Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage]
Page 1
SARI ROBINS
What to Wear to a Seduction
For Dorothy,
I cherish our friendship.
Contents
Chapter 1
Barely taking in the birds chirping in the trees, the…
Chapter 2
Edwina felt as if her confession had sucked the very…
Chapter 3
“How dare you, Prescott?” Shaking his head, Dr. Winner looked over…
Chapter 4
Their steps were muted by the mossy ground as Edwina…
Chapter 5
Puffing from the thin cigar, Sir Lee stepped into the card…
Chapter 6
“He’s agreed to help!” Edwina declared as she rushed into…
Chapter 7
The next morning, Dr. Winner unwound the yellow-tinged bandages from Prescott’s…
Chapter 8
Prescott strolled up the lane heading toward 183 Girard Street,…
Chapter 9
Never in her life had Edwina felt the urge to…
Chapter 10
“Oh, you’ll need much more than a few new gowns…
Chapter 11
Prescott tried to quell the sudden skip of his heartbeat.
Chapter 12
“She’s late,” Prescott muttered to the empty chamber as he…
Chapter 13
As the carriage slowed to a crawl, the clatter of…
Chapter 14
Still holding Edwina’s hand, Prescott bounded out the door in…
Chapter 15
Drawing Edwina up alongside him, Prescott guided her toward the…
Chapter 16
“Ah, there you are, Edwina.”
Chapter 17
Sir Lee sat on a park bench puffing on his West…
Chapter 18
A few nights later, Edwina noticed the interested stares, the…
Chapter 19
The next day, the afternoon’s golden haze hung over the…
Chapter 20
Holding aside the drape, Edwina peered out the window, looking…
Chapter 21
“I can’t believe how much information Mr. Leonard has shared with…
Chapter 22
Edwina was so nervous her movements were jerky and her…
Chapter 23
After kicking off his shoes and ripping off his coat…
Chapter 24
The next morning Janelle huffed, “You’ve got that look on…
Chapter 25
“I must confess, I expected the man to be taller,”…
Chapter 26
Edwina eyed Lady Pomfry as a mongoose eyes a viper…
Chapter 27
Later that evening, Prescott and Edwina stood next to an…
Chapter 28
Looking into her dark, shimmering gaze, Prescott realized, not for…
Chapter 29
The next afternoon Prescott strolled down the carpeted hallway toward…
Chapter 30
“I’m going to kill that conniving, vicious, oh, she doesn’t…
Chapter 31
The next afternoon, Edwina and Prescott sat in the large…
Chapter 32
Standing in the shadow of a large oak tree, Prescott…
Chapter 33
A few hours later, Edwina stood by the open window…
Chapter 34
Prescott tensed. He’d known this confrontation was inevitable, but he’d…
Epilogue
Edwina and Prescott were married in the chapel at Andersen…
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Romances
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
Andersen Hall,
London Summer 1811
Barely taking in the birds chirping in the trees, the squirrels darting about, or the sun riding on the pine-scented breeze, Prescott Devane strode down the path to the orphanage’s guesthouse, his irritation at full boil.
He growled under his breath as his eyes fixed on the liveried footman standing on the small wooden porch. He didn’t recognize the uniform, but suspected that Mrs. Nagel, Andersen Hall’s crusty matron, was right about his visitor being female; only a woman would choose to dress her servant in purple with marigold lapels.
Ever since he’d saved little orphan Evie from the fire, he’d practically had to fend off the ladies. Despite his every effort to avoid Society, the ladies came to him at his childhood home, the only haven he’d ever known, making a nuisance of themselves. He’d had enough doe-eyed, overeager females fawning over him as if he’d trounced Napoleon himself! And the offers! He couldn’t quite believe their…generosity. If one could use that word.
And, blast him, he wanted none of them.
The wretched truth was, he’d changed. He traced the start of this alteration to a very small incident only eleven months before. It was at a birthday fete for his then paramour, Lillith, Lady Willis, held in Hyde Park. Upon returning with her requested glass of lemonade, Prescott had overheard her speaking with one of her friends.
“It’s his very commonness that drew me to Devane,” Lillith had drawled. “Anticipating that his beastliness would reveal itself between the sheets, if you know what I mean.” The friend had giggled. “The problem is, his hearty appetites aren’t limited to the bedroom. Who would have thought he would be such a bon vivant? For a lowly orphan, the man certainly enjoys his champagne and caviar. He eats enough for three men and consumes every morsel as if it’s to be his last crumb. But I suppose such loutishness is to be expected from an—”
It was at that moment that she’d become aware of his presence. Her cheeks had flushed pink and her gaze had skirted away, but other than that, she’d acted as if she’d done nothing wrong. And blast him, so had he.
To his ultimate shame, he’d remained at the fete, his mask of charming escort firmly in place. But underneath the mask, he’d seethed. It was one thing to know on an intellectual level that he would never be a member of the club. But it was entirely another to feel the humiliating slash of the ladies’ scorn as it staked his heart. Especially since he’d thought that Lillith cared about him.
Throughout the rest of the picnic he’d reflected on his experiences in Polite Society. The small slights he’d ignored, the references to his birth hidden behind a thin veneer of contempt, the absolute conviction that Prescott was there to serve and was around by their leave.
He’d ended it with Lillith later that day, and she hadn’t had one word of apology. Things hadn’t been the same for him since. Yet he’d continued his charade as the charming escort to ladies in Society. Oh, he’d been more selective about whom he’d chosen to escort, and from among them, with whom he might share a bed. Habits were hard to break, it seemed.
Then Headmaster Dunn had been murdered and Prescott’s transformation had been complete. The head of the orphanage had been the only real father Prescott had ever known. Prescott had felt more than a little lost, alone in a way he hadn’t been in ages, except of course for Cat…
Then she’d upped and married another man.
Prescott could no longer be the rakish cicisbeo looking for the next grand ball to grace, or sumptuous feast to relish or stunning lady to charm. Boisterous crowds raked his nerves. Fine food held no flavor. Boldly sensual ladies held no appeal. It was the life he’d once loved, and yet now, it all seemed so…superfluous. The farce that had become his life left him feeling hollow and suddenly very old for his seven-and-twenty years.
Annoyed with his
pitiful musings, Prescott pushed away the heartache, instead stoking the fires of his anger against his unwelcome visitor. Better to be cross with an inconsiderate Society dame than act like the miserable sod he’d been the last few weeks.
Not bothering to pretend nonchalance, Prescott marched up the short staircase and nodded to the apple-cheeked, soot-haired footman, saving his animosity for the employer inside.
He stormed through the door. A lady he did not know sat on the sofa, rifling through the account ledger detailing Prescott’s new business venture that would make his life as a cicisbeo ancient history.
A small snarl escaped from his lips.
“Oh!” The unknown lady jumped up from her seat and the book dropped from her lap to the floor with a thud. Shoving her plum-colored bonnet back from her face, she gushed, “Beg pardon! I didn’t mean to pry! I sat on the sofa to wait for you, and well, it was so lumpy, and I looked underneath, and well, I didn’t mean to be so appallingly rude…I just…I just…I’m sorry!”
Judging by the lack of lines on her pale skin and absence of gray in her ebony hair, she seemed to be recently past twenty. Her oval face might have been pretty, except her hair was constricted more tightly than even Mrs. Nagel’s. The decidedly unflattering chignon did nothing to detract from her pointy chin or generous nose that, albeit straight, overwhelmed her thin face.
Her best feature was her eyes, so dark as to appear almost black, and shining with the gleam of intelligence. His heart skipped a beat.
How long had she been reading? How much did she deduce? Did it matter? Members of Polite Society disdained trade, treating it as if it was akin to the plague. She certainly wouldn’t try to undercut his new business. So why did he care?
Because his dream was so fresh, so fragile, and every last pence of his funds was sunk into it. If something caused his venture to fold even before it had begun…
Leaning over, the lady brushed aside her brown woolen skirts, retrieved the book and held it out with outstretched arms. “I apologize, Mr. Devane. I had no business looking at this. I am so sorry for my inexcusable rudeness. I barely had opened it when you arrived.”
Her voice sounded sincere, if a bit breathless. Her moon-pale cheeks bloomed rosy with color, ostensibly from embarrassment. And those velvet black eyes appeared contrite. But he, of all people, knew that appearances could be deceiving. Moreover, she could’ve simply been upset that she’d been caught.
Not giving any indication of his anxiety, he feigned nonchalance, jerking his chin and motioning for her to set the ledger on the table. He’d learned long ago not to give away any indication of vulnerability; it only drew the sharks to the scent of blood.
“Oh, dear, yes, your hands…I’d heard about the burns you’d sustained while saving that little girl’s life.” In a flutter, she spun and set down the volume. Turning to face him, she raised a brow. “I assume that you’re still wearing bandages beneath your gloves?”
He glowered, not bothering a reply.
She frowned. “I see that I’ve made an absolute mess of things. And I was so hoping for a pleasant start to our acquaintance.”
“We have no acquaintance.” His words were clipped and he didn’t bother to keep the anger from his tone.
“Of course not. We haven’t been properly intro—”
“Which makes it unseemly for you to be alone in my company.” Stepping aside, he motioned to the open door. “If you will.”
She blinked. “But you haven’t even heard—”
“I’m not receiving visitors.”
“But Lady Pomfry’s been to see you. And Mrs. Bright. Mrs. Haymarket…”
What? Had she been spying on him? No matter. Once more, he motioned to the door. “I am not receiving visitors any longer. Now go.”
Her mouth opened and then closed as if she couldn’t sort out what he was saying. After an annoyingly long moment, her head tilted. “Is it because I’m not pretty enough?”
“Yes, that’s it. Whatever you say. Now, if you’ll please just go.”
She stilled, immobilized like one of Lady Pomfry’s porcelain dolls. The only sign of life in her was the suspiciously bright gleam in her gaze.
Suddenly he realized what he’d just said. He bit back a groan. Oh, dear Lord. Even he was not so callous as to intentionally harm a woman’s self-esteem; he’d simply wanted her to go. Now he was probably going to have to deal with a blubbering damsel in need of cheer. Could this day get any worse?
“I must confess,” she whispered, “you’re nothing like I’d imagined.”
“You don’t even know the half of it,” he muttered, trying to figure a smooth way out of this wretched fix. He raised his hand to run it though his hair and was arrested by a now-familiar searing pain. That was one nervous habit that he had to adjust for his burn injuries.
“Look, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he ventured.
She smiled sadly. “There is no need to apologize, Mr. Devane. I know I’m no beauty.”
He wondered if it was worth arguing the point with her. Granted, with her unfashionable ebony hair and dark eyes, she would never be considered a fine English rose. And she was far too thin for conventional fashion. Moreover, she’d do better with a coiffure of elaborate curls to balance out her strong features. No, she was not an exceptional beauty.
And yet…
“Would you believe me if I told you that I disagree?” he asked gently, knowing that any woman who would suggest her looks as a reason for rejection had to be sensitive on that very point.
The lady studied him a long moment, her black-jeweled gaze considering. “No. And I would prefer that you be honest with me in all of our future dealings together.”
Prescott gritted his teeth. Although he was glad that she hadn’t wilted like a sodden handkerchief, that didn’t mean that he was willing to put up with her designs. “Look, I may not have been particularly politic about it, but—”
“Oh, really?” Crossing her arms, she raised a brow. “For a moment there I thought you were Solicitor General Dagwood.”
Comparing him to one of the most ambitiously political men in government was obviously sardonic. He almost smiled at her wit, but forced a frown. “Regardless, I still want you to leave.”
Slowly, her small shoulders squared and her pointy chin lifted. Her pink lips firmed into a mulish line and her gaze became decidedly determined. Turning, she stepped over to the sofa and sat, hands folded in her lap. “I’m not quite ready to leave yet, Mr. Devane. My business with you is not yet concluded.”
Prescott blinked, astounded by her cheek. “This is my house.” At least until Cat and her new husband return from their honeymoon….
“Then perhaps you would be so kind to at least pretend to be hospitable.”
Careful of his injuries, he crossed his arms, wondering if she were daft or simply an overindulged shrew.
As if to match him, she crossed her arms. “The only way I’m going is if you carry me out kicking and screaming.”
Glaring at the stubborn woman, he tried to decide how difficult it would be to do exactly that. She was small, but she moved with a healthy vitality indicating that she was familiar with exercise. More importantly, from the mulish set to her shoulders and the determined look in her eye, he recognized that she’d kick up a riot if he tried.
“Pray don’t glare down at me as if you’re sizing me up for market,” she admonished, with a frown. “We both know that you’d never do anything so crass or ungentlemanly.”
“Why the blazes not? I’m no gentleman.”
“No, but you have principles.”
She said it with such certainty he blinked. Who was this perplexing woman? And what the dickens did she want with him?
Her demeanor was very different from the usual sensual display or demanding entreaty that most of the ladies interested in him exhibited. There was no suggestive cadence to her tone. She came across as businesslike, plain-speaking.
In fact, now that he thoug
ht about it, everything about her seemed a far cry from most of the ladies he knew. The first indicator was her attire. Although fine in line and fabric, her clothes were staid, undistinguished, and more akin to a Quaker than an élégante.
The majority of the females he associated with exhibited their skin in an artful display of ruffles, bows and silky fabrics. Through the open front of her demure plum coat, he could see that there was not a bow or ruffle in evidence on this lady’s sober brown gown.
Likewise, her mien was…contained. As if any natural inclination for exuberance had been extinguished long ago. She reminded him of a schoolmarm, one who oversaw children but could not comprehend their liveliness.
And yet, her actions bespoke a deep-seated strength of purpose and her self-assurance seemingly indicated a depth of character.
Prescott felt something inside of him stir, something he hadn’t felt in a very long time: curiosity. Irritably, he pushed it aside, knowing that despite her dissimilar mien, in the end she would behave like every other lady he’d ever known, wanting to use him for her ends, then discarding him when she was through. There was one way to know for certain.
“What do you want with me?” he asked.
“For the moment, your ear.”
“Just an ear?”
Her porcelain cheeks splotched cherry. “I wish you wouldn’t speak like that.”
“I’m trying to give you the opportunity to state the very business for which you claim you must remain in my presence.” His tone reflected his limited patience. “Are you here in the hopes of engaging me as an escort?”
Her eyes blazed like black coals as she was obviously discomfited at being pigeonholed. Well, that made two of them.
Her chin lifted another notch. “Yes. But it’s much more complicated than you can imagine.”
He was surprised at the disappointment shafting through him. Well, what else did he expect? He was a cicisbeo, for heaven’s sake, no one was going to treat him any better. Had been a cicisbeo, he reminded himself. That chapter of his life was now closed.
“I’m not interested.” Before she could argue, he held up his hand. “And it has nothing to do with your looks. Venus herself could ask me at this moment and my answer would be the same.”