. “Borthrasher, don’t you suffer the occasional bout of the gout? The waters would do you wonders, I’m certain.” Borthrasher nodded, and Ferrymouth beamed at the duke. “I believe a gathering at your home is in order, Kelby.” His sweeping hand encompassed the group. “We’d all love to come. A few days of hunting, soaking in the springs”—he waggled his brows—“visiting the neighbors.”

  “Might provide an enjoyable break from the usual boring rounds of fetes,” the duke agreed. “Let us take to the gaming tables and discuss it.”

  They moved down the walkway, laughing, pulling out cheroots and snuffboxes. His jaw tightened to the point of pain, Andrew turned and strode into the house. Damn it to hell, this evening was not going at all the way he’d envisioned it. But at least with that group now departed, things could not get worse.