by Lauren Smith
“Becca dear, straighten your dress. It’s wrinkled,” her mother urged in a frantic whisper. Rebecca smoothed her pale-rose gown. Her father was busying himself with his pocket watch, lifting the small gold piece to his ear to listen to its beats. Her mother swept a critical gaze over Rebecca and Lydia, searching for anything else to be improved upon.
“Becca, you must get out first when they open the door. I want you to be ready to catch the train of Lydia’s gown in case there are puddles.”
“Mama.” Lydia’s frustrated reply made Rebecca bite her lip to hide a smile. “Stop ordering Becca about.”
“She’s right, Matilda,” their father said absentmindedly. “No ordering the girls about, please.”
Their mother snorted and frowned. “Ladies, focus,” their mother reminded them. “Husbands are afoot, and it is our duty to catch them.”
Fighting off a wave of giggles, Rebecca struggled to maintain her composure. Whenever their mother talked of finding husbands, it sounded more like she was a deer stalker deep in the woods, a rifle resting in the crook of her arm as she tracked a prize buck.
A footman dressed in the blue-and-gold livery of the Duke of Wiltshire opened the coach door and waited to assist Rebecca out.
She took the footman’s offered hand and rose to her feet. When she was nearly out of the coach, she saw the footman’s gaze drift behind her and fix on Lydia. The young servant’s steady hand went limp as he all but released Rebecca in his eagerness to assist Lydia from the coach next.
Rebecca’s boots shifted on the coach’s foldout step, and she stumbled forward, cursing. Her arms flailed and the world spun in a dizzy circle before she was caught and rescued from an ungraceful tumble into the dirt.
A pair of strong arms locked around her body. She blinked in shock as the most handsome man she’d ever seen helped set her right on her feet. Patrician features and sun-kissed skin accompanied by cinnamon-brown eyes that watched her beneath long dark lashes. He looked over her form boldly, and her breath caught in her throat as she tried desperately to fill her lungs with air.
“Are you all right?” His voice was slightly rough, as though he’d just woken from sleep. The thought of this man in bed asleep made a strange heat curl inside her belly. Dark hair, slightly longer than was fashionable, fell across his eyes. Rebecca fought off the urge to brush the loose hair from his face with her fingertips. His full lips moved as if to speak.
She had never understood when women giggled and whispered in the powder rooms outside the balls about the effects of handsome men. Now she understood all too well. Her head felt hazy, and she wanted to stare at those lips for hours. And they were still moving…
Words. The man was speaking to her. What was he saying? Her mind froze on his face, especially his mouth and eyes, heated with silent laughter. A shadow of a dimple peeked out at the right corner of his smile. She licked her lips, her throat parched.
“What?” she finally gasped.
“Are you all right? No twisted ankle?” There was something that seemed to amuse him about that last question—not that Rebecca could fathom why.
“I’m fine. My sister—”
“Good heavens, Rebecca, release the poor man!” her mother’s breathless voice cut in. Rebecca let go of the gorgeous gentleman, and he of her.
Something in her chest tightened painfully, so much so that she dragged in a harsh breath as she stepped back from him. For the first time in her life, she was filled with a sense of hunger. And the object of her sudden desire could not be more poorly timed. This man must be the handsome Duke of Wiltshire everyone had spoken of last week.
And yet she knew this man would take one look at Lydia and never glance Rebecca’s way again. She wasn’t jealous of her sister. Lydia was beautiful, intelligent, and kind, and she deserved nothing less than a handsome duke to love and cherish her. Rebecca would never be so lucky.
He’s not for you. He belongs to Lydia, the little voice in the back of her head whispered darkly.
Perhaps she was a little jealous.
Only fortune hunters wooed plain ladies like her, and she’d had her fill of those in the last three years. Now she realized just how much she wanted someone—wanted him—to look at her the way so many men looked at her sister.
Her mother stepped up beside her daughters, dipping into a curtsy, the gray feather on her turban wilting as though bowing in the man’s presence.
Rebecca nearly laughed. She adored her mother, but honestly, the woman could drive her to exasperation with her constant desire to ingratiate herself to others. Still, watching her mother relieved some of the pang of longing she felt, but it wasn’t fully erased. She did her best to keep her gaze downcast. It would only hurt to keep staring at the man who would most likely fall hopelessly in love with her little sister.
“Your Grace, it is such a pleasure to be here,” her father said, coming out of the carriage. “We thank you most graciously for your invitation.” He bowed to the handsome lord, and Rebecca dipped into an immediate curtsy alongside her mother and sister.
“On the contrary.” The duke’s gaze flitted to Rebecca’s face. “I’m honored that you have consented to visit us. Please, Mr. Livingston, introduce me to your lovely wife and daughters.”
Lydia was at Rebecca’s side, their hands briefly touching in a silent show of support.
Their father stepped forward. “Of course. May I present to you my wife, Matilda, and my two daughters, Rebecca and Lydia.”
The duke bent into a half bow of respect. His eyes moved from their mother’s face to Lydia’s before finally settling upon Rebecca. Was it her imagination, or was he looking at her a little longer than the others?
Yes, of course he was, because she’d just made an utter fool of herself tripping out of the coach. He probably thought she was a half-wit.
“It is my deepest pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Livingston, Miss Livingston, and Miss Lydia.” The duke straightened and waved for someone to come forward. “Ladies, may I present my brother, Mr. Miles Beresford?” Becca hadn’t noticed the man exiting the manor until now.
Becca stopped breathing all over again as she stared at the two men side by side.
There were two of them. Two! Each the mirror image of the other, though they were dressed differently. The duke wore a deep-green waistcoat and cream-colored breeches, while his brother wore a dark-blue coat and buff breeches. There was a more refined air to the clothes of the duke, whilst his brother was more subdued.
Despite their identical features, the emotions played differently upon each man’s face. The duke had a playful wickedness about his mouth that made Rebecca think of stolen kisses, while his brother’s face bore a sweet gentleness.
Rebecca decided she would busy herself this week with cataloging the differences of the two men. Since neither would be interested in courting her, she would instead treat the week as a scientific endeavor, observing them and delighting herself with her discoveries.
Lord Wiltshire escorted her mother inside, while Mr. Beresford took Rebecca’s arm. He led her away in a daze, yet she did notice that the duke’s twin’s gaze had strayed to Lydia, who trailed behind them with their father.
“Did you have an enjoyable ride down from London, Miss Livingston?” Mr. Beresford asked her. His smile was warm and polite. He seemed to be such a delightful gentleman, and it was a pity that this man was not the duke. He was perfectly suited for Lydia’s gentle, compassionate temperament. They would have made a beautiful couple.
“The ride was lovely. I did not realize that your brother lived but only two hours from London.”
“Oh?” Mr. Beresford replied. “Do you and your sister like living in London?” Again Mr. Beresford’s gaze turned to Lydia as they entered the grand hall.
Rebecca wasn’t sure what to do. It seemed that Mr. Beresford was just as interested in Lydia as the duke was supposed to be. She didn’t wish to hurt Lydia’s chances for a good match, but she also did not want the duke and his twin
fighting over her. Men could be rather silly when it came to love, and the last thing Rebecca wanted was to cause a duel between brothers or some other ridiculous spectacle if she misled them. For now, however, she would have to content herself with the truth, and she prayed that Mr. Beresford knew his brother’s intentions.
“We like London, but we also enjoy the country.”
“I’m glad to hear it. My brother and I both enjoy the country. I have a lovely little estate just a few miles from here, Beresford House. Perhaps while you’re here, we might have time to ride over and visit it.”
“I would like that.” Rebecca would agree to go riding for any reason. There was nothing so freeing as having the wind whipping through her hair or laughing as her horse leapt over puddles and bushes as they raced along roads deep into the woods or through golden meadows.
Several servants came to escort them to their rooms after the duke informed them that they would be dining in a few hours.
Rebecca was given her own chamber, which had a massive four-poster bed with pale-blue hangings and yellow walls decorated with paintings of flowers. It was a lovely room, and she felt rather spoiled knowing she would spend the entire week here. Her lady’s maid, Sarah, was already setting out her evening clothes.
The maid shared a conspiratorial grin with Rebecca. “Did you see those gentlemen, miss? Not often you see men who are as handsome as they are rich.”
Rebecca was never more glad that she enjoyed a close relationship with her maid. She could talk with Sarah about things she dared not speak about to her mother or sister. A furious blush on both their faces sent them into a fit of giggles.
“They are beautiful, aren’t they? Gentlemen aren’t supposed to be beautiful.” She gave a deep sigh. “No doubt they’ll both fall in love with Lydia, and I’ll somehow have to sort out the mess.” Her tone was a little bitter, and a knot of self-loathing grew inside her.
Is it so much to ask that a man should be interested in me? That I might be found desirable? The truth was, it didn’t matter what she wanted or desired. Men always chose the prettier woman.
Her maid seemed unconvinced. “Perhaps. His Grace seemed to like the look of you when you fell into his arms. He’s a rake, that one. I could tell. He liked holding you, miss. ’Twas plain as day.”
“I think he was just relieved that I didn’t fall flat on my face at his feet.” Still, Sarah’s words gave her a flicker of hope—not that she put much stock in the emotion. Hope had always let her down. It was far better to accept the truth and move on. Lydia would have her choice between the duke and his brother.
With a weak sigh, Rebecca let Sarah help her dress for dinner.
Lord, let this be over with quickly. May Lydia and the duke fall in love so I can return home. There would be no more Seasons amongst the ton, not for her. Rebecca was giving up on finding a husband. She was weary of disappointment and tired of hope. At least when it came to love.
“Well, Miles, what do you think of her?” Justin whispered.
Miles blinked and came back to himself. They were all seated in the drawing room, and Miss Lydia had recited some damnable poem that had put him to sleep. He’d managed the feat with his eyes open somehow, but now they were dry and itchy. Lord, how did his brother stand to play the part of a duke like this? Miles had been the duke for only a few hours, and he already wanted to ride home and drown himself in the nearest bottle of brandy.
“I assume you mean the little blonde creature? She’s a delight. I wish you all the happiness—”
Justin snorted. “Of course you do, brother. Now, swear to me you will keep Miss Livingston occupied over the next several days while I get acquainted with Miss Lydia.” Justin’s hopeful expression made his mouth curve in a way that had Miles nodding in agreement. He may have been only fifteen minutes younger, but Miles would deny Justin nothing he if had the power to give it.
“Do not worry yourself. I’ll tend to the sister as needed.” He glanced over at Miss Livingston. The young lady was perusing a stack of books he’d left on a table, her hands tracing the spines of several of his favorite novels. She took the time to rearrange them in order of publication. A well-read lady—he rather liked that. Her figure was pleasing enough, with wide hips and full breasts that would fill his hands. Her hair was a shiny chestnut, a color sometimes disparaged in favor of blonde curls like those of her sister. Miles pictured tunneling his fingers through her hair, grasping the strands and tugging her head back for his kiss…
He shook himself. What a silly notion. He couldn’t contemplate bedding Miss Livingston. She was pleasant looking, in a subtle way. She might even be considered beautiful, but he couldn’t become involved with an innocent young lady like her. Lusty widows were more to his tastes. No expectations, no consequences, and most importantly, no wedding bells.
Still, he had found Rebecca rather pleasant at dinner. She conversed well when the topics proved interesting, but she seemed to slip away into her own thoughts when the topics turned dull. It was something he did on occasion. But he’d spent much of dinner watching her and her family. It was clear that Lydia was the favorite child, both for their mother and their father. Whenever their mother had made a disparaging comment, he’d seen hurt in Rebecca’s eyes. As a second brother to a duke, he’d seen favoritism for Justin over him. He remembered all too well the sting of that. And he hadn’t liked seeing Rebecca suffer it one bit. She was undeserving of any criticism.
“Becca!” Mrs. Livingston whispered loudly, calling Miles’s attention back to the young woman.
Miss Livingston spun around, an enchanting blush highlighting her cheeks. “Yes, Mama?”
“Why don’t you play the harp, dear, so Lydia can sing for Lord Wiltshire.”
She played the harp? That was interesting. Most young ladies focused on the pianoforte these days. His mother had played the harp, and he had loved listening to her.
“Yes, please play,” Miles encouraged, keeping up his pretense as the duke.
Rebecca seated herself at the instrument, and Lydia bent to whisper something to her. The sisters shared a smile, and the faint twist of Rebecca’s lips made her look cunning, intriguing…stunning.
Miles’s chest tightened. An almost blurry sense of warmth filled him, as if he’d had too much brandy. What would it be like if she ever smiled fully at him? He was damned sure in that moment that his knees might buckle. What the devil was wrong with him? He could bed a dozen women in London right now, but this innocent creature seated at the harp had possessed his attention and awakened desires in him that he didn’t fully understand.
Rebecca’s bright-blue eyes locked with his as she lifted her hands to the strings. The dark-blue gown she wore seemed to glint and wink with a thousand tiny stars as the netting over her skirts shimmered. It was a simple dress, but one that she wore to great effect. Subtly beautiful, just like she was.
Then she began to play. It was like nothing he’d ever seen. The way she lost herself to the music, her graceful fingers moving expertly over the instrument, the delicate plucking creating a waterfall of glorious sound. The firelight danced off the diamonds in her gown’s bodice and made her eyes sparkle as she focused on the music, bringing back memories of his youth. He’d loved to spend summer nights outside lying in the meadow on a woolen blanket and watching the stars flicker overhead as he and Justin talked deep into the night about the things only brothers could talk about. That had been so long ago, before they’d grown up and had to live their own lives.
Miles wanted that intimacy again, only now he wanted it with someone else, and he wanted it to include soft kisses and whispered sighs. He stared at Rebecca, unable to believe that she could bring up such emotions from deep within him. He was not a man who indulged in such feelings. Their eyes met again for a brief second, robbing him of his next breath.
Dear God…
He could watch her play for days, years even. Her soul was laid bare as she indulged in the passion of her heart, and she had no idea w
hat she was doing to him. He pictured her fingers stroking him, her lips locked on his as they…
He shook the lustful thoughts from his mind, which was not easily done. He had never seen a woman so beautiful, so lovely. Her passion breathed life into her face and held him enraptured. Would she look just as lovely beneath him, her eyes glimmering with sated pleasure, her body shivering with aftershocks? He wanted to know—had to know.
It was only when the music stopped that he realized he hadn’t heard Lydia’s voice at all. There had been only Rebecca’s music, lingering in his head now with its haunting melodies and visions of her bright eyes alight with passion.
“Bravo, ladies!” Justin was on his feet, striding over to them as he clapped.
“Yes.” Miles stood, regaining his composure. “Beautifully done.”
It was said for both ladies, but his thoughts were only for Rebecca. For a long moment she met his stare, her blue eyes as bold and brave as any man’s, yet fiery in the way only a woman’s could be.
Had he misjudged her? Had the quiet, submissive woman he’d glimpsed at dinner been a ruse? Was there a tigress beneath that subdued demeanor?
Justin can have his little Lydia to his heart’s content. I will unravel the mystery of Miss Livingston.
3
Miles dragged his hands through his hair as he paced the length of his bedchamber. The events of earlier in the afternoon were unbelievable. He had seduced the virginal Miss Livingston in a gazebo during a rainstorm. Dallying with innocents wasn’t like him.