Truly, though, she wasn’t surprised. On paper, as the daughter of a baron, she rivaled most of the young ladies of England. But naturally, she was an adopted orphan who had been surrendered by her mother when she was three months old, a castoff of unknown lineage. Perhaps the child of a washerwoman or maid. Or worse. And no proper gentleman wanted to pursue a woman whose ancestry would only soil his progeny.
Oh, she’d had a few suitors over the years. There’d been a few young gentlemen who’d visited Blackwood Hall for previous parties and taken an interest in her, but in the end their interest had lasted only as long as their stay. Local sons of squires and merchants had called on her over the years, brought her posies, taken her for picnics, and even had the daring to request a few kisses before offering for other young ladies. Occasionally a soldier or a vicar had been bold enough to pursue her. Those she chased away herself, knowing they were willing to overlook her past only to gain her dowry and a familial connection to a peer.
Given all that, then, was it any wonder that she was still unmarried?
But truly, wasn’t it for the best? While other young ladies focused on hunting husbands from the right families—with the right fortunes, of course—Josie had found purpose in working with the local orphanage and in doing everything she could to give the best lives possible to the children who hadn’t been as fortunate as she’d been. Which was why she’d never asked her parents for a London season. Here, in Lincolnshire, what did it matter if anyone knew her true past? Those people who really mattered to her knew who she was and cared about her anyway. But the London ladies would ostracize her if her past became common gossip, and no gentleman would dare to court her then. And even if she found a man who loved her and was willing to overlook her soiled ancestry, he most likely wouldn’t allow her to continue the work she did for the Good Hope Home. Certainly not all she did.
And she couldn’t stop because she knew firsthand the horrors of that orphanage…cold winter nights sleeping three to a bed to keep warm, days when the only food was weak broth, and clothes worn until they fell away in rags, never washed and filled with lice and fleas. Mrs. Potter, the manageress whom Simon Royston had hired into the position, constantly stole from the supply stores and beat the children, locked them into the coal bin with no food or chamber pot, and often passed out drunk from gin.
But Josie had been lucky. Just six years old when Richard and Elizabeth Carlisle adopted her, she’d been picked by them because she was the toughest little girl in the orphanage, afraid of nothing, and more than able to hold her own against three older brothers. Even as a child she’d vowed that she would never forget the other children, that she would do whatever she could to help.
So if remaining unwed meant she could continue to care for the orphans, then it was more than a fair price to pay, she supposed. Yet her foolish heart still longed to meet a man who would fall in love with her. But with each passing season, that dream became more and more just that. Only a dream.
And so she was still unwed and most likely always would be. Her family had never pressured her to marry, leaving the choice entirely up to her, and at this point, she was accepting of her impending spinsterhood.
Impending? She stifled a laugh. Goodness! Hadn’t it already arrived?
Finally reaching her mother’s side, Josie kissed her cheek. Seventeen years after the moment when she’d first seen her, Elizabeth Carlisle still reigned as the most beautiful woman Josie had ever seen, even after raising four children to adulthood.
“I need your help tonight.” Mama peered frantically over the top of her flitting fan to scan the ballroom for her three sons, all lost somewhere in the crush. “Keep a keen eye on your brothers, will you?”
As if on cue, Josie’s middle brother, Robert, sauntered into the ballroom and headed straight toward the refreshments table and a glass of Madeira.
“Keep Robert away from Miranda Hodgkins at all costs,” Mama warned.
“But Miranda’s a lovely girl.” The niece of the neighboring farmer, Miranda had practically grown up in their nursery at Chestnut Hill and, thankfully, had given her brothers someone other than her to torment.
“Yes, and someday she will make a wonderful wife. But right now she is only eighteen and easily influenced.” She squeezed Josie’s hand and lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. “She needs to hang a while longer on the vine.”
Josie frowned at her mother, perplexed.
She arched a knowing brow. “She’s not yet ripe.”
“Mama!” Josie’s mouth fell open in astonishment.
“As for Sebastian,” she continued about the oldest of her sons, “I’m certain he’s lurking in a corner, talking politics and farming techniques. Do make him have some fun tonight, will you? I swear he was born an old man.”
Josie smiled at her mother’s perfect description of Seb. “And Quinton?”
She watched as the youngest of her three brothers approached Robert and slapped him on the back just as he was about to take a sip of wine, spilling it onto his boots. If her mother was lucky, the two men wouldn’t come to blows right there.
She heaved a sigh of frustration. “Don’t let him do anything!”
Josie bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. Her brothers had never been manageable, even as little boys, and how they hadn’t killed each other long before now God only knew. But she dearly loved them, as much as if they were truly her own flesh and blood.
Interacting with them had been difficult when she was first adopted, not knowing her place as an outsider among the boys who had an established home and sense of security within the family. And of course, she’d been bitterly jealous of their golden looks and charm, while it seemed that with her uncontrollable chestnut hair and petite frame she was seldom noticed. Of course, years later she’d realized that if people hadn’t paid as much attention to her as to the boys it was mostly because they were watching her brothers like hawks, as the three seemed to always be rigging traps for unsuspecting persons. Or setting things on fire. Including each other.
She’d grown to love them all, although even now an irrational part of her sometimes worried that she might never truly belong to the family as much as her brothers did. And the fact that no man wanted to marry her once he’d discovered her past only emphasized her difference from other society daughters.
But then, all three of her brothers were still bachelors, and none of them fretted about avoiding spinsterhood, as if such a thing existed for men.
Not that her brothers needed to worry about remaining unmarried. The strappingly handsome, golden-blond Carlisle men stood at the center of female attention wherever they went. Her parents would have gladly seen them settled by now into homes of their own, although Josie also knew her mother was very cautious about choosing the ladies with whom her sons associated. Not because she worried that some social upstart would trap one of them into marriage but rather that the Carlisle boys would trap some poor unsuspecting girl who had no idea what she was getting herself into by leg-shackling herself to one of them for life.
“Where is Sebastian?” Josie swept her eyes across the room. “I don’t see—”
She stopped, the words catching in her throat as a pair of blue eyes stared back. Dark eyes more sapphire than simply blue. Deep, brooding, a bit dangerous. And bold. Oh, definitely bold as they held her own gaze captive. And below those eyes was a full, sensuous mouth that quirked up in amusement. At her.
Oh.
She was staring at the man, and he knew she was staring, and she knew he knew…and when he raised his glass slowly in a rakish toast to her, that dark, brooding, dangerous, and bold stare curled hotly down her spine and straight to her toes, stealing her breath away.
Oh. My.
“Which devil are you?” she mumbled.
Because her family lived on the neighboring estate, Josie had assumed she would know all the guests at the dance, every last boring, elderly blue blood. But she certainly didn’t know him. Whoever he was, bl
ue blood or not, he certainly wasn’t elderly, and from what she’d seen so far, he wasn’t the least bit boring.
“What, dear?” her mother asked absently.
She tore her gaze away from the stranger to glance at her mother. “Nothing.”
When she looked back, he’d turned away to join in conversation with Lady Agnes Sinclair and her niece. Disappointment washed over her that she should lose his attention so quickly, and before she’d even had the chance to meet him, for heaven’s sake. And yet, never being one to let an opportunity pass by, she shamelessly seized the moment to study him.
Dressed impeccably in a dark blue superfine jacket over a gray brocade waistcoat and snow-white silk cravat, black breeches, and boots polished to an impossible shine, he was tall, dark, and—to her chagrin—handsome. Very handsome, right down to the wide breadth of his shoulders and the black hair that curled in thick waves against his collar. And undeniably charismatic. Even from this far away she saw how the two women hung on his every word. Yet Josie was struck at how he seemed to be aware of everyone around him, even while deep in conversation, just as much as she was struck by the keen jealousy pulsing through her that his attention no longer focused exclusively on her.
Jealousy? Good heavens, what on earth was wrong with her tonight?
Shaking herself, she cleared that ridiculous notion from her mind and tried to concentrate on keeping watch over her brothers. Which was the only place her attention should have been. She had no business making a cake of herself over a man when she knew from past experience that her curiosity about him would come to nothing as soon as he found out who she truly was.
“I’m going to find your father. Enjoy yourself, my dear.” Elizabeth placed a kiss on Josie’s cheek. “And don’t let your brothers near the musicians. We certainly don’t want a repeat of that cello incident from two years ago.” She sighed heavily. “I don’t think they ever found the bow.”
With that parting warning, her mother slipped away. But Josie barely noticed, her interest still focused on the other side of the room.
Who are you? She’d never seen him before, of that she was certain, because she would have remembered a man like him, who filled the room with the intensity of an oncoming storm. A man who captured her interest the way no other man had in a long time. If ever. And who had her wondering if he found her just as intriguing.
Oh, she was fooling herself! A gentleman like that wouldn’t pay her any attention once he discovered she was an orphan. Or worse, he would pay her the wrong kind of attention, thinking her past entitled him to take liberties with her that he’d never dare take with any other unmarried lady.
And yet…Oh, wouldn’t it be lovely, for a few minutes at least, to be able to pretend she was someone else? To believe she could capture the attentions of a man like him?
So if all she had was a few minutes when she could be an ordinary young lady and pretend she had a normal future, why squander any of them?
With determination, she snatched a glass of punch from a passing footman and wove her way across the room, unable to tamp down her growing curiosity about him and the undeniable yearning to meet him that he roused inside her. Would those midnight-blue eyes be just as intriguing up close? Would that mouth be just as sensuous?
Sighing at her own foolishness, she slipped through the crowd like a moth drawn toward a flame. She should have been watching her brothers. At the very least, she should have been watching Miranda Hodgkins. Instead she was stalking a handsome stranger, lifting her glass ever so slightly as she glided toward him, bumping her arm against his—
And spilling punch across his jacket sleeve.
Bull’s-eye!
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she gasped as his hand immediately took her elbow to steady her…or to keep her from spilling the rest of the punch, she wasn’t certain which. But when she glanced up at those sapphire eyes and a warmth stirred low in her belly, she simply didn’t care.
Oh yes. Those eyes were just as intriguing up close.
With a shake, she collected herself. “How awful of me!” she exclaimed, and brushed her fingertips at the few droplets of punch still clinging to his sleeve.
The two Sinclair ladies excused themselves with a touch of embarrassment for her, which Josie didn’t give one whit about. Especially when the corners of his mouth curled sensuously at her in amusement.
“No harm, I assure you.” His voice came as a deep purr.
She cleared her throat at the responding shiver that scattered through her like warm rain. “I’m so terribly clumsy.” She continued to brush at his sleeve long after the punch had been cleared away, inexplicably unable to stop herself from touching him. “Everyone’s always saying, ‘Josephine Carlisle, how absolutely clumsy you are!’”
She thought she saw knowing laughter sparkle in his eyes before he sketched her a shallow bow. “Miss Carlisle, something tells me you’re not truly as clumsy as you protest.”
His words were just cryptic enough to give her pause and make her wonder again who this man was and why he was at the earl’s party when men of his caliber never came to Blackwood Hall. But at least they were now engaged in conversation, and she had managed to accomplish the meeting—albeit by the most wretched self-introduction in history—without having to seek out someone to do the honors for her. And she didn’t feel the least bit guilty at her subterfuge. Just hearing that rumbling voice had been worth it, no matter how briefly the meeting might last.
Deep in her heart, she wished it would last a good long while.
She smiled apologetically. “I do hope I haven’t ruined your jacket.”
“It’s fine.” His eyes swept deliberately over her as he murmured, “Very fine.”
Her heart skittered. Good Lord, was he flirting? With her? Despite her uncertainty, she blushed like a debutante at her first ball. Goodness.
“You’re not dancing.”
“Pardon?” she breathed, her foolish heart daring to hope that he might be asking…but no. His words were only an observation, not a request, and her stomach plummeted with disappointment.
Of course he wasn’t asking her to dance. Why on earth would he make such a request of the clumsy woman who’d just doused him with punch? As if this man ever had to request a dance in the first place. Most likely the London ladies would have all sought out his dance card if men possessed such things. And then her pride sank even lower as she realized she’d done exactly that herself by approaching him with such a pathetic ruse.
He nodded past her toward the dance floor, where couples twirled in the roiling knots of a quadrille. “You’re not dancing,” he repeated.
“I’m saving my toes for the waltzes,” she offered, curious to see how he would respond to that.
“Ah, toe preservation,” he replied with mock gravity, his eyes gleaming. “A noble cause.”
She smiled, strangely satisfied at his answer. Truly, she would have been disappointed had his response been anything less entertaining. “Indeed, sir, but perhaps I’m biased since I have a personal interest in the matter.” She gave a small laugh. “Ten, to be exact.”
When he followed the dart of her eyes to her slippers, which she wiggled beneath the hem of her gown, he slid her a charming grin that trickled its way down her spine with a languid warmth.
The laughter caught in her throat. Entertaining? Well, that was the understatement of the year. This man was utterly captivating. And for one shameless moment, bewildered at how he could draw such an unusual reaction from her so immediately, she wanted very much to become his captive.
“And you?” She cleared her suddenly tight throat and hoped her voice sounded much steadier than she felt. “Why are you not dancing?”
“I prefer the side of the room.” Then he leaned in slightly as he admitted in a low voice, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “So much easier that way for beautiful ladies to purposefully spill punch on my sleeve to gain my attention.”
Her mouth fell open, and
she gaped at him. Speechless. At his audacity both in calling her out for her ruse and in claiming she was beautiful. And at her reckless desire to hear him say it again.
“I suppose I should offer to fetch you another glass of punch,” he continued, rocking back onto his heels. From the teasing gleam in his eyes, he was obviously enjoying her embarrassment. “But I’m wary about where that one might land.”
Her mouth snapped shut. Yes, he should be worried. He might be tall, dark, and handsome, but now that she’d met him, he was clearly no gentleman. A man with manners wouldn’t have called her out so blatantly on her trick…although the compliment about being beautiful she was willing to forgive. Still, as an embarrassed blush rose from the back of her neck, the undeniable desire she’d felt to meet him evaporated beneath a cold dose of reality. She’d suspected the meeting wouldn’t end well, given her past encounters with eligible male guests at Blackwood, but she hadn’t expected it to sour so quickly. It was a new record, even for her.
“As I told you, only clumsiness on my part.” She feigned an innocent expression rather than let him see her true disappointment that he should have proven a cad after all, then retreated a step to put distance between them while she thought of a polite way to excuse herself. “No need to assume more.”
“Then I should be greatly disappointed,” he murmured, and advanced slowly to close the gap she’d created.
The tiny hairs on her arms tingled in warning. Was he…pursuing her?
Impossible. Not someone like him. Yet he matched her step for step as she slowly backed away. She couldn’t decide if he wanted to flirt with her or drive her away, but whatever his goal, he definitely set her off-balance.
Drawing a breath for courage, she stood her ground and tilted her head in challenge. “Perhaps you should fetch me that punch after all.”
That stopped him. He quirked a questioning brow.
“Then we could reenact the spill and know for certain whether it was an ill-conceived attempt on my part to get your attention or an ill-executed attempt on yours to move out of the way.” She forced a saccharine smile meant to send him scurrying away. “After all, I wouldn’t want you to be unnecessarily disappointed.”
How I Married a Marquess Page 3