by Tonya Brooks
“I get the point,” Devlin growled in complete disgust.
The gossips would have a field day with that on dit. As it was, some idiot had already started a rumor that Scarlett and Dexter were practically engaged when all they had done was sat together at dinner. Upon hearing it, the very, happily unmarried Viscount Vale, had gone into a complete panic and immediately sought out his host.
The ensuing explanation, interspersed with adamant denials of any such intentions, heated protestations of his innocence, and profuse apologies for whatever he might have done to give the wrong impression, had turned into incoherent babbling and given Devlin a headache. Nicholas had thought it was hilarious, the bloody ass.
The scowl on his face was self-evident when young Carstairs entered the room looking more than a bit confused and befuddled. “Tell me, Carstairs, are you anxious to die?” He inquired in a hard tone that left no doubt that he would be happy to aid the other man toward an early demise.
~~~~~
Shock reflected on the younger man’s face as he focused on his host. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?” He asked in a dazed tone and didn't even notice that Nicholas was in the room.
Devlin slammed the glass of brandy down on his desk and demanded, “What the bloody hell were you thinking, making an ass of yourself like that with Lady Scarlett?”
At the mention of her name, he sighed in absolute rapture and his rational brain ceased to function. “Lady Scarlett is an angel. The breathing embodiment of Aphrodite. The most beautiful woman...”
~~~~~
“Bloody hell,” Devlin growled in disgust. The fool was clearly besotted and quite possibly more than a little foxed.
“...to ever grace this earth. I would die for her, Your Grace,” he finished wistfully.
“If you ever do anything so outlandish again, you will,” Langford assured him in a tone meant to be obeyed. “If you are fortunate enough to find yourself in the presence of my sister again, you will conduct yourself like a gentleman. Or you and I shall have a dawn appointment. Do I make myself clear, Carstairs?”
~~~~~
The absolute menace in the duke's tone brought Geoffrey fully to his senses, and he realized just how precarious his position was. Langford was quite possibly the most powerful man in all of England, save for the prince regent, and as such the man was a law unto himself. His voice carried considerable sway among the House of Lords, as well as with the regent, and he was as wealthy as Croesus.
Not to mention he was a crack shot. No one with an ounce of sense would challenge him. “Quite clear, Your Grace,” he hastily assured him in a much more sober mien. “You have my sincerest apologies for any embarrassment I might have caused the lady. I vow on my honor, it will never happen again.”
“I sincerely hope not, Geoffrey,” Nicholas said sternly from where he leaned against the mantle. “It would greatly displease me to stand as Langford's second against a member of my own family.”
Carstairs swung round to face his cousin in surprise and bowed respectfully. “My apologies, Your Grace,” he gulped in dismay at the implicit threat. “Please believe that I would never deliberately do anything to displease you or dishonor the family name.”
~~~~~
Nicholas believed him, but it was his duty as the head of the family, such as it was, to ensure this type of behavior did not happen again. “Lady Scarlett is an incredibly beautiful woman, is she not?” He queried evenly.
“Oh, yes, Your Grace,” Geoffrey readily agreed, that dreamy expression covering his face again.
“An uncommon beauty like hers can make even the most sensible of men lose his head, Geoffrey,” was stated in all honesty. “She's the kind of woman a man meets but once in a lifetime. The kind of woman that he will remember with a smile as he draws his last breath.”
The viscount’s smile grew even more as he nodded vigorously. “You do understand, don't you, Your Grace?” He asked in awe.
“Indeed,” Nicholas said dryly as he and Devlin exchanged one of those inscrutable looks. “She is also the kind of woman who will not tolerate a man making a fool of himself or embarrassing her for any reason. I suggest you offer the lady your sincerest apologies at a time and place better suited to such.”
It was not the type of suggestion to be ignored and even a pup as green as Geoffrey recognized the implicit command. The viscount bowed respectfully in acknowledgment and turned back to Devlin to ask hopefully, “Might I have your permission to call on the Baroness and offer my apologies, Your Grace?”
~~~~~
Not bloody likely. His sister would eat this one alive and pick her teeth with his bones. The thought amused him so much that Devlin decided to give her the opportunity. “I have given Lady Scarlett permission to choose who may call on her,” he informed the viscount and saw his face brighten. Ah, hell. It wouldn't do to let the whelp think he stood a chance. “However, the choice of a suitable husband for her is mine.”
~~~~~
The hopeful expression became bleak for a moment. Then the young man pictured the lovely lady in his mind and his resolve was made firm. Carstairs straightened his rather scrawny shoulders in determination and said solemnly, “In that case, I shall endeavor to prove to you how worthy I am of that great honor, Your Grace.”
Devlin sighed in resignation. “Bloody hell.”
Chapter Eleven
Langford House, London, England, 1812
Scarlett sighed in abject disgust and muttered, “Bloody hell.”
The drawing room was filled with a multitude of callers, all of them male, all of them eager to spend the allotted fifteen minutes with the lovely baroness. For over two hours, a steady stream of visitors was seen entering and exiting the mansion until it fairly resembled a parade. It was truly a spectacle as there were men lined up, down the block waiting for entrance. Young men, old men, middle-aged men, all seeking a bride, had fixed their sights on the youngest member of the Ashbrook family.
She was, without a doubt, the catch of the decade. Scarlett had a title, lands and a fortune in her own right, not to mention an obscenely large dowry. As the sister of a duke, she was a member of one of the oldest and most respected families in the ton which meant she was at the very top of the social ladder, but most important of all, she was quite possibly the most stunningly beautiful woman they had ever seen.
She was also quite overwhelmed with all the attention. Especially since she neither wanted it, nor cared to receive it. But there she sat on the sofa, with her grandmother seated in a chair next to her, surrounded by yet another group of gentlemen. They were all polite and courteous, flattering her profusely as they vied with each other for her attention. If she had been looking for a husband, Scarlett would have been pleased to have so many suitors, but she wasn't, so the whole thing was really more of a nuisance than anything.
She was not a vain woman by any means. Quite the opposite in fact. She knew exactly what she looked like and that was why she didn't let the profuse flattery from these silly men turn her head in the least. She was perfectly aware that blonde hair was considered to be the preferred color for ladies while hers was the most god awful shade of red. Not to mention her eyes were an unusual dark green instead of the lovely pale blue that the rest of her family possessed.
She had inherited the Ashbrook height, but that was not a plus, as she'd discovered last night when she'd been almost as tall as most of her dance partners, even taller than some. Her figure definitely needed some help as well. As she'd complained many times, her bosom was much too large for such a tiny waist, and then there were those blasted hips that curved almost as much as her bosom. All in all, she looked rather like an hour glass.
Fashionable ladies were petite in frame and stature, and beside them, she felt like an ungainly goose. But these men did not seem to mind her peculiar looks and form. They even praised her flaws in a most profuse manner that set her teeth on edge. Scarlett quickly came to the determination that they were simply willing to overlook her ra
ther obvious imperfections in order to gain her considerable fortune.
Even though Scarlett saw the same thing the men did, she would have been genuinely surprised to discover their views greatly differed from her own. Her flaming red and gold hair resembled a curtain of fire that bespoke of a passionate nature. The green eyes were indeed best described as the most rare and perfect of emeralds that caught and reflected the light like a many faceted gem and held a hint of mischief that could not be disguised.
Her height gave her a regal, elegant stature that smaller women could never hope to emulate. The hourglass shape could only be described as a lush figure which instilled a depth of desire in men that would have shocked her, had she been aware of it. Every man who saw her wanted her. The Ashbrook name and fortune were just an added benefit, not the main inducement.
~~~~~
“Holy hell,” Nicholas said in astonishment when he arrived later that afternoon. Every available surface was covered with flowers in every type and color imaginable. “Is Duchy converting the entire house into a conservatory?”
Scarlett snorted in disgust and waved an arm around the room. “My suitors came bearing gifts,” she complained. “The servants have already carted a ton of the things away, and the housekeeper is complaining because she's running out of vases to put them in.”
The fact that she didn't seem pleased by the suitors, or their gifts, was obvious and greatly relieved his newly discovered jealous streak. Nicholas had known the vultures would be circling, but this was more than even he had imagined. “How many were there?” He asked with a frown as he looked over the dozens of bouquets and posies again.
“Too many,” she muttered and picked up a handful of notes. “At least the flowers are better than their poetry. These are only fit for kindling.”
He couldn't prevent a laugh at that. Scarlett did not care for poetry a'tall. Nicholas sank sideways into a chair facing her, threw a leg over the arm, and said, “Read me one.” Rajah promptly jumped up and sat in his lap, pressing a furry face against his hand in a demand for attention.
“I will not,” she refused indignantly and tossed them back onto the flower laden table. “They're pure rubbish.”
Curious, he scooped one up and began to read aloud as he absently stroked the cat. “My love doth move like grace eternal, her smile more precious than pearls, her eyes outshine the rarest emeralds, flames of love adorn her radiant curls. Oh, beauty, thy name is Scarlett...”
“Wretch,” she complained and snatched the poem away to ball it up and toss the paper into the empty hearth. “I told you it was rubbish.”
Nicholas couldn't help laughing. “I'll admit it lacks a certain something,” he agreed.
“Honesty for one,” she sighed in disgust. “Comparing my god awful hair to the flames of love? Carstairs really must be cracked.”
“God awful hair?” Nicholas repeated with a frown.
She rolled her eyes and gave him a look of exasperation. “Nicky, you know perfectly well that this abominable red hair is about as fashionable as the rest of me.”
Nicholas blinked at the absurdity of the statement and then dared to ask, “You don't like your hair?”
“I hate it,” she agreed fervently. “Why couldn't I have been born a petite blonde with blue eyes?”
Feeling as if he'd missed some significant point, he queried, “Why would you want to be?”
Looking at him as if he'd said something as stupid as Dexter normally did, she asked, “You're bamming me, right?”
“No,” he frowned in genuine confusion. “Why would you want to be different?” Hell, she was beyond perfection just like she was.
“Because petite, blue eyed blondes are de riguer,” Scarlett reminded him.
“To whom?” He asked patiently and wanted to know where she was getting this ridiculous information from.
“To the ton,” she said in exasperation at his obtuseness. “I feel like some great big goose in the midst of a flock of doves.”
“A swan, perhaps, but never a goose,” he chided playfully, but this time his teasing did not improve her mood. “You're serious,” Nicholas realized in amazement. Scarlett had no idea just how beautiful she really was.
“Of course I am. That's why all of this is so ridiculous,” she said as she gestured around at the mass of flowers again. “I know exactly why that pack of fortune hunters is hounding me, and it's certainly not because I'm some raving beauty.”
This would not do. Nicholas sat upright, nudged the cat onto the floor, gave her an assessing look and asked, “I'm known as a connoisseur of beautiful women, am I not?”
“According to the scandal sheets,” she confirmed.
“Then that makes me something of an expert, correct?” At her nod, he said in a tone that was completely serious, “Then, as an expert, let me assure you that you are, without exception, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Scarlett.”
Scarlett stared at him blankly for a moment before she burst into laughter. “Oh, Nicky,” she smiled at him brilliantly. “You can always make me laugh. Even at myself.”
He shook his head, the obsidian eyes somber with truth. “I'm not teasing you, kitten,” he denied soberly. “You're a rare, exotic orchid that outshines these pale, English roses. That glorious red hair is like a brazen flame of fire, and even the most precious emeralds don't sparkle as brilliantly as your eyes. And there's not a damn thing unfashionable about the rest of you either. You're absolutely perfect, just the way you are.”
~~~~~
Stunned at the sincerity she heard in his tone, Scarlett realized that Nicholas wasn't teasing her. He really thought she was beautiful. That filled her heart to overflowing and gave her hope, just the slightest hint of hope, that he might be beginning to see her as something other than a little sister. Bolstered by the knowledge, she gave him a mischievous smile and warned, “Careful, Nicky. I just might set my sights on you.”
Nicholas flashed her that wicked smile as he rose lithely to his feet. Cupping her cheek with his fingertips, he leaned over to place a tender kiss on her temple and whispered in that silken tone, “Take the shot, kitten. I'm easy prey.”
Scarlett stared after him in bemusement as he left the room and wondered what he'd meant by that peculiar comment. Even though it had sounded like a challenge, she knew the scandalous rake had to have been teasing. Like all predators, Nicholas was anything but easy prey. Take the shot, indeed.
Noticing a rectangular velvet box lying beside her on the sofa, she realized that Nicholas must have placed it there. She picked it up, gingerly lifted the lid and a folded note slid into her lap. Inside the box lay a delicate gold link bracelet with a charm attached. Removing it for a better look, she realized that the charm was shaped like a pair of tiny gold dancing slippers.
Wrapping it around her wrist and attaching the clasp, Scarlett held her arm up and smiled in delight. It was beautiful and feminine and the first piece of jewelry she'd ever had, other than the Montvale heirlooms. It was also an entirely inappropriate gift for a rake like Nicholas to give a young lady, but not for a brother to give his sister, dammit.
Unfolding the note, she read, “To commemorate your first ball, and all the waltzes we have yet to dance, kitten. Love, Nicky.” The bracelet was exquisite, and she loved it, but the note meant more to her than the gift. It meant more than all the flowers and poetry and declarations of love that she'd received from her suitors. It was precious to her simply because when he signed it, love, Nicky, she knew he meant it. He did love her.
Like his little sister.
Chapter Twelve
Devil's Keep, England, 1798
“Faster, Nicky. Go faster!” Scarlett demanded as she held onto the pommel and bounced anxiously in the saddle.
Nicholas was leading the pony across the lawn at a sedate pace while Devlin walked alongside and held his wriggling sister in the saddle. The boys exchanged a knowing look and Nicholas obediently sped the pony up.
Four-year-old
Scarlett was a little hellion who knew no fear. Her antics kept the household in a constant state of upheaval, and both of her very well paid nurses, completely exhausted. Now she was intent on running the two sixteen-year-old boys ragged and had done a remarkable job of it so far.
“Faster, Nicky. Go faster!” She commanded and laughed with glee when the pony, and the boys, broke into a trot. Releasing the pommel, she clapped her hands and then held her arms out beside her little body as if they were wings. “Look, Dev. I'm flying!”
The reddish gold curls bounced around her shoulders, emerald eyes sparkled brilliantly and her angelic face was alight with sheer happiness. Scarlett was in her element. Not only was she riding her beloved pony, but she had Devlin and Nicholas with her. The happiest times of her life were when her brothers came home from school on holidays. If only they could stay with her all the time, her life would be just perfect.
Chapter Thirteen
Langford House, London, England, 1812
Nicholas saw Scarlett in the garden, headed toward the gazebo with a book in hand, and wondered what she was studying now. She loved to read. Her mind was like a sponge, absorbing knowledge about anything that caught her fancy.
She could read more languages than he could recall, and she spoke four fluently, which wasn't that uncommon lest you considered the languages she had chosen. English and French were perfectly normal choices for an English lady, but Latin and Russian were not.
Her interests were so diverse that she could knowledgeably discuss anything from politics to philosophy, and thanks to her peculiar upbringing, gambling to horse breeding, yet she detested poetry. Especially, bad poetry, he thought with a smile as he recalled her reaction to Carstairs poem.
Scarlett was a very complex woman. It could take a man years to understand her. He knew. He'd already spent a lifetime doing just that and would love nothing more than to dig even deeper and learn everything there was to know about her. Like what she was pondering so intently that had her chewing on her lower lip.