She could only hope he hadn’t thought she was flirting with him. She’d never purposely attract the attention of a married man, and Lauren had just told her that he had a wife. She wondered where the woman was.
Georgina would certainly want to share the evening with her husband if she had one. She didn’t understand the thinking over here. Marriage was a partnership, two people working together to secure happiness.
She couldn’t do this. She absolutely couldn’t marry one of these men. Having nothing in common with any of them, she didn’t feel comfortable around them. Besides, she’d always hoped to marry for love not convenience.
But the undeniable truth hit her: if she didn’t latch onto this opportunity now, when would she marry, when would she have children? In reality marrying an Englishman could prove to be an ideal situation. She’d noticed it was impossible at these functions to know who went with whom. Husbands and wives, with a few exceptions, seldom interacted much.
She could marry the man, have his child, and hardly ever see him again. Her life wouldn’t be much different from what it was now—except that she’d have a son or daughter to love. A son or daughter. Could she marry a man and use him to gain what she dearly wanted?
She had no business being here, waiting nervously for some desperate man to approach her. Maybe Sheridan had caught sight of her in this awful gown and changed his mind.
“I’m going to get us some punch,” she said. And while she was at it, she’d locate the carriage and simply sit in it until it was time to go home.
“You’re not leaving me. I’ll introduce him to you. It’s only proper. Besides, he might ask you to dance, and other gentlemen will surely follow suit.”
But he made her nervous, the way he strode toward them with apparent single-minded purpose. Someone snagged his attention, and he stopped. A reprieve.
“Maybe we should take a walk in the garden,” Georgina suggested.
“You won’t find a beau in the garden.”
“Lauren, I’m not really looking for a beau.”
“Why not? You could stay in England, and we could grow old together, remain best friends forever.”
Hadn’t her father suggested practically the same thing? Were they conspiring? “Have you talked with my father about me getting married?”
“Of course not. Your father and I seldom speak, but now that I’ve said it, it sounds like a splendid idea. Maybe we could even marry brothers, so we’d attend all the same family functions. Now, that’s a thought.”
Huntingdon was on the prowl again, acknowledging people with a mere nod as he made his way across the room.
“You know, the more I ponder your introduction, the more I realize Huntingdon might not be a bad match for you,” Lauren murmured.
“I thought you said he was married.”
“No, I said I’d met his wife.”
Georgina wanted to screech. Honestly, sometimes she felt as though she was communicating with someone who spoke in a language alien to her. Marriage, wife. She couldn’t figure out how any difference existed between the two.
“It stands to reason if you met his wife, then he’s married,” Georgina pointed out.
“No longer married. Widower.”
Everything within Georgina stilled as a horrid thought hit her. “What’s his name?”
“I told you. Huntingdon.”
Damn this English tradition that gave people in the aristocracy so many names. “No, I mean—”
But it was too late. Huntingdon came to an abrupt halt before them. Georgina was grateful to see his intense gaze had shifted and locked onto Lauren. It had probably been on Lauren all along. Georgina had simply been unable to tell because of the distance separating them.
The gaslights flickering in the chandeliers glistened on his black hair. Threads of silver graced his temples, adding to his distinguished demeanor. His eyes matched the blue of the gown she’d planned to wear this evening.
“Lord Huntingdon, it’s such a pleasure to see you this evening,” Lauren said softly, elegantly.
She spoke with a confidence Georgina continually admired. She was again reminded how her friend had grown into an elegant lady, and the differences between them seemed to be as vast as the ocean that had separated them for eight years.
“Miss Fairfield, I assure you the pleasure is undoubtedly all mine.”
His voice was a low, rich rumble, and Georgina could well imagine him whispering seductively in a woman’s ear. What she couldn’t imagine was the reason Lauren thought he’d be a good match for her. She really should have told her friend about Sheridan. It could make for a most embarrassing moment if Lauren decided to try to play matchmaker without knowing her father had already taken on the role.
“May I say you look extremely lovely this evening,” he continued. “As always.”
A soft blush lit Lauren’s cheeks. “You are too kind, my lord.”
“Hardly, Miss Fairfield, but I do appreciate beauty when I happen upon it.”
He shifted his attention to Georgina, and she felt the full impact of his intense blue gaze. But within his eyes she noticed something now she hadn’t before—a profound sadness, a haunted mien characteristic of the men she had known who returned from war. Had this man fought a battle and known defeat?
He slid his gaze back to Lauren and arched a brow as well as a corner of his mouth. A wry smile that did nothing to detract from the fine shape of his lips.
“Oh!” Lauren almost hopped. “My lord, forgive my rudeness.” She turned to Georgina. “Miss Pierce, may I present Devon Sheridan, the Earl of Huntingdon. Lord Huntingdon…”
Georgina’s fingers turned icy cold as her worst fears were realized. Never in a hundred years could she marry a man whose features were chiseled to perfection. A man such as he far exceeded her reach. What had her father been contemplating?
Lauren’s voice became little more than a buzz as she prattled on about something, something to do with Huntingdon. Georgina saw him make a movement, and she feared he might be on the verge of grabbing her hand and kissing it. Even though they wore gloves, she didn’t want the intimate contact.
Tucking her hands in close to her waist, she knew her withdrawal must have been evident, because he seemed to draw back as well, his gaze speculative. She clutched her fan with both hands. What were the signals for “Go away,” “I don’t like you,” “You’re as handsome as sin and we’d make an odd pair”?
She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, could barely breathe.
Unlikely scenarios scrambled through her mind. Maybe two Devon Sheridans existed. Surely this man wasn’t the one who had spoken to her father, the one he expected her to marry.
He tilted his head slightly in a semblance of a bow. “Having recently met your father, I can honestly say it is an honor to make your acquaintance at last, Miss Pierce.”
He was the one! And with that certainty, his interest in her became painfully obvious.
She studied him more carefully. His white silk waistcoat was straining against its buttons. The cuffed sleeves of his jacket were frayed around the edges and sadly out of date. Men weren’t wearing cuffed sleeves this season. His tight trousers had also seen better days. His shoes, though polished to a shine, revealed worn leather.
Unlike the other men in the room, he hadn’t bothered to keep up with the trendier fashions. Some might attribute his slightly unstylish attire to the fact that he’d been in seclusion after the loss of his wife, but Georgina felt certain that she knew the truth of his situation.
As she’d suspected, the man who had expressed an interest in her was an impoverished nobleman. She could decipher his reasons as though he’d engraved them across his forehead. These men who lived off the hard work of their ancestors were spoiled, and when the coffers were empty, they found it much easier to marry money than to earn it.
Then he smiled fully, exhibiting a charm with which he’d no doubt been born. And she realized that if she bore his son, he would resemb
le his father. He would know what it was to be adored. And he himself would be titled.
Wasn’t that the way English law worked? The entire estate and its title passed down from father to eldest son. She’d seen the deference given to the first-born sons among the aristocracy. She hated to admit that she’d be pleased to give her son an advantage in life. But was it advantageous to have everything handed to you?
Was she really any different from the man standing before her? She wasn’t foolish enough to think she’d earned his love or his interest. He needed an association with her father, and marriage to her was the most expedient route.
“Miss Fairfield won’t chastise you for speaking to me now that we’ve been formally introduced,” he said.
But she could think of nothing intelligent to utter. I know who you are. I know why you’re here. We will not make a good match.
And yet she really didn’t know if the last was true. He looked as though like her, he, too, wished he was anywhere else.
“The cat seems to have gotten hold of her tongue,” Lauren said with a soft chuckle.
“So it would appear,” he said solemnly. “Might I inquire as to whether you’re enjoying your holiday in London?”
“Uh, yes, Mr. Huntingdon, I am.” She didn’t know why neither her brain nor her tongue seemed to want to function.
“What do you fancy most?” he asked.
Strangely she thought he sounded as though he truly cared. What if he really did have an interest in her beyond her father’s money?
“I enjoy riding Lord Ravenleigh’s horses through Hyde Park in the morning.”
“My cousin does have a fine stable of animals.” He bowed slightly. “If you ladies will excuse me, I shall take my leave before I arouse jealousy among my peers for dominating your time.”
Georgina watched him walk away. She didn’t want to be fascinated by his supple movements, didn’t want to wonder what it might be like to dance with him, to have his undivided attention.
“We’ve been spending all day, every day together. When in the world did you go riding?” Lauren asked, breaking into her thoughts.
“In the morning long before you’re awake.”
“Who is chaperoning you?”
“No one. I’m an adult. I ride alone at home. Why not here?”
“Because the rules are different here. And for goodness sake, if he speaks to you again, remember to address him as my lord, not Mr. Huntingdon. The proper form of address is extremely important if you want to make a good impression.”
Georgina had little doubt she’d made an impression. Perhaps having met her, he would report to her father that he no longer had any interest in her.
How odd that she suddenly found she had an interest in him.
Chapter 4
D evon had feared gaining his introduction to Miss Pierce would arouse the curiosity of the other gentlemen in attendance and they might seek her out as well. He’d worried that he’d forfeit his advantage if she were smitten by someone who possessed the ability to offer her more than he could. But if anyone had noticed, he was apparently not intrigued.
Devon had yet to see Miss Pierce dance.
After several attempts, one insistent fellow had lured Miss Fairfield away from her friend. Left on her own, Miss Pierce neither conversed nor flirted but seemed to prefer the company of potted palms.
He spotted her hidden behind the graceful fronds, peering out as though she wasn’t quite certain what activities one engaged in while in attendance at such an affair. Twice his gaze had clashed with hers when she’d discovered him watching her. She did not play coy, as most women did. She appeared to be a solitary soul, and that notion appealed to him immensely.
She was unfashionably tall and slender. Her skin was dark, almost weathered, as though she’d spent a good deal of time in the sun without benefit of a parasol. Her reddish-brown hair was beginning to droop, as though a lover had repeatedly tunneled his fingers through it. But he hadn’t seen her saunter away for a secret assignation.
Her clothing was garish beyond measure. He did not as a rule take notice of women’s fashions, but he was fairly certain hers was not in vogue. However, a reputable seamstress could change that.
Convincing her that he found her beautiful and had fallen in love with her would be no easy task. It would take precious time he did not have the luxury of wasting.
He doubted he would ever consider her beautiful, and he knew beyond any doubt that he would never fall in love with her. Yet he was pleasantly surprised to discover that she did indeed intrigue him.
He caught sight of her slipping through the glass doors leading into the garden. He supposed if he was going to make his intent to court her known, she’d provided him with the perfect opportunity. As unobtrusively as possible, he followed her outside.
He found her standing at the edge of the porch, gripping the wrought-iron railing. He wondered if she was as disappointed in the evening as Margaret would have been had she garnered so little attention.
Men had fluttered around Margaret as though they were bees hoping for a sip of nectar, even after he and she were married. Their constant attention had led him to the discovery of a jealous streak that caused him to see red. He doubted it would ever surface with Miss Pierce as his wife, and that notion caused him a great deal of relief.
He did not consider her hideous. Only unattractive. Yet as he neared her, he realized she wasn’t truly plain. She simply possessed no feature that stood out and grabbed one’s attention. Limned by moonlight with the forgiving night shadows cast around her, she appeared almost…lovely. In a lonely sort of way.
Like any woman, she deserved a man who appreciated what she had to offer, not a man whose claim of interest was sparked by the coins jingling in her father’s pockets.
For the length of a heartbeat, he debated the cruelty she might one day accuse him of if she ever learned the truth. He would simply have to bury it deeply and cover the lies with false glitter.
“The beauty of the moon pales when compared with your loveliness.” He cringed. Devil be damned. That was the most awful thing he’d ever murmured to a woman.
It had been years since he’d played the courtship game, and he’d grown unaccountably sloppy. All he’d needed was one little lie, one tiny flirtatious comment, and he’d have had her nestled within his palm. The problem was that he didn’t truly want her in his palm. He only wanted his fist around her father’s money.
He was fairly certain she’d never had a compliment thrown her way. Otherwise, why would her father be willing to purchase what she had yet to obtain? Why had he insisted that he convince her that she was beautiful? Why pretend to love her unless she had no experience with being loved?
He had expected her to turn to him with adoring eyes. Instead she continued to look at the lawn shadowed by the moon.
“Consider me plain, my lord. Consider me dull. But never, never consider me stupid.”
She faced him then, one eyebrow arched, daring him to deny her accusation, daring him to give her another compliment. He could do no more than wish a great gaping hole would suddenly appear and the earth would swallow him up. She gave a small nod, as though his silence confirmed her suspicions, and turned her gaze back to the lawn.
“You must be a desperate man,” she said quietly. “What did my father offer you?”
So much for keeping his promise to her father that she would never know of the arrangement. But if he did not uphold his end of the bargain, would her father honor his? Or would he locate a man more adept at deception?
He debated the wisdom of denying her father had offered him anything, but how long would it take a relationship built on the foundation of a lie to crumble? To woo her with false flattery was one thing. To boldly lie…
As though sensing his dilemma, she said, “I won’t tell him you confessed.”
“Unlimited access to his wealth.”
He clenched his jaws and balled his fists at his sides, hating the nee
d he heard shimmering in his voice. The desperation she must have also heard.
Her silence spoke loudly. She’d wished to humiliate him, and now she was relishing her accomplishment. He didn’t need this degradation, nor did he want it. He’d find another way to handle his ghastly situation. He turned on his heel and began to walk away.
“I’m not opposed to your suit, my lord.”
He stopped but refused to look at her. This experience was more humiliating than meeting with her father.
“I’ve been standing here silently playing devil’s advocate with myself. What if I married you? What if I didn’t? What would the future hold if I returned to Texas? What would it bring if I remained here? I’m twenty-six years old.” She released a small, self-deprecating laugh. “And I’ve never been kissed.”
He turned then, slowly, realizing that perhaps this moment was as difficult for her as it was for him. She was still watching the lawn as though she hoped to catch a glimpse of the grass growing.
“My father thinks you would make me happy.”
“I would do all in my power to see that you don’t regret having me as a husband.”
She looked at him, her worries written in deep lines on her face. “What about you? Will you resent having me for your wife?”
“Resent salvation, Miss Pierce? I think it highly unlikely.”
“What sort of marriage do you see us having?” she asked.
Although he was familiar with the pleasures and perils of marriage, he could not easily sum up the complicated answer to so simple a question. “Would you care to take a stroll through the garden with me?”
“Isn’t it scandalous for a woman to be alone with a man?”
He cocked his head. “Miss Pierce, you have already invited scandal by venturing outside without a chaperone.”
“A body can’t even step out without someone tagging along?”
A body? Her body. If he brought her back flush against his chest, he thought he might possibly be able to rest his chin on the top of her head.
To Marry an Heiress Page 4