by Anna Bennett
“I fear something is wrong.” Fiona released her friend’s and sister’s hands and propped her fists on her hips. “The gown I’d selected for tonight’s ball. I’ve decided it’s ghastly. Help me choose another?”
All too happy to assist, Lily strode to the armoire and flung open the doors. “Are we looking for something that Miss Haywinkle would disapprove of?” she called over her shoulder, hopeful.
“Most definitely,” Fiona replied. Now that she’d proposed to an earl, a demure white gown seemed far too safe a choice. Besides, she didn’t believe in half measures. “Let’s try the deep rose silk, shall we?”
She couldn’t force Lord Ravenport to marry her, but she could make him notice her.
And the sumptuous rose silk was a fine place to start.
Chapter 2
As a rule, David Gray, the Earl of Ravenport, avoided two types of women: those who were alarmingly desperate and those who were stark raving mad. Unfortunately, Miss Fiona Hartley fell squarely into both categories.
He wasn’t personally acquainted with the heiress, but he didn’t need a formal introduction to know that she was trouble personified. The proposal she’d written him, now tucked into the chest pocket of his jacket, provided irrefutable proof.
Even her father’s substantial fortune, amassed by trade, had not gained Miss Hartley’s acceptance into London’s most elite circles. A regrettable combination of innocence and awkwardness made her an easy target for the gossips who took pleasure in ridiculing a common-born woman who dared to rise above her station.
Gray had problems of his own—a manor house literally crumbling around him, estate finances in complete disarray, and a sweet but doggedly determined grandmother who reminded him daily that he needed an heir.
He wanted no part of Miss Hartley or whatever game she played. For he had no doubt she was playing a game—and that the stakes were perilously high.
Still, he couldn’t deny that her letter had piqued his curiosity, at least enough to make him put in a brief appearance at the Northcroft ball tonight. From his relatively secluded spot near the open doors leading to the terrace, he could observe everything: guests streaming into the ballroom, couples twirling on the dance floor, and shrewd matrons casting their matchmaking nets. Thank heaven for the cool breeze at his back—which made him feel less trapped.
George Kirby, Gray’s closest friend, sidled up to him and handed him a drink. “If you’re not interested in dancing or chatting with other guests, why bother dragging yourself here at all?”
“Good question. I’m already regretting my decision.” Gray took a long draw of brandy and tried not to let his gaze linger on Helena, his fiancée—or rather, his former fiancée—as she batted her eyes at a duke. But old habits died hard.
Somehow, he always knew precisely where Helena was, who she was with, and the exact shade of the gown she wore. He was attuned to her every move and every emotion—and wished to hell that he weren’t.
Kirby scoffed as though he’d read Gray’s mind. “It was wise of you to show your face here tonight. You wouldn’t want people to think you’re avoiding the social whirl, or worse, that you’re heartbroken over Lady Helena.”
“I don’t give a damn what people think,” Gray muttered.
But for the record, his heart was not broken. It was frozen.
He’d envisioned a future with Helena—had seen it with utter clarity. They’d sneak afternoon naps under the grand old oak on his estate and dance midnight waltzes on his moonlit terrace. Eventually, they’d be blessed with a couple of children who’d run across the fields, a mischievous puppy yapping at their heels.
But when Helena visited the manor house, she’d seen none of those things.
She’d seen only crumbling chimneys, untended gardens, and peeling paint. And shortly thereafter, she’d changed her mind about marriage—and about him.
Kirby clasped Gray’s shoulder and shook it like he was trying to wake him from a drunken stupor. “What you need, my friend, is a diversion. Meet me at the club later tonight, and we’ll pay a visit to a gambling hell or a brothel—your choice.” He poked a conspiratorial elbow in Gray’s side. “Both, if you like.”
Gray shook his head as he stared at the crowded ballroom. Damned if he’d wager money he didn’t have or squander it on sex. Not when he needed every shilling for timber, brick, and marble. “I have plans early tomorrow morning.”
Kirby arched a brow. “Working at the Fortress again?” Fortress was the sometimes affectionate, sometimes disparaging name Gray had given his manor house—fitting, since it resembled a small medieval castle … after a rather devastating battle.
“The list of projects is long,” Gray replied. An understatement to be sure. The house’s roof leaked, its plaster walls were cracked, and several shutters hung cockeyed off their hinges. But he was determined to return his family’s estate to its former glory so that he could make his grandmother proud and maybe bring a smile to her face—before it was too late.
If, one day, the restored grandeur of the Fortress also happened to make Helena regret jilting him … all the better.
“You know what they say about all work and no play,” Kirby quipped. “It makes you a tedious ass.”
“Well, that explains everything,” Gray said with a shrug. “But don’t let me stop you from enjoying whatever form of debauchery you have planned. I only intend to stay here another hour or so.” Just long enough to tell Miss Hartley there was no way in hell he’d marry her—in the most tactful manner possible.
“You’re sure you don’t want to join me?” Kirby cajoled.
Out of the corner of his eye, Gray spotted Miss Hartley several yards away, wearing a dark pink gown, a bright spot in a sea of frothy white. Oddly, though, it wasn’t her dress that set her apart.
Her auburn hair gleamed in the light of the chandeliers, and her smooth skin seemed to glow from within. She wasn’t pretty in the classical sense—too many freckles dotted her face and shoulders, and her limbs were too long for her body, not unlike a newborn colt’s. But when she turned to speak to her friend, a smile split her face, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe.
Reluctantly, he dragged his attention back to Kirby and nodded. “As soon as I finish my brandy, I’m going to speak to my grandmother and make my excuses.” Not precisely the truth, but Miss Hartley had begged for discretion, and he saw no harm in keeping her secret. For now.
“Very well then. I’ll see you at the club for dinner tomorrow night,” Kirby said pointedly. “Remember what I said about all work…” As he backed away, he circled an imaginary rope around his neck, yanked it toward the ceiling, and let his eyes roll back in his head.
Gray scowled at his friend’s antics, but maybe Kirby was right. The world wouldn’t fall apart if he was a little less serious now and then. The problem was he didn’t know how to be any other way.
Slowly, he made his way toward Miss Hartley and her small group, watching her carefully. When she spotted him approaching, she swallowed and blinked twice before turning her gaze on him.
Despite her brazen marriage proposal, good manners prevented him from striking up a conversation, even about something innocuous as the weather. Fortunately, Miss Hartley’s circle included his grandmother’s friend Lady Callahan, who was all too happy to perform the introductions.
“Lord Ravenport,” Lady Callahan intoned, closing her fan with an expert flick of the wrist. “Please, allow me to present my daughter Miss Sophie Kendall and her friends Miss Fiona Hartley and Miss Lily Hartley.”
Gray exchanged the expected pleasantries, then turned to Fiona. A halo of loose curls crowned her head, and she worried her plump bottom lip. Her pink gown exposed the long column of her neck and the curve of her shoulders; he could almost see her pulse beating wildly at the base of her throat.
His instincts screamed for him to run right out of the ballroom, and yet his boots remained rooted to the floor. Worse, before he knew what he was doing he’d asked her
to dance.
“It would be my pleasure,” she stammered, taking his arm.
As he led her to the dance floor he questioned his own good judgment—and not for the first time that day. He’d witnessed Miss Hartley trip and tumble into the orchestra at the Millbrook ball. He’d been dancing with Helena at the time but had paused to help her up.
So much had changed since then.
He had no idea if Miss Hartley’s dance partner had been to blame for the incident or whether she was prone to falling, but just to be safe he tightened his hand on her waist. And they began moving to the music.
The first measure had barely played before she asked, “You received my letter?”
“I did,” he said noncommittally, twirling her beneath his raised arm.
When she faced him again, she looked him directly in the eye. “What do you think of my … offer?” she asked, her voice cracking on the final word.
He tamped down an unexpected pang of sympathy. “I think that we hardly know each other.”
“True, but that is easily rectified, is it not?” There it was—an unmistakable hint of desperation. And a sense of urgency that even her letter hadn’t conveyed.
“It is,” he conceded. “However, I suspect that the more we know each other, the less we’ll like each other.” Cynical but true in his experience. His parents certainly hadn’t grown fonder of each other. Neither had he and Helena.
She winced and looked away before regaining her composure. “Perhaps. But we needn’t like each other.”
Gray chuckled at that. “I never thought I’d meet someone more jaded than I.”
“So, you’ll consider my offer?” she pressed.
“I will not,” he said firmly. Under different circumstances, her fortune may have tempted him. But she was clearly intent on using him for her own purpose—and he suspected that she’d set her sights on him for reasons beyond his title. After all, there were half a dozen peers in attendance right now who’d leap at the chance to marry a young and unconventionally beautiful heiress.
But he was not one of them.
“It seems rather closed-minded of you to dismiss me summarily,” she shot back, displaying a boldness that was borderline rude—and refreshing.
“If I said I’d consider your offer, I’d only be giving you false hope. Delaying the inevitable.”
“The inevitable rejection, you mean,” she clarified.
“Yes.” He was still reeling from the sting of Helena’s rebuff and wouldn’t wish anyone that sort of pain and humiliation.
“Please,” she begged. “I realize that it’s highly unusual for a woman to propose marriage—”
“It’s unheard of.”
“Surely you must be curious—as to why I did it.” She looked up at him, her shining blue eyes challenging him to deny the truth of her words.
Gray shrugged. “You have your reasons for making the offer; I have my reasons for declining it.”
“Give me the opportunity to explain,” she pleaded. “Just a quarter of an hour to make my case. If, after that, you remain unconvinced, I promise I shan’t mention it again.”
He must be out of his damned mind to consider engaging in further discussion with Miss Hartley. The very last thing he needed was another conniving, self-serving female attempting to interfere with his life. He had opened his mouth to tell her so when someone bumped into his back—hard.
Gray’s torso collided with Miss Hartley’s chest, and she stumbled two steps before he wrapped an arm around her slender waist, catching her just before she landed on the parquet floor. She gasped and clung to his jacket, her expression an odd mix of relief and mortification.
“Oh dear,” she breathed.
Their faces were so close he could see unexpected dark blue flecks in her irises and the individual freckles dotting her nose. “Forgive me,” he said.
“For what?”
For what indeed? Steering her into the collision? Gripping her waist too tightly? Or for staring at the swells of her breasts and having decidedly wicked thoughts while he should have been shielding her from further embarrassment? Ignoring her question, he asked, “Are you all right?”
“I am.” Her cheeks turned a charming shade of pink. She blew out a breath and shot him a shaky smile. “When it comes to dance floor mishaps, I confess I’ve survived much worse.”
Gray looked over his shoulder to see how the other couple fared, surprised to find Helena and her dance partner smiling apologetically.
And the truth struck him. For the last ten minutes, while he’d been dancing with Miss Hartley, he’d been completely, blissfully unaware of Helena and what she was doing. Even more remarkable, he’d forgotten that she was in the room.
“Meet me in Hyde Park tomorrow,” he said to Miss Hartley, mentally cursing his own weakness. “I will listen to what you have to say, but don’t expect anything to change my mind.”
The corners of her mouth curled in a triumphant smile. “Thank you. All I ask is that you allow me the chance to explain the advantages of the arrangement—for us both.”
“Forgive me if I remain skeptical,” he drawled. “I’ll meet you near the footbridge. Three o’clock?”
“You won’t regret this,” she said earnestly, but the prickling sensation between his shoulder blades suggested he would. In spite of her naïveté and candor—or maybe because of those things—Miss Hartley could prove far more dangerous to him than Helena had ever been.
Chapter 3
On Being Rescued* from Imminent Dance Floor Peril
The strength of the arm Lord R. circled around my waist surprised and—I must confess—thrilled me. I was on the verge of falling mid-waltz for the second time in one month when he easily caught me, as if I weighed no more than the quill I write with. I cannot recall a time when I ever felt so safe … or so protected.
*I feel compelled to note, however, that rescue would have been entirely unnecessary if Lord R. had not clumsily steered us into the path of another couple. Indeed, I’m not certain it’s possible to rescue someone from a calamity of one’s own making; however, I shall give Lord R. a modicum of credit for attempting to do so.
And for having such masculine, capable hands.
Fiona was running vexingly late for her meeting with the earl. She prided herself on arriving promptly to appointments, but escaping the house with only her maid for company had been a challenge. When Lily had learned that Fiona planned an outing, she’d wanted to go, too, which meant Fiona had to concoct the excuse that she was shopping for her sister’s birthday gift. And since Fiona really did need to purchase a gift for Lily, she and her maid, Mary, had stopped by Bond Street on the way to Hyde Park. Fiona quickly selected a pretty green cloak to match her sister’s eyes, but the shopkeeper insisted on showing Fiona an endless selection of ribbons, gloves, and caps, delaying her arrival at the park for her very important meeting with the earl.
And now she was a quarter of an hour late. Gads.
She spotted the earl walking along a footpath near the Serpentine and hurried to join him, her maid trailing behind, clucking her tongue.
“Lord Ravenport!” Fiona exclaimed. She frowned at the overcast sky as she approached him. “My apologies for keeping you waiting.”
He turned toward her, his handsome face chillingly devoid of expression. “I wondered if you’d changed your mind.”
“About meeting with you?” she inquired, catching her breath.
“About your offer.”
“I haven’t,” she said quickly. “It still stands. That is, I hope to persuade you to accept.” It was imperative that she convince him to marry her. Her sister’s reputation and happiness depended upon it.
“Then you’re fortunate I’m still here. My time is valuable, Miss Hartley. I’ve more important things to do than to wander around the park making polite conversation with waterfowl.” He scowled at a pair of swans gliding across the sparkling water behind him.
“I’m surprised you were capable,�
�� she murmured.
“Of communicating with swans?”
“Of polite conversation,” she said, smiling sweetly.
He dragged a hand down the side of his face, clearly exasperated—which made two of them. “It’s rather bold of you to lecture me on manners when you couldn’t be bothered to arrive at our meeting—a meeting you insisted upon—at the appointed time.”
“I’m afraid it couldn’t be helped,” she said, genuinely apologetic.
He raised his eyebrows in mock concern. “Did some sort of peril befall you? Did a highwayman accost you? Did your carriage overturn, casting you into a ditch?”
“Nothing so dire,” she answered vaguely, while desperately hoping for a change of subject.
“Then perhaps you could tell me why you were detained?”
“I was … shopping,” she admitted, raising her chin a notch.
“Shopping,” he repeated with a smug nod. As if she’d just confirmed a long-held belief that women were inherently frivolous creatures.
“I was detained while buying a gift. Perhaps you’ve heard of the custom?” she asked dryly.
The corners of his mouth curved into a smile. “I have. It often involves the purchase of a sentimental object that the recipient neither wants nor needs.”
“I happen to be an excellent gift giver. But I understand that not everyone appreciates sentimentality.” At least if he agreed to marry her she wouldn’t have to fret over his birthday and Christmas presents.
“Quite true.”
“In any event, I regret the inconvenience I caused you,” Fiona said with as much sincerity as she could muster. Given his surliness, her pity was reserved for the swans forced to endure his company while he waited. But she needed to persuade him to marry her, and squabbling was not going to further her cause. “Please, forgive me.”
Apparently mollified, he waved an arm at a bench on the banks of the Serpentine. “Shall we sit?”
Fiona cast a glance over her shoulder at her maid, who paced several yards behind them. “I’d prefer to walk, if you don’t mind.” She inclined her head toward Mary. “It will afford us greater privacy.”