Romancing Lord Ramsbury: A Regency Romance (Brides of Brighton Book 3)

by Ashtyn Newbold

  “My forthcoming flirtations this week will be enough to last my entire life.” Edward managed a smile, the expression feeling strangely foreign.

  Henry’s laughter continued, shaking his broad shoulders. “Beware, women of Brighton, Lord Ramsbury is coming for one of you. Or all of you.”

  Edward laughed, sending pain shooting through his aching skull. “I haven’t been to the assembly rooms for weeks.” His laughter faded along with his smile. In the months following his rejection from Miss Buxton, he had continued making public appearances, trying to hide his dejection. But he had found the effort exhausting. The other women of Brighton would never make him feel the way she had made him feel. He was viewed as a prize, a reward to be earned by every visiting young lady in search of a husband. But Miss Buxton had treated him differently.

  “It is time you changed that,” Henry said. “The assembly rooms are the most social place in this town. I’m certain there are many pretty women gathered there as we speak.”

  Edward cracked his neck before squaring his shoulders. “Shall we get on with it then?”

  “We?” Henry wiped the perspiration from his forehead as he lifted his mask from his head.

  “You are accompanying me, are you not?”

  “That is not a wise idea, brother. Every woman that glances your way will be distracted by my charm.”

  “Your fondest dream, perhaps.”

  Henry chuckled. “Very well. I’ll come. But give me a moment to make myself presentable.” He started toward the door but stopped, eyeing Edward with dismay. “I would also suggest that you shave before we leave.”

  Edward rubbed his bearded jaw, a wayward smile creeping over his mouth. “Only if you comb your hair.”

  “Are you certain? That would render you utterly inferior to me in appearance.”

  Edward smiled, leaning against the wall once again as Henry exited.

  As Edward considered his new challenge, he decided he ought to determine a target. He could not simply charm every woman that crossed his path in the assembly rooms, or each individual lady would feel unimportant. He would choose just one today. He would test her, judge her reaction to his attention, estimate the extent of her devotion. All he needed to find was a pretty young woman with a respectable family. If she seemed promising, he would continue his pursuit. If not, he would choose a new lady the next day.

  It would be simple. He would win back his inheritance before his father could have a chance to change his mind.

  CHAPTER 3

  T aking the trip to the assembly rooms on foot had been a dreadful idea. Grace stopped on the cobblestone path, bending over to rub the back of her heel. “I had forgotten how long the walk was.” She blew a puff of air upward to clear the hair that had fallen over her face. The weather was growing increasingly hot every day, manifested in the perspiration on her forehead.

  Harriett smiled, breathing heavily from exertion as they climbed yet another hill. “Lord Ramsbury will find the flush of your cheeks endearing.”

  “You do not believe that,” Grace said, turning her gaze toward the nearby ocean. The water was surprisingly calm today. Grace wished she felt calm. She didn’t think she had ever felt so nervous in her entire life. But she was also determined, and enough determination could counter any fear.

  Harriett laughed, lifting her skirts as she walked faster. “I believe he might find it endearing, but it will take more than a simple endearment to win a proposal from him.”

  Grace felt her hope fading with each step that took them closer to the assembly rooms. They passed through the town center, and Grace had to stop her sister from perusing the shops for the second time that day. The assembly rooms were close by. Grace’s heart crashed against her ribs like the waves of the Brighton waters. She reminded herself that Lord Ramsbury was not even guaranteed to be there. It was entirely possible that he was still at his grand home, staring at himself in a looking glass, practicing his charming smile.

  She gritted her teeth. How was she going to tolerate feeding the man’s pride? It would be excruciating. And what if his proposal never came? He would carry on assuming he had stolen yet another heart he didn’t intend to keep. She wouldn’t be able to have her revenge.

  When they passed through the hustle of the market, the path crossed through a thick patch of trees. Grace knew the assembly rooms rested just beyond them. She smoothed her hair, pulling two curls loose near the front of her face. Did she truly have the courage to do this? She could just surrender her pin money to Harriett now. The idea was becoming more and more attractive.

  Lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed the branch, stooping far beneath the rest as they passed under a tree. She gasped as the branch became interwoven with the lace on her bonnet. “Harriett!” she shrieked, lifting to her toes to minimize the pull of the branch.

  Her sister turned, gasping in dismay. “My new bonnet! You’ve ruined it!” She rushed forward, rising on her toes to see the damage. Grace untied the ribbons from her chin, ducking out from under the tree. The bonnet still hung above her, swaying in the light breeze.

  The sound of horse hooves reached her ears from behind, growing louder. Grace stepped out of the path, turning to face the approaching riders. She first saw the horses, one black and one chestnut brown. And then she saw the men riding them.

  It was none other than Lord Ramsbury and his brother, Mr. Henry Beaumont.

  Grace’s breath caught. She whirled away from their sight, turning toward the tree that had captured her bonnet. Her heart pounded as the hooves slowed. She met Harriett’s gaze, concealing her panic behind a pained smile. Harriett grinned, straightening her posture as her gaze slid past Grace and settled on the men behind her.

  With a deep breath of fortitude, Grace turned around, slow and careful. Before she could meet Lord Ramsbury’s eyes, she dropped her head in a deep bow, willing her legs not to shake. When she glanced up, she wished she hadn’t.

  Lord Ramsbury’s eyes became fixed on hers, the blue striking even from a distance. He and his brother dismounted, and Grace took the opportunity to smooth her hair. Never in her walks to the assembly rooms had she ever encountered Lord Ramsbury. Why—why then did she have to encounter him today?

  Gathering her bearings, she gave her most inviting smile as Lord Ramsbury examined her again. Did he recognize her? The last time they had spoken had been three years before. Grace had seen him at various balls and around the town since, but never in close proximity, and never in a situation where they were forced to make conversation. She didn’t dare speak, for fear that he had forgotten that they had already been introduced.

  He approached with slow steps, his saunter unmistakeable. The light that filtered through the trees reflected off the golden tones of his hair. Grace struggled to maintain his gaze, annoyance rising inside her as his smile grew. When he reached a distance of five feet from her, she assumed he would stop walking, but she was mistaken. He carried himself within two feet, dropping his head down to look directly into her eyes.

  She swallowed when she smelled the fresh linen and soap mixed with an array of other pleasant masculine scents, wafting toward her from his skin and clothing. She scolded herself for enjoying it, tipping her head down bashfully. The men of the books she read enjoyed a woman with a coy demeanor. Grace peered at him from under her lashes, hoping to reflect an intrigued curiosity and shyness that he would find irresistible.

  “Have we met?” he asked in a low voice. The sound spilled over her skin, tingling up her spine. Without realizing it, she took a step back, finding herself pressed against the tree that had stolen her bonnet. What was she doing? She was supposed to be flirting with him! She could not act as if she wanted to escape him. That is not at all what a heroine would do when encountered with a handsome gentleman. Or rather—a handsome scoundrel.

  “I’m not certain I recall making your acquaintance,” she said with a demure smile, maintaining his piercing gaze with effort. “Therefore we should not be speaking.
”

  “Yes, but it is permitted when the situation demands it.” He nodded at the bonnet hanging from the tree. “When a beautiful lady is in distress, for example.”

  She contained her disapproval, offering a giggle instead. “I assume you must be Lord Ramsbury. You are quite well-known throughout Brighton.” Well known for disregarding social rules.

  He studied her, his eyes flashing with a hint of recognition before clearing again. His smile widened. “I don’t recall meeting you. If I had, I’m certain I would not have forgotten such a beautiful face.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from offering the retort that burned on her tongue. She gave a coy laugh, twirling one strand of her hair around her finger. “Oh, your flattery is too much, my lord. A short time from now I’m certain you will have forgotten me.”

  He shook his head, stepping even closer. She pressed instinctively into the trunk of the tree, unable to escape. “A short time from now I hope to be much further acquainted with you.”

  Her heart jumped in her chest. She couldn’t believe her good fortune. She had done little to encourage Lord Ramsbury’s attention, and he had already expressed an interest in furthering their acquaintance.

  He touched a hand to his heart. “Please, do put my curiosity to rest and tell me your name.”

  “Miss Grace Weston.” Eager to divert his intense attention, she turned toward Harriett, who had been watching the ordeal with obvious surprise. “And this is my elder sister, Miss Harriett Weston.”

  Lord Ramsbury’s gaze flicked to Harriett, and he offered a quick bow and smile before returning his attention fully to Grace. She stared up at him. It was more difficult than she had imagined it would be to perform her act. Every instinct told her to snub him, to show him how uninterested she truly was in him. To insult him until the glowing arrogance left his brooding eyes. She felt as if she were sixteen again, trapped in a ballroom corner while Lord Ramsbury led her to believe things that weren’t true, taking her heart in his fist. He had toyed with her emotions, never investing his own.

  But this time there was a drastic difference. She too had left her heart and emotions tucked safely away at Weston Manor. All was fair in this battle.

  “Are you on a visit to Brighton? It is becoming quite famous, after all.” Lord Ramsbury’s sickeningly flirtatious voice cut through Grace’s thoughts.

  “We have grown up here in Brighton,” Grace said, proud of herself for keeping the annoyance out of her voice. “We live on the east side of the shops.”

  “I see.” He flashed her a smile that was meant to be charming. “I do recognize the name Weston. It is a pity I have not yet been acquainted with your family.”

  “It is no matter. We are beneath your notice, my lord.”

  She bit her lip in regret. She had just implied that she thought him to be condescending.

  He didn’t seem to catch her implications, a low chuckle escaping him. “And where are you traveling now?” He gestured at the path on which they had been walking.

  “The assembly rooms.” Grace searched for a plausible excuse for their excursion there. “We thought we might engage some new company in a game of whist.”

  Lord Ramsbury tipped his head even closer—close enough for Grace to see the line of navy blue that outlined the bright blue of his irises. “How fortuitous that whist is a game that requires four players. My brother and I would be honored to join you and your sister.”

  Grace thought she heard a quiet gasp of dismay from Harriett but she couldn’t be certain. Grace’s heart thudded. Could Lord Ramsbury be genuinely interested in her? Could she have a real chance to win her bargain with Harriett? She stopped herself. This had happened once before. He could very well be merely giving himself a bit of entertainment.

  She changed her mind about acting simpering and coy. The last time, at her first ball, she had been too shy, and he had forgotten her. It was imperative that she make herself unforgettable this time.

  “The honor would be ours to join you, my lord,” she said, forcing herself to lean toward him as she spoke.

  He grinned triumphantly, throwing his brother a glance.

  Mr. Beaumont, who had been standing near his horse in silence, stepped forward. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Weston, Miss Grace. But I must warn you. The Beaumont men are unrivaled in cards.” He gave a half smile, eyeing his brother.

  Grace gave her most flirtatious laugh, the sound much higher-pitched than she had intended. She cleared her throat, a smile pasted on her face. “When it comes to cards, it is the Weston women that are quite dangerous.”

  Lord Ramsbury’s gaze roamed over her, maintaining his wicked grin. “I can think of other ways in which you are dangerous.”

  Grace’s cheeks burned at the insinuation. Annoyance almost cut through her act, but she maintained her coquettish demeanor. “You are a wicked man,” she teased. If only she could tell him how wicked he truly was.

  He laughed before taking two steps forward, untangling her bonnet from where it hung above her. “How did you lose your bonnet to this branch?” he asked, approaching her with the headpiece. He placed it on top of her curls, his movements slow as he loosened the ribbons, bringing them underneath her chin. His hands brushed her neck and jaw as he tied them, sending uncalled for shivers across her shoulders. His familiarity shocked her, causing a blush to burn across her cheeks. The man had no respect for the rules of society. No respect at all.

  “I did not see the branch above me,” she replied. “It whisked the bonnet right off my head. How fortunate I am to have had you come to my rescue.” She pressed her lips together, looking into his enraging eyes.

  Oh, how she hated to flatter him.

  “As I said before, I am always glad to help such a beautiful woman in distress.” He winked, gesturing to his horse with a flourish. “May I offer you my horse for the remainder of the ride to the assembly? You will need to be well rested if you hope to conquer me in whist.”

  Grace giggled, appalled at herself for even being capable of making the sound. How did he find her alluring? She viewed her behavior as quite the opposite. She would never act so unintelligently. “You are very kind, my lord.”

  Stopping beside the black horse, Lord Ramsbury made a step with his hands, helping to hoist her onto the saddle. He clutched the reins in his own hand from where he stood on the ground. Mr. Beaumont led Harriett to his horse as well, and Grace caught her gaze as she passed. Harriett had never been one to easily conceal her emotions, so Grace could clearly discern the shock in her sister’s eyes. Grace was every bit as surprised as her sister.

  The two men guided the horses through the trees, careful to avoid any stooping branches. Grace’s mind spun as they made their way to the assembly rooms. Lord Ramsbury’s flirting had become even more incorrigible than it had been before. She hadn’t thought it possible. How could she ensure his attention didn’t end after today?

  “Are you a skilled rider?” she asked, straightening her posture as she looked down at him from atop the horse.

  He laughed, as if the answer were painfully obvious. “Of course.”

  “I suspected as much. One in your physical condition could only be regarded as a skilled rider. And your wealth would allow you to stable many fine horses with which to practice.”

  Lord Ramsbury chuckled, a deep, sultry sound. “You are quite right, Miss Grace. And one with your lovely physical appearance could only look so pristine atop a horse.”

  With a forced giggle, Grace twirled a lock of her hair, pretending not to be sickened by his flattery. Why had she agreed to this? It was already exhausting and it had only just begun. “Please, my lord, you flatter me too much.”

  “It would be impossible not to flatter you. I have never met a woman in possession of such beauty.”

  Grace wondered how many times he had uttered those words. Unable to help it, she shared a secret glance of irritation with Harriett. Harriett covered her mouth with one gloved hand, conc
ealing her smile.

  “And I have never met a man in possession of such audacity.” She said the word with a smile, as if it tasted like a freshly baked cake, not the hidden insult that it was.

  His deep chuckle reached her ears from below. He tipped his head to the side, squinting against the sun to look at her, curiosity burning in his eyes.

  Grace felt she might vomit.

  When they reached the assembly rooms, Lord Ramsbury tied his black horse before offering his hand to let Grace down. As she slid from the saddle, she let go of his hand too quickly, stumbling into him as she reached the ground. His hands caught her by the waist, lingering there as he stared into her eyes. She jumped back without thinking, quickly covering her misstep with a quiet laugh. “I have never been a very skilled rider myself.”

  “Yet you are very skilled at finding a reason to fall into my arms.”

  “I did not! I mean—” Grace cut off her own words with a laugh, hoping to cover her mistake. She lowered her eyes. “Your arms are so very inviting.”

  Harriett squeaked, her dismayed gasp nearly escaping yet again. Grace warned her with a look, her cheeks burning as Lord Ramsbury gave another of his infuriating chuckles, leading the small party into the ballroom area of the assembly.

  Grace noticed several eyes darting to Lord Ramsbury, followed by a smattering of whispers behind gloved hands and fans. The card room rested on the left side, and held very few inhabitants. An elderly couple sat at the far card table, engaged in a game of piquet, while a group of gentlemen played near the adjacent wall. Lord Ramsbury chose a table nearest the door, offering Grace the first chair.

  “What shall the teams be?” he asked as Harriett and Mr. Beaumont took their seats.

  “Ladies against gentlemen, of course,” Harriett said.

  “Yes,” Grace agreed. “How else will we prove our superiority at whist?”