He dug beneath the letters and took out a small burgundy velvet pouch, the fibers crushed in spots. A gilt-framed portrait slid free, a miniature of a striking young woman with fair hair and a beautiful smile—Miss Jane Farthington at age twenty.
For a time four years ago, they had a flirtation. She was the first woman he’d paid close attention to and people began to speculate that Mr. Adrian Sinclair, the hellion of the ton, might have finally met the woman who would tame him. She was uncommonly attractive and far more interesting than the typical debutantes he encountered. She wasn’t offended by his behavior or reputation, and he’d enjoyed her company immensely, comfortable in the knowledge that his lack of a title meant she’d never seriously consider marrying him. Their relationship had ended when the destitute Miss Farthington became engaged to the exceedingly old and rich Lord Stratford, a betrothal that was considered the matrimonial coup of the decade.
And now the Baroness Stratford was a widow with a fortune. Clearly, his aunt believed Lady Stratford was now the perfect match for him. She had money and he had an even higher rank to offer her. Lady Carlton was hoping Lady Stratford would draw his interest once again, and it was quite possible Lady Stratford was hoping so as well.
He smiled at the picture. Jane looked so sweet, so demure. So utterly unlike the reality.
He slid the picture back into the pouch. One thing was for certain, it wouldn’t be a boring evening.
An hour before the carriage was due to leave for the ball, Adrian strolled into the sitting room and found Miss Colbrook alone, reading in the far window seat. She reclined against a pile of white velvet cushions, her legs tucked under her. Her blue and silver shoes rested on the floor beside her, and her stockinged toes peeked out from beneath the hem of her gown.
As he approached, she briefly lifted her head from her book.
“Where are the other ladies?” he asked.
“Still dressing, I imagine.” She didn’t glance up again. “They may be quite a while. Madeline is always late for outings.” She had already changed into her evening clothes: a plain, dark blue gown and only the barest jewelry—tiny gold ear bobs and a thin necklace that fell almost to her waist. Still, she looked far more ravishing than most women did in much finer clothes.
“What are you reading now?” He stepped close and bent to scan the cover of her book.
A Gentleman’s Guide to Prudent Investment.
“Investment?” Good Lord. Next she’d be reading about fencing or how to tie a cravat.
She glanced up only to frown at him. “It’s fascinating.”
“I’m sure,” he said. “Do you mind if I sit?” He didn’t wait for a reply but dropped onto the cushions at the other end of the window seat. He leaned back, facing her, his knees a few feet from hers. She shifted the book so it blocked him from view.
“I need to speak with you,” he said. He began tracing the edge of the windowpane with one finger.
“About what?” she asked from behind the book.
“Marriage.” He watched the volume slide from her fingers and land beside her shoes with a soft thud. She quickly bent over to retrieve it. Despite the conservative cut of her gown, he was afforded a brief, tantalizing view of her breasts. His body reacted instantly, far too strongly for a mere glimpse of cleavage, however voluptuous.
This was what happened when a man behaved like a monk for too long.
She frowned. “Marriage?”
“Yes. I am offering my assistance.”
“Thank you, but I am in no need of help.” She opened her book and reclined against the cushions again, pretending to read. A lock of hair fell in front of her eyes. He resisted the impulse to lean forward and tuck it behind her ear. What on earth was wrong with him, to be thinking such things?
“It is true, then,” he said, “that you have no desire to marry?”
She snapped the book shut and dropped it in her lap. “I shall not be pressured into a match.” She tucked her hair back into place and shifted, sitting up straighter. Oddly, her necklace was suddenly shorter, falling only to the top of her bodice.
“Then you might marry someday?” He restrained himself from asking about the suitor Madeline had mentioned. Miss Colbrook had already denied his existence. If she did have a serious admirer, the gentleman would almost certainly make himself known soon, perhaps even tonight.
“I might,” she said. “Or I might not.”
“But you refused the offer six years ago from Mr. Harley?”
“Is that not common knowledge?” She glanced out the window.
He frowned. She wasn’t actually answering the question. He recalled the anxiety in her eyes when his aunt had raised the subject on his first night at Wareton. Was she hiding something?
“Did you refuse Mr. Harley?” he asked bluntly.
He assumed she would respond as curtly and evasively as before, but she surprised him.
“No,” she said softly, meeting his gaze. “The old earl refused him.”
“But you did not?”
She slowly shook her head.
Interesting. Perhaps he’d discovered the real reason she remained a spinster. His aunt and apparently everyone else believed that she’d refused Mr. Harley, but this changed everything. Perhaps it wasn’t fear of repeating her mother’s unhappy marriages that made her reluctant to wed. Was it possible she was still so heartbroken that she simply wasn’t interested in other suitors? He felt a stab of annoyance that Mr. Harley might have captured her affections so deeply.
She glanced at him, then down at her hands.
“Why did the old earl refuse him?” he asked.
“He was a miserable old man,” she said. She shifted and tugged at her necklace. “That was reason enough.”
He wouldn’t argue that fact, but she was still being evasive. There was something more, something she didn’t wish to tell him.
“Miserable as sin,” he said, “but—”
“I am caught on something.” She reached awkwardly behind her back, trying to free the chain, but it wouldn’t budge.
“May I assist you?” he asked.
“No, I believe I can get it.” She struggled for a moment longer. “It is caught on the cushion.”
“Let me help. You risk breaking it.”
She looked at him gravely. “Very well.”
He stood and moved beside her, trying to ignore the disturbing effect she had on him. As usual, she smelled good, like fresh cut roses and linen. He fought the desire to lean closer.
“A link is tangled in the pillow cover,” he said. She clasped her hands in her lap as he bent behind her. “Lean back,” he said. She did, briefly brushing her back against his arm. She stiffened.
He wondered how she would react if she knew the alarming thoughts running through his mind. No doubt she would be appalled. Perhaps amused, but more likely horrified. He couldn’t forget the disappointment in her eyes after her awkward discovery of the account entries. And Mr. Harley, from what little Adrian recalled of the gentleman, was as straight-laced as they came, suggesting her taste in men leaned toward the puritanical. She wasn’t likely the type of woman who would find a gentleman with his past at all acceptable, no matter how reformed.
He carefully pulled the white threads out from around the chain. “There. The cushion cover needs mending, but your necklace is undamaged.”
“Thank you,” she said. As he returned the freed chain to her neck, his fingers touched just below her chignon, brushing the soft, fine hair too short to pin up.
She jerked away.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I did not mean to startle you.” He straightened, feeling a stab of anger. Was she so repulsed by him that one touch made her draw back so?
Still holding the necklace against her chest, she glanced up at him. In that instant he saw something in her eyes he never expected to see. It wasn’t revulsion. It was quite the opposite.
She quickly looked away and a bright flush of red coursed up her neck and onto
her cheeks. In all the times he’d encountered her, she’d never once blushed, even under the most obnoxious and improper comments. She’d always been cool and imperturbable.
“You are blushing,” he said softly.
She turned and faced the window. In the glass he could see the faint reflection of her eyes, wide and nervous. He had the sudden urge to touch her again, to stroke the soft hair that fell from her chignon and touch the smooth column of her neck. He wanted to turn her to face him, to caress her flushed cheeks, and to see if her mouth tasted as soft and sweet as it looked.
He should step away. He was too near.
“Miss Colbrook,” he said. He stepped even closer.
Slowly, she turned her head and met his gaze. Her lips were parted, and she seemed about to say something.
He wanted to hear nothing she could say. More than anything at that moment, he wanted to kiss her.
Footfalls sounded in the hallway, distant but growing louder.
He reluctantly drew away from her, and seconds later Lady Carlton hurried into the sitting room.
His aunt had changed into a burgundy ball gown with black embroidery. Two enormous ebony feathers jutted out from the back of her head like a pair of horns.
“Miss Colbrook,” Lady Carlton said, “the carriage will be ready soon. Should you not change?”
Miss Colbrook blinked. “Change?”
“Yes. Surely you will not be wearing that?” Lady Carlton frowned at her plain blue gown.
“Perhaps you are right,” Miss Colbrook said softly, rising. Lady Carlton’s jaw momentarily dropped, but she recovered quickly.
“Perhaps I am...?” Lady Carlton looked at Miss Colbrook suspiciously. “Are you feeling well? Your face is flushed.” Lady Carlton’s gaze flew to Adrian. He immediately looked away, carefully adjusting his already perfect cuffs.
“Pray excuse me,” Miss Colbrook said a bit too quickly. She stepped into her shoes, took a step forward, and promptly tripped on the edge of the carpet. Adrian caught her. He held her, one hand at her waist, one on her bare arm, until she regained her balance. She felt so good that were his aunt not staring at them, he might not have let her go. Miss Colbrook looked everywhere but at his face, mumbled her thanks, then turned and walked carefully from the room.
Lady Carlton watched her exit and then spun to face him. Her scowl was among the worst he’d ever seen on her.
“That,” she said, “was the most pathetic display I have had the misfortune to witness for some time.”
He crossed his arms. “I do not know what you mean.”
“Poppycock.” She stepped closer. “Look at me, Adrian.” Her gray eyes were icy. “Remember you are the Earl of Wareton now. And she,” his aunt said ‘she’ as if it were a curse, “is your cousin’s stepsister, of common parentage and highly unconventional character. Not to mention she is living here under your protection.”
“You are making assumptions—”
“It is fortunate you will be socializing again. I have no doubt you will regain your perspective quickly.” She glared at him again before she spun away and marched from the room.
The moment his aunt disappeared, he forgot all about her. Smiling, he recalled how Miss Colbrook had tensed when he drew close to her, how she started from his touch, how she stumbled and blushed. He almost wished she hadn’t let him know that she was attracted to him. Now it would be even more difficult to push away such foolish thoughts, and foolish they were, for to act upon them would be madness.
He should be filled with anxiety and foreboding. Instead, he felt happier than he had in a very long time.
6
Anna paced the foyer, her heels clacking on the floor as she took six slow steps, turned at the fat Grecian vase, took six more steps, and revolved again in front of the portrait of the first Earl of Wareton. He was a squat man with heavy brows and a preposterously long beard. Clearly, over the last several generations the appearance of his family line had dramatically improved. Anna briefly wished it wasn’t so, glancing at his descendant who stood not far away, his gloves clutched in one hand, staring up the wide staircase. Lord Wareton looked breathtakingly handsome in his evening clothes, a fact she found quite irritating.
He sighed. “What the deuces can they be doing?”
“Patience, Adrian.” Lady Carlton stood beside him, gazing at herself in the small wall mirror and patting the feathers that sprouted from the back of her headdress. “This is a very important night, and naturally, they wish to look their best. Why, even Miss Colbrook has made herself presentable.”
Anna ignored her comment and continued to pace. She’d changed into a gown of peach silk, the second nicest of her dresses from their recent visit to the modiste. She tried to convince herself that she had to change after what she’d said to Lady Carlton, and that it had nothing to do with wanting to gain Lord Wareton’s attention. Had she not behaved so foolishly earlier, she might have even dared to wear her best gown.
She’d made a spectacle of herself, blushing and stumbling like a debutante simply because he’d caught her in his arms. Now he could have no doubt that she was attracted to him. Lady Carlton certainly suspected, as she had followed Anna upstairs and made a point of reminding her how out of reach any gentleman of rank was to her. Lady Carlton had also informed her that a former love of Lord Wareton’s, a widowed baroness, would be attending the ball, a woman who Lady Carlton implied was all but engaged to him.
The lady was no doubt the reason he was dressed so handsomely this evening, in a black coat and crisp white shirt, and why he seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood. His happiness made him even more attractive, adding to Anna’s annoyance.
During their stroll together the week before, she’d believed they might become friends. But after carrying her across the stream he’d withdrawn, and when he returned from Eastgate he continued to act coolly towards her. She’d tried to remain indifferent to his behavior and failed.
Miserably.
She was constantly aware of his presence, and despite her anger, far too often she found herself thinking about him and pondering the few conversations they did have.
He’d all but ignored her for a week, and now he was suddenly being friendly again, and he even had the audacity to ask her personal questions. Not that he really cared about her romantic attachments. She knew that Lady Carlton was pressuring him to help her marry. He likely wanted her gone from Wareton too, especially now that she’d made such a muddle of things.
She glanced at him again. He tapped his gloves impatiently against his thigh as he waited for Madeline and Cecelia to appear. Just the sight of his large, square hands reminded her of his touch, making her feel warm all over once again. She wished she could go back in time and keep herself from acting so foolishly. When he’d leaned close and brushed his fingers against her neck as he freed her necklace, the sensation of his hands on her skin and his breath against her hair had been intoxicating. No man’s touch had ever made her heart race so wildly or made her skin shiver so pleasurably.
Madeline and Cecelia finally appeared on the balcony above. They were dressed in nearly identical gowns, Madeline’s white and Cecelia’s ivory. In her excitement, Madeline moved too quickly down the stairs, catching her foot on her skirt. She might have stumbled had Cecelia not quickly caught her arm.
“There seems to be quite a lot of stumbling going on today,” Lady Carlton murmured, glancing from Anna to Lord Wareton. He ignored his aunt as he tugged on his gloves, a hint of a smile on his face. Likely he was thinking of Lady Stratford. And was Anna imagining it, or was he actually humming?
Giggling, Madeline and Cecelia pushed past Anna, Lord Wareton, and Lady Carlton, and they hurried out the door, arms locked. Lady Carlton bustled after them, warning them not to dirty their hems.
Lord Wareton offered Anna his arm. Childishly, she wished to refuse, increasingly irked at his good mood. As they stepped towards the door, she rested her hand gently on his arm, touching him as lightly as p
ossible. Still, even through her gloves, she felt the warmth of him intensely. It was a relief to step into the carriage and away from his touch.
A moment later he sat across from her in the coach, his long legs stretched out, nearly brushing hers when the road grew rough and the carriage shook. He laughed with Madeline and Cecelia as they shared gossip about people who would be at the ball. He even drew a rare smile from Lady Carlton, but he seemed quite content to ignore Anna.
Now he would surely keep his distance again. Even as it saddened her, part of her was relieved. As the events earlier made clear, she couldn’t be near him any longer and successfully hide the profound effect he had upon her.
Anna wasn’t surprised the party was already a crush when they arrived. Mrs. Dunbury welcomed them as they stepped into the ballroom entryway. She was in her mid-forties, with thin lips and glossy, silver-black hair. She spoke briefly with Anna and the other ladies, but she lingered with Lord Wareton, sizing him up as she introduced him to her two unmarried daughters, Agnes and Angeline. The two young women looked especially elegant this evening, their dark hair carefully curled, their silk gowns obviously fresh from the dressmaker. Anna was certain that Lord Wareton’s expected presence was a key reason for their meticulous appearance.
He graciously asked both ladies to reserve a dance for him before finally moving on. The wait for the receiving line had grown long behind him, almost every face in it watching the new earl curiously.
As Anna moved into the ballroom, her friend Mrs. Shelby hurried forward to greet her and drew her away from the others. Mrs. Shelby wore a scarlet and gold gown that hugged her plump figure and made her red hair look even redder.
“My dear Miss Colbrook,” Mrs. Shelby whispered, glancing at Lord Wareton as he passed nearby with Madeline at his side, “the new earl is simply devastating! It is no wonder there is such gossip about him. What is your impression? Is he improved since you last met him?”
“Tolerably,” Anna said. “It is true he is reformed, although perhaps not as entirely as he wishes people to believe.”
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