Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set

by Julie Ortolon

  She set her jaw. “I don’t want Lord Shelton to eat any ratafia puffs.”

  Her sisters exchanged matching looks of astonishment. “Why?” Juliana asked carefully.

  Corinna cocked her head. “Are you that certain he’ll propose without them?”

  “I don’t wish him to propose at all.”

  Juliana dropped her glove. “What?”

  “You heard me.” Alexandra drew a deep breath, relieved the truth was out. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  Juliana blinked. “But Griffin expects you to marry Lord Shelton.”

  When Alexandra only shrugged, Corinna frowned. “You always do the expected thing.”

  “How very tedious. It’s about time I changed, don’t you think?”

  “Girls?” Alexandra’s flabbergasted sisters were saved from answering when Griffin stepped into the gallery. “What are you all doing out here?”

  “Talking.” Juliana bent to retrieve her glove.

  Griffin looked toward the stone-vaulted ceiling as though praying for heavensent strength. “Lord Shelton is inquiring after your presence.” He lowered his gaze to Alexandra and smiled. “He likes your sweets very much.”

  “Oh!” she said, when she wanted to say “Drat!” Not that she believed in magic, but…what if the ratafia puffs worked? She didn’t want to actually turn down Lord Shelton’s proposal. Griffin would never forgive her.

  “I’m not feeling well,” she told him—and suddenly, it wasn’t a fib. The thought of marrying Lord Shelton made nausea rise in her throat. “Please give Lord Shelton my apologies,” she said. “I must go lie down.”

  Chapter Four

  *

  ALEXANDRA SAT AT her gold-and-white Chippendale dressing table, gazing at the oval cameo she’d dug out of the bottom of her jewelry box. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

  “Beautiful, my lady.” The maid she shared with her sisters deftly pinned up her hair. “I’ve never seen you wear it before.”

  “It’s been put away for a long time.”

  Alexandra hadn’t been able to find the note that had come with the cameo that exciting day it arrived, about a year after Tris left for the West Indies. But she’d read it so many times, the words were burned into her memory. My dear Lady Alexandra, it said in a bold scrawl so distinct she could picture it even now,

  Here is the gift I promised you from Jamaica. I expect it will arrive a year or two before myself, but I saw it in a shop and knew it for the perfect choice. The cameo reminded me of your profile portraits, and its subject reminded me of you. It is my wish that you’ll wear it in the best of health and happiness.

  Yours,

  Tristan Nesbitt

  The cameo, set in a beautiful white gold bezel with three tiny diamonds, featured a girl carved of mother-of-pearl in profile on an oval of black jet. She’d cherished it and been thrilled to think the pretty, curly-haired young miss on it reminded Tris of her. She must have read the words My dear and Yours a million times, wishing there were some way he could be hers. But after a year had passed, and then two, she’d given up those childish dreams and put both the cameo and the note away.

  After another year, she’d taken his profile portrait from her wall and put that away, too.

  And now, he wasn’t even Tris anymore. He was Lord Hawkridge, a strange and distant man. But she couldn’t help thinking that, now that he was a marquess, he was no longer unsuitable. Perhaps—

  “Are you ready yet?” Corinna called from the doorway.

  “Almost. Come in a moment.” As her sisters entered, she threaded a delicate chain through the cameo’s bale and quickly fastened it around her neck. Then she lifted a little pot of clear gloss. Watching in the mirror, she slicked it on her mouth.

  “A Lady of Distinction doesn’t approve of lip salve,” Corinna informed her. “In The Mirror of the Graces, she says—”

  “A Lady of Distinction can go hang,” Alexandra interrupted. “Do you expect Lord Hawkridge might have stayed for dinner?”

  “Oh, yes.” Juliana straightened Corinna’s pink satin sash. “Griffin has asked him to stay the night, so he can assist him with some sort of problem at the vineyard tomorrow morning.”

  So that was what Tris and Griffin had been so busy discussing while Alexandra was trying to keep the ratafia puffs from Lord Shelton. If Tris would be here through tomorrow, she thought with a little frisson of excitement, perhaps she might have time to make him notice her. But she was terribly inexperienced…

  Did she have what it would take to tempt a marquess?

  “And has Lord Shelton departed?” she asked with not a little trepidation.

  His presence could ruin everything.

  “Of course. He was invited only to take tea, after all.” Corinna sat carefully on Alexandra’s blue damask bedcovering. “He said he hopes you’ll feel better soon.”

  “I’m absolutely recovered,” Alexandra assured her. Even more so now that she knew she’d escaped the dreaded proposal. She handed her maid a blue ribbon. “Lord Hawkridge didn’t seem to mind staying?”

  “Not at all.” Juliana smiled at her in the mirror. “I don’t mind him staying, either. He’s quite handsome, isn’t he? In a rugged way, I mean.”

  “He’s gorgeous.” Corinna flung herself back on the bed. “I want to paint him.”

  “He’s mine,” Alexandra said quietly.

  The room fell silent.

  “You cannot be serious,” Juliana finally said. “You’re marrying Lord Shelton.”

  “I am not. I thought I made that clear this afternoon.” Alexandra turned from the dressing table and glanced up. “Thank you, Mary. That will be all.”

  As her maid slipped from the room, Alexandra squared her shoulders. “I mean to marry Lord Hawkridge if he will have me.” Juliana gasped, but Alexandra rushed on. “I hope you two will support me in this. I’m aware it seems rash, but the truth is, I’ve been in love with him since I was fifteen. Or years earlier. I’m not sure.”

  Corinna sat upright again, her eyes round as blue saucers. “Does he know?”

  “Of course not. Last I saw him, he was a grown man of twenty-one and I was still in the schoolroom. He wasn’t supposed to even notice me.”

  “He noticed us,” Corinna disagreed. “He talked to us quite often, and he used to tease us mercilessly.”

  Alexandra sighed. “That wasn’t the sort of noticing I was hoping for.”

  “In any case, he was a mere mister then,” Juliana pointed out, “with no prospects.”

  “I never cared.”

  Juliana smoothed her yellow skirts. “Father would have cared.”

  “I know. And I accepted that then. But now everything’s changed—”

  “Good evening, girls.” Griffin appeared in the doorway. “Father would have cared about what?”

  The sisters exchanged glances before Juliana looked toward him and smiled. “Father would have cared to see one of us wed to Lord Hawkridge.”

  Griffin blinked. “Let us hear none of that. I didn’t invite Tristan here as a potential suitor.”

  “Why not?” Corinna asked. “You’ve invited every other unmarried man in all of Britain.”

  “Not quite yet, but I’m working on it.” He flashed her a crooked grin, then nodded toward a book on Alexandra’s bedside table. “Have you been reading The Mirror of the Graces?”

  “Oh, yes. Every night,” she assured him, ignoring her sisters’ muffled giggles.

  Griffin had given them each a copy of the etiquette manual, authored by “A Lady of Distinction,” in the hope that they’d learn to deport themselves in a manner conducive to winning fine husbands.

  He was leaving no stone unturned in his quest to get the three of them married off.

  “Excellent,” he said. “I trust you’re feeling better now?”

  “Much better, thank you. Shall we go down to dinner?”

  Downstairs, she thought as she trailed her siblings out of the room, Lord Hawkridge was waiting. Just re
alizing she would see him again made a pleasant hum warm her body.

  And to think, only this morning she’d considered finding love to be an unrealistic, childish expectation.

  *

  PRETENDING INDIFFERENCE TOWARD Lady Alexandra was one of the hardest things Tristan had ever done. And years of practice didn’t seem to be making it any easier.

  Dinner had been pure torture, chitchatting with Griffin about his trouble with the vineyard while all the while he could feel Alexandra’s gaze on him. Now, their little party having removed themselves to the music room, he was sipping port at an impolite pace while Griffin’s sisters provided entertainment.

  Corinna had a pretty voice, and the music Juliana coaxed from her harp was nothing less than exquisite. But Tristan had eyes only for Alexandra. She’d removed her gloves, and her bare fingers, long and elegant, flew gracefully over the keys of the pianoforte. Though his ears told him the resulting tune was proficient rather than inspired, her playing had him enthralled.

  She was wearing the cameo he’d sent her several years earlier, and he found himself entirely too pleased about that.

  “Would you care for more?”

  Tristan looked up to find Griffin standing over him with the bottle of port. “My thanks,” he murmured, raising his glass.

  Griffin settled beside him on the small gold brocade sofa. “Civilized, aren’t they?” He gestured toward his sisters, all seated primly on dainty chairs with brocade seats and gilt backs. His chuckle was low enough not be heard across the room. “Whoever would have thought they’d actually grow up?”

  Tristan smiled, but he’d always known Alexandra would turn out to be something special. A rather gangly girl, she’d grown into her looks during the years since he’d last seen her. Sweet curves now softened her slender frame. Her sooty-lashed brown eyes, which had always reminded him of warmed brandy, looked large in her delicately featured face. Her chestnut hair was the same as it had always been—so springy it seemed alive, refusing to stay pinned primly atop her head.

  Any man would find her alluring.

  But there was something else about her—something harder to put his finger on. Even as an adolescent she’d been responsible beyond her years, accomplished and more than competent…and yet, underneath, he’d sensed a melting romanticism, a yearning for love that the younger, more idealistic Tristan would have given anything to fulfill.

  Then, as today, he’d sometimes sensed his feelings were returned—something in the way her eyes would soften when he caught her looking at him. But there had been no sense in pursuing anything. From the start, he’d known the Marquess of Cainewood would never allow his high-born daughter to wed the son of a common drunkard.

  And nothing was different now.

  True, his situation had changed, and his friend was the marquess now. But Griffin had new reasons to reject Tristan’s suit—reasons even more damning than the ones Griffin’s father would have objected to all those years ago.

  Alexandra glanced over at him again, and a gentle smile curved her lips. He looked away and sipped. He would have to have a talk with her. He disliked discussing his circumstances, but honor compelled him to explain.

  “What is life like at Hawkridge?” Griffin asked quietly.

  Lonely , Tristan thought. He hadn’t realized how lonely until now. But he wasn’t looking for pity. “I keep busy,” he said. “Doing very ungentlemanly things.”

  “Are you implying you work?” Griffin asked in mock horror.

  “Incessantly, I’m afraid.”

  Griffin’s laughter brought Alexandra’s head up once more. She met Tristan’s gaze, her eyes melting in that way that threatened his resolve.

  But he wouldn’t allow her to pierce his armor. Especially because, as her older brother, Griffin would see that nothing ever came of it.

  “Hawkridge’s restored vineyards are the least of my improvements,” he said, turning deliberately to Griffin. “I’m building a gasworks. And I’ve found that careful land management produces significantly larger crops.”

  Griffin sipped slowly. “According to rumor, you’ve begun a new breeding program as well. Not just for horses, but common swine and sheep.”

  “Yes, I’m importing stock from distant estates. I ascribe to the theory that interbreeding produces weak animals.”

  “I look forward to learning more of this.”

  “I look forward to explaining it,” Tristan told him with a smile.

  Miraculously, it seemed that Griffin had remained his friend. Still more reason to steer clear of Alexandra. It wasn’t worth ruining such a long-standing relationship over something that could never be.

  When the song came to an end, instead of launching into another one, the sisters held a short, murmured conversation. Tristan saw Juliana nod before they all rose. As they started across the parquet floor, Alexandra’s hand went up to touch the cameo she was wearing.

  Yes, he had to explain things, difficult as that would be. Perhaps feigning indifference wasn’t the hardest thing, after all.

  “That was very nice, girls,” Griffin said.

  Although he knew his friend used the term with affection, Alexandra no longer struck Tristan as a girl. He looked away, staring blankly at the large gilt-framed mirror that hung above the white marble fireplace. The room seemed too hot. He tugged to loosen the cravat his valet had so carefully tied early that morning.

  “Are you overly warm?” Juliana smiled sweetly. “Perhaps a walk along the battlements in the night air would help.”

  That sounded like an excellent idea. “I believe I shall take your suggestion,” he said, beginning to rise. He needed to get out of here. He needed to think. He needed to plan carefully what he would say to Alexandra. Out of sight of her, and her beautiful eyes, and the cameo he’d given her dangling near her pert, filled-out breasts.

  “I’m pleased you agree,” Juliana said, still smiling. “Alexandra would be happy to accompany you.”

  Chapter Five

  *

  ALEXANDRA WAS SHOCKED AT Juliana’s bold suggestion, and even more shocked when Tris—Lord Hawkridge, she reminded herself—paused, then nodded rather grimly and said, “That would be delightful.”

  He didn’t sound delighted.

  “Tristan,” Griffin said in a quiet tone laced with warning. But Lord Hawkridge ignored Alexandra’s brother, rising and taking her elbow, and she was too excited to pay Griffin any heed. She’d always followed the rules and obeyed authority, but it seemed she was changing more and more by the minute.

  Lord Hawkridge had agreed to walk alone with her outdoors. Whether he was actually delighted or not, it was almost too good to be true. Maybe she would prove able to make him notice her in the short time he’d be here.

  In silence he steered her from the room. In silence they descended the staircase and walked outside into the quadrangle. In silence they crossed the groomed lawn.

  After a while, the silence grew worrisome.

  She couldn’t help wishing he’d sounded happier when he’d agreed to this walk. Perhaps he’d only acquiesced to avoid embarrassing Juliana. Maybe he would rather have stayed inside with Griffin.

  Though there was a full moon tonight, his gray eyes were unreadable. “My lord,” she started.

  “After all these years,” he interrupted, “you’re not going to start addressing me formally now, are you?” Having spent enough time at Cainewood to know his way around, he guided her uphill toward the keep, which sat atop an ancient motte—a mound of earth built to give the castle’s defenders the advantage of height. “You called me Tristan when we were younger. Or Tris. I always liked that.”

  Had he? Feeling her cheeks heat at the thought, she was happy when it grew darker as they stepped into the tower.

  He let her lead the way up the winding stone staircase, following close behind—as a gentleman should—in case she should stumble in the pitch-blackness. She put a hand to the rough wall for balance. “You weren’t a marquess when we
were younger.”

  “I’m still the same person.”

  She wasn’t so certain he hadn’t changed in seven years. Braver in the dark than she’d have been in the moonlight, she blurted the question she’d been dying to ask. “However did you become a marquess?”

  Behind her, Lord Hawkridge sighed. “My father was a second son—a spectacularly unsuccessful one. It was my uncle—the marquess—who financed my schooling and university.”

  “So I gathered over the years.” She glanced at him as they stepped through the archway and back into the pale illumination. “But your uncle had heirs, didn’t he?”

  “The requisite heir and a spare, yes.” By unspoken agreement, they began strolling along the top of the wide, crenelated wall. “My uncle had married well, an heiress who came with a large plantation in Jamaica. Her family lived on other property they owned on the island, and though she and Uncle Harold had a good marriage, she pined to see them from time to time. Five years ago—while I was still there learning the ropes—she brought her sons home for a visit. None of them returned. Weeks after they were due to arrive, my uncle learned their ship had gone down in the Caribbean. Suddenly I was his heir.”

  “And then he died?”

  “A year later, yes. That was four years ago, just after I’d returned to England. My own father had died a scant six months earlier, and I’d inherited his estate—which was little more than a mountain of debt. I was…in dire straits.”

  He hesitated as though he wanted to say more, but she waited a while and he didn’t. “That was solved when you inherited from your uncle?” she prompted.

  “Yes,” he said, and hesitated again. Their footfalls echoed into the night. “But there’s no need to call me Lord Hawkridge,” he finally added, bringing the conversation back to where they’d started.

  She was certain there was something else he hadn’t told her, but it wasn’t her place to press. “You’ve always called me Lady Alexandra. On the rare occasions you noticed me, that is.” She glanced toward him and smiled—a fetching smile, she hoped. “Last time you saw me I was just Griffin’s vexatious younger sister.”