The Reluctant Suitor

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “I’ll be down directly, Mama,” Adriana answered dejectedly from her dressing table. “Maud is still arranging my hair.”

  “Please tell her to hurry, dear. ‘Tis impolite to keep our guests waiting beyond the appointed time.”

  “Yes, Mama, I know,” Adriana mumbled, none too happily.

  Maud chuckled in amusement, sensing her young mistress’s glum mood. “Now, pretty mum, meetin’ Lor’ Randwulf won’t be nearly as bad as yu’re makin’ it out ta be. Cook said she seen ‘im the other day in Bradford after some young miss pointed ‘im out ta the shopkeeper where she’d gone ta buy spices. She said she nearly dropped her jaw when she turned ’bout ta look. ‘Is lor’ship cuts a right fine figger all decked out in fancy clothes, she claims. A real man, tall an’ wit’ some meat on ‘is ribs, not like ‘at Mr. Elston, who come prancin’ hisself up ’ere yesterday like ’e owned the place. Me way o’ reckonin’ it, Mr. Elston’s a might lank an’ bony. Why, ’e don’t e’en look like a man, at least not the way ‘is lor’ship does.”

  Adriana heaved a laborious sigh. “Everything you say is true, Maud. Lord Randwulf does cut quite a dashing figure. . . .”

  “Then why be yu frettin’, m’liedy? Ain’t yu pleased ‘at such a man’ll be wantin’ ta court ye?”

  “I’m not at all sure that Lord Randwulf wants to court me, Maud. That was his father’s idea, not his.”

  “O’ course, ’e wants ta court yu,” the portly maid insisted. “Why, yu’re the loveliest maid this side o’ ’eaven, an’ if’n ’e don’t thinks so, then ’e’s likely a might touched in the ’ead. Why, look at all the lords an’ gents what’s lost ’eir ’earts ta yu already, mum. Ain’t ‘at proof o’ yur appeal?”

  “Not all men are the same, Maud, and Lord Randwulf does seem to enjoy his bachelor status. . . .” Adriana broke off, knowing the servant would never understand the true depths of her fears. What bothered her most was her own fascination with the man. If she was attracted to him to the degree she was now, what would her feelings toward him be once he concluded his courtship? It would not be so much her pride that would suffer should he reject their betrothal as it would be her heart. Dismally she shook her head as a pensive sigh escaped her lips. “Who knows what Lord Randwulf wants?”

  Maud chortled. “Doan yu go frettin’ yurself none ’bout what ’e may be likin’, mum. If’n ’e ain’t done so already, ’e’s bound ta lose ‘is ’eart ta yu afore too long.”

  Time would indeed reveal Colton’s true nature and susceptibility, Adriana mused dejectedly. As for the expected outcome, she was not nearly as hopeful as Maud that it would be to her advantage.

  Heaving a sigh, Adriana left her bedchamber, dreading the ordeal of facing Lord Randwulf . . . and losing another large portion of her heart to the man.

  Lady Christina had descended the stairs with an uncompromising confidence that her daughter would soon follow, but upon laying a dainty hand upon the Jacobean knob of the drawing room door, her thoughts immediately became mired in the difficult task before her. At the moment, she had no idea which would prove more arduous: appearing unaffected by Lord Colton’s scarred face and form . . . or giving her youngest daughter to him in marriage.

  Slowly inhaling a deep breath in an effort to quell her anxieties, Christina tried to brace herself for the ordeal ahead of her, but it seemed to loom over her spirit like some darkly menacing shadow. Valiantly she pushed open the portal and entered the room. Immediately she became aware that Lord Randwulf had taken up a stance in front of the diamond-paned windows overlooking the lush grounds and undulating drive. For that fact she was immensely relieved, for the distance between himself and his mother would allow her to welcome the latter before she’d be forced to confront his scarred appearance. The testing of her fortitude would come soon enough once she exchanged amenities with Philana. As for greeting the marquess, it would be an incredible feat indeed if she managed to conceal her repugnance well enough to appear serenely cordial. The only way she’d ever be able to get through those arduous moments would be to keep reminding herself that Colton was her best friend’s son and that his wounds had been reaped in valiant service to his country.

  Pasting a cheery smile upon her face, Christina crossed the room to the settee where Philana had settled. She gathered the woman’s slender hands within her own as she murmured graciously, “This day has been long in coming, dear friend.” It didn’t help that the words seemed to stick like pitch in her throat. “Your son, home at last. How relieved you must be that he has returned to claim the marquessate.”

  “Not only relieved, but thoroughly pleased by his desire to assume his father’s duties,” Philana replied with a radiant smile. “But more importantly, Christina, we have come to speak with you and Gyles about the contract of courtship and betrothal. I do hope Adriana can join us. She is so very much a part of this discussion that I cannot imagine making any decision of which she is not entirely agreeable or privy.”

  “Maud was just finishing her hair when I left from upstairs. I’m sure she’ll be along any moment now, and Gyles. . . .” The door opened behind her, and, recognizing the approaching footsteps before they were softened by the oriental rug, she had no need to turn and look. “Why, he’s here now.”

  “Welcome! Welcome!” Feigning a joyful enthusiasm to the best of his ability, Gyles joined the women. Sweeping Philana’s hand to his lips, he kissed it briefly before declaring, “You’re looking as lovely as ever, my dear.”

  A cheery laugh escaped Philana as she waved off his compliment with an elegant hand. “Save that for more gullible fillies, Gyles. I’m old and wrinkled and you know it.”

  Giving her a one-sided grin, Gyles clasped a hand over his heart as if to pledge his troth. “I see no wrinkles before me, and whatever your age, my dear, your grace and beauty will always remain evident.”

  Pleased by his reply, Philana dipped her tawny head in appreciation. “You’re a true friend, Gyles, even if you have a tendency to lie more than a little.”

  Chuckling in amusement, Gyles stepped back, delaying the moment wherein he would have to face the younger man. Like Christina, he could not bring himself to do so just yet, though he was keenly aware that Colton had turned from the expanse of windows and was in the process of limping across the room toward them. The muffled thump of the man’s cane on the rug seemed to herald defeat, which Gyles feared would come upon them much too suddenly. His wife had tearfully expressed her aversion to the idea of completing the agreement that would bind their youngest offspring to a disfigured man, no matter how many honors that one had received fighting the enemy. Gyles had empathized with her over her fears and, to a great extent, now shared them. Adriana had always been his cherished darling, and he was loath to see her miserably married to a man whose looks would send children fleeing in fright.

  Philana swept a slender hand to indicate her approaching son. “Here is Colton safe and sound in spite of a horrible leg wound.”

  Gyles placed a comforting hand upon his wife’s back to steady her and hopefully bolster her nerve as together they turned to face the marquess. Being small and petite, Christina had to lean her head back in order to meet the gaze of the tall man. When Gyles felt a sharp shudder go through her slender form, he tried to prepare himself for what would likely follow. If she fainted, he’d just make excuses that she hadn’t been feeling herself for the last several days, which would certainly be no lie since he had never seen her so overwrought, as the result of the approaching ordeal. Better that, Gyles determined, than conveying her aversion to their friend’s son.

  Silently vowing he’d have more control, Gyles reinforced his resolve by refusing even to blink an eye should he be repulsed by the man’s disfigurement. With lofty dignity, he directed his attention upon his guest.

  That was precisely when his jaw plummeted.

  “Lord Gyles,” Colton greeted in deep, melodious tones, offering a smile to each in turn. “Lady Christina.”

  “My goodness
,” Christina whispered breathlessly as a deep, vibrant hue infused her cheeks. Heretofore she had considered both her son-in-law, Sir Thornton Godric, and Melora’s fiancé, Sir Harold Manchester, unusually handsome men, but she had to admit that Colton Wyndham, with his lean, noble features, stunning good looks, and tall, broad-shouldered frame, easily put to shame the other two. She shook her head in confusion, wondering how in the world she had ever arrived at the flawed notion that the man was hideous to look upon. “You’ve changed so much, Lord Colton, that I’m afraid Gyles and I are both taken aback.”

  Colton smiled pleasantly. “Quite understandable, my lady, considering I was hardly more than a lad the last time we saw each other. Ten and six years can make an immense difference in one’s appearance.”

  Gushing with joyful relief, Christina swept a hand toward the settee where his mother had become ensconced. “Please, do sit down, and tell us about the places you’ve been since last we saw you.”

  Before Colton could comply, the door swung open once again, drawing his attention to the portal as Adriana entered. In spite of his fairly exacting perusal of her while she slept in the bathtub, he was ever amazed by the true depth of her beauty. If ever he had discounted the possibility that a woman’s features and overall appearance could be flawless, then he was swiftly coming to the conclusion that Adriana Sutton would set the standard by which all other women would have to be judged, at least in his mind. If her looks weren’t at the very least perfect, they came as nigh to being so as he was able to bear. Her long, thick hair had been smoothed back from her face and caught in a heavy, swirled topknot at the crown of her elegantly shaped head. Several feathery curls had escaped at her temples, in front of her ears and the back of her neck, lending a charming softness to the hairstyle. In contrast to her dark tresses, her creamy skin seemed fairer by far than other ladies’. A faint rosy blush adorned her cheeks and the soft, winsomely curved lips. As for her large, silkily lashed dark eyes, their appeal was so strong that he had to mentally shake himself free of their spell.

  Her garments were in the height of fashion, and her tall, slender form complemented them divinely. Swirled braided silk trimmed the high-standing collar, the epaulette-draped half-sleeves, and the waist of her short, cropped jacket, lending something of a military flare to an emerald green creation of soft, woolen crape. A stock of ivory silk, intricately embroidered with silk threads of the same hue, was wound about her slender throat and then folded under and over itself to form a smooth layer, nattily filling in the stiffly erect collar of her Spencer jacket. Generous sleeves of the same embroidered creamy silk flowed with undulating grace from under the half-mushroom-shaped extensions capping her shoulders. Wide, closely fitting bands of the same fabric subdued the fullness over her wrists and were themselves finished with scalloped ruffles that fell over her slender hands.

  Colton was surprised to find himself making mental comparisons between the dainty accoutrements adorning Adriana’s ears and the jewelry Pandora Mayes had always been partial to wearing. The former amounted to nothing more than solitary pearls set in delicately swirling nests of gold filigree, whereas the actress had preferred to emphasize her own raven-haired beauty by wearing dangling, oversized baubles. No similarity existed between the jewelry; so too the women. To compare them would have been the same as likening a delicate rose to a cabbage. Pandora Mayes was a voluptuous temptress, knowing well what she was about when she lured lovers into her bed. The actress would have been offended had anyone called her a strumpet, for she had zealously maintained that she extended her favors only to men she admired and with whom she enjoyed lengthy relationships, yet the costly gifts of money and jewels she received from her admirers and lovers put her in a class similar to those who hawked their wares on the wharves and streets of London. Adriana, on the other hand, was exactly the kind of genteel lady he had purposed to marry someday. After Bentley had dared to remind him of the uncompromising principles of the lady, he could only agree that Adriana was indeed a rare find among women.

  Colton curbed a smile as he realized the lady had grown chilled while making her descent from upstairs, for the woolen crape swathing her breasts was now slightly puckered over her nipples. Though he had viewed far more of her in the bathing chamber than any proper gentleman had a right to, those taut little peaks brought back memories of the way they had looked unadorned. In the warmth of the water they had been incredibly soft and pink, crowning beautiful, ivory breasts round enough to arouse any man’s lusting admiration.

  It came to him that no matter the style or beauty of the garments the lady wore, he was far more mindful of the delectable form they clothed. It was definitely the best he had ever viewed. A young goddess in her prime, the Lady Adriana promised to bring to a marriage exceptionally sweet provender upon which a man could feast his gaze and expend his appetites. Should he yield his pride and himself to his father’s dictates and welcome that which had been intended as a gift rather than a constraining lifetime sentence, he could savor everything about her, from her dainty earlobes to her thin toes. Still, he couldn’t quite forget he was being coerced into accepting an arrangement he had spent the last ten and six years avoiding.

  “Please forgive my tardiness,” Adriana murmured to the occupants of the room, diligently avoiding Colton’s gaze after managing to avert her own. His unswerving stare was no less tenacious now than it had been before he had propositioned her in his lantern-lit carriage. Considering the perusals to which she had been subjected in years past, she deemed his inspection far bolder. At least other men had had the decency to size her up with discretion, but Colton made no attempt to hide his penchant for caressing every minute detail and at very close range. Indeed, beneath his slowly assessing scrutiny, she felt as if she were literally being devoured. Since his eyes fed upon her every curve, it seemed far-fetched to believe that he’d leave her some meager shred of clothing in his mind.

  Stepping behind a Tudor chair, Colton tucked the walking stick beneath his arm and clasped both sides of the tall, ornately scrolled back as he moved it every so slightly toward her. “Come sit down, Adriana.”

  In the presence of their parents, Adriana saw no other option open to her. No matter how she yearned to flee back to her bedchamber, she could hardly decline his offer without causing some dismay among the elders. She perched rather rigidly upon its edge, fearful of coming in contract with those lean, hard, beautiful hands.

  As expected, her efforts failed to keep Colton at bay. The tip of his walking stick returned to the costly rug cushioning the floor as he moved around to her side. Leaning close over her shoulder, he breathed in the scent of her hair and lowered his head further still until his warm breath brushed her cheek. Adriana nearly closed her eyes at the unexpected pleasure his nearness elicited. Indeed, it seemed as if her efforts to remain detached from the man were being seriously undermined by the yearning she felt within the depths of her body. It not only threatened to destroy her cool reticence, but to send her fleeing to the stables.

  “Relax, Adriana,” he breathed warmly. “I’m not going to eat you . . . at least not yet.”

  Of a sudden, Adriana found herself trying to collect the fragments of her aplomb from the four winds to which he had just scattered them. His persuasive voice seemed to bombard her very being. She had never known her name could sound so warmly evocative when spoken by a man, or that she could feel as if she were melting inside when those soft, mellow tones stroked across her senses.

  A memory of his rage from years past proved sufficient in cooling her mind and in strengthening her resolve to remain aloof from this man. Even more effective was the suspicion that he had been plying his persuasive charms upon Felicity, who had likely accepted them eagerly and without restraint. Considering his indecent proposal after Mrs. Jennings’s funeral, Adriana could only wonder if he had used a similar invitation with the miller’s granddaughter.

  Adriana eyed him obliquely as he pulled another chair alongside hers, bringing the pie
ces so close that the wooden arms of each were nestled snugly together. She couldn’t resist a bit of sarcasm as she offered, “I can move over if you need more room, my lord.”

  Her barb was not lost upon Colton. Laughing softly in response, he leaned toward her again. “The settee is occupied, my fairest Adriana. Otherwise, I’d have directed you there and taken a place beside you.”

  “Whatever for?” She feigned bewilderment. “Surely you have no interest in closely assessing the choice your father made for you years ago when you stood at the threshold of manhood. Truly, my lord, I thought we were here to discuss your plans for dissolving the agreement.” She elevated a brow challengingly. “Was I mistaken?”

  Colton managed a contrived grimace, as if sorely pricked to the core. “Though my eyes detect no evidence of a shrew, my dear, there are times when you definitely make me think I’ve been deceived. Forsooth, maid, you can draw blood with the injuries you inflict.”

  Adriana scoffed, winning a chiding frown from her mother and another amused chuckle from Colton. She couldn’t fully explain why she should feel so many confused emotions whenever she was with the man. On occasion, she was sure that a porcelain figurine or a heavy pot would serve her untold delight if she were to crown him with either. Then, just as often, she was forced to do battle with those disturbing little bubbles of delight he elicited within her. When she was thoroughly convinced that he was merely going through the formality of considering their courtship for his mother’s sake, and that at an appropriate time he intended to deal a death blow to it, she had to wonder why she should be so susceptible to him.

  “No doubt, my lord, your conclusions have been drawn from your vast experience,” she rejoined coolly. “To become an authority on termagants, one must meet them on a fairly frequent basis. No doubt you’ve had many such experiences during your absence, perhaps even a few since your return.” Lifting her gaze to his, she waited for her taunt to strike home, but he only smiled ambiguously. Reading nothing from his expression that lent evidence of her barb’s success, she prodded with a more pointed stick, “Or do you cast the blame upon my poor tongue merely to ease your own conscience as you diligently strive to withdraw yourself from the contract?”