Chapter Three
I find it vexing that the duke condemns me for being a “designing female” even when I have no designs on him.
—Roslyn to Fanny
Drew’s eyes narrowed as he watched Roslyn Loring walk away from him. He was not accustomed to being dismissed, as he had been each time they met.
His pique must have been obvious, for Lady Freemantle gave him a troubled look. “’Tis right sorry I am, your grace. Roslyn truly is a delightful girl. She is just quite busy this evening, seeing to all the countless details required in putting on a gala like this. She is an excellent hostess, Roslyn is.”
Drew wiped his annoyance from his expression and offered her ladyship a polite smile. “I understand perfectly, my lady.”
“I will be happy to find you another partner—”
“Pray, don’t trouble yourself,” he said quickly. “I prefer to find my own dance partners.”
“As you wish, your grace,” the dame said with a strained smile before taking her leave.
Drew was under no illusions, however, that Lady Freemantle had abandoned her attempts at matchmaking. Her presumption would have irked him had he not desired to have Roslyn to himself for a few moments.
He could almost have laughed at her uninventive excuse to avoid speaking to him alone. Not that he disbelieved her about needing to see to the supper preparations. He’d watched Roslyn all afternoon as she mingled with the crowd, quietly and efficiently overseeing the wedding breakfast and the ball that followed. She was charming and gracious to the innumerable guests, anticipating their every need.
She was just as charming to the army of servants while marshaling her forces like a female general. The staff seemed eager to do her bidding, and as a result, the wedding celebrations had come off without any apparent hitches.
As if to prove his point, a footman materialized at Drew’s elbow to offer him a glass of champagne. Drew accepted it and sipped, admiring the quality as he absently scanned the dancers waltzing around the ballroom floor.
Roslyn Loring was no doubt as excellent a hostess as Lady Freemantle avowed, he reflected. In that respect, she reminded him of his mother, the widowed Duchess of Arden.
At the thought of his illustrious mother, Drew grimaced. It was utterly unfair to compare the two women. Like the duchess, Roslyn was every inch the lady, elegant to the bone, yet she likely had more warmth in her little finger than his coldhearted mother did in her entire body.
Just then the music ended. With a sigh Drew set down his glass on a side table and stepped onto the ballroom floor in search of an elderly matron to charm. He had promised Marcus he would do his duty and dance with all the older ladies here, particularly the influential leaders of society, to help persuade them to support the new Countess of Danvers.
Sometime this evening, he would seek a dance with the bride herself and try to mend his fences with her. He and Arabella had not begun their acquaintance on the best of terms, since he’d been certain Marcus was making a grave mistake in marrying her.
But for the sake of their long friendship, Drew was prepared to grin and bear the choice Marcus had made—and hope it wouldn’t end in sorrow and resentment when the first flush of love wore off.
An hour later, he also managed to secure a dance with Fanny Irwin. When he quizzed her about the Cyprians’ ball, however, Fanny suggested that he ask Roslyn directly about her attendance.
Then Fanny hesitated. “If I may be so bold, your grace…Perhaps it might be best if you leave her alone. She is an innocent compared to you, not in your league in the least.”
Drew’s eyes narrowed on the beautiful courtesan. Telling a man he couldn’t have something was certain to provoke just the opposite reaction, and Fanny well knew it, despite her ingenuous, wide-eyed look.
“I might say the same of you, Fanny, darling,” Drew responded. “It hardly reflects well on you, to be leading an innocent young lady astray.”
Fanny smiled at that. “I assure you, I did not do the leading. Roslyn knows her own mind, your grace.”
At her wry tone, Drew found himself searching the crowd again for the subject of their discussion, just as he’d done all day. Truthfully, he couldn’t understand his fascination with Roslyn. She was not his preferred style. He usually liked more curves in a woman, more earthiness. Her delicate beauty belonged more to a gilded figurine, except that he knew firsthand that she was warm, enticing flesh and blood. She had certainly enticed him that night, in part because of her elusiveness.
Suddenly he spied her dancing with Lord Haviland. She was gazing up at the earl, smiling softly, and the sight made Drew’s gut clench unexpectedly.
She’d never given him that lovely smile, and he found himself craving it. Entirely absurd, since he had no interest in pursuing her himself. No, he was merely irritated that she had accepted Haviland’s offer to dance after so pointedly refusing his own.
His jaw tightened imperceptibly—but Fanny was a perceptive woman, in the business of understanding men. “They are friends, your grace. Haviland is their closest neighbor.”
“So I was told,” Drew said, feigning indifference.
After the set ended, though, he made it a point to seek out Haviland and renew their slight acquaintance.
Following an interval of small talk where Drew learned more about the earl’s background and family circumstances, Haviland asked how he was enjoying the celebrations.
“Well enough,” Drew replied, “given that I generally loathe weddings.”
Haviland grinned. “I understand the sentiment. I always feel as if my cravat is too tight. Gatherings such as this are not my forte, either, particularly since I came into the title. It’s rather unnerving, facing packs of young ladies and their mamas on the prowl, eyeing me as if I were their matrimonial prey.”
It was Drew’s turn to grin, since he fully appreciated the earl’s situation. A wealthy peer who still possessed his hair and teeth and faculties was a grand prize on the Marriage Mart.
When he suggested they leave the ballroom and repair to one of the cardrooms, however, Haviland expressed regret that he had a prior commitment. “I have an engagement in London later this evening that I cannot miss, but I would be pleased to take you on some other time…perhaps at Brooks?”
Drew agreed they should meet at the gentleman’s club in London sometime in the near future. He was surprised to discover that he liked Haviland, which was probably why a short while later, he paid attention when he saw the earl take his leave of Arabella and Marcus and then exit through the French doors at the rear of the ballroom. Since Haviland lived a short distance from Danvers Hall, Drew supposed he planned to walk home across the estate grounds rather than take the trouble of hailing his carriage.
But when Drew saw the familiar figure of Roslyn Loring slip out the doors immediately afterward, he felt his jaw harden reflexively. Wondering at her intent, he found his footsteps carrying him to the nearest entrance, which offered a side view of the terrace overlooking the gardens. There he hesitated, watching.
Haviland had paused to wait for Roslyn, and when she reached him, she stood gazing up at him, making a breathtaking picture. The sun was setting, turning her hair to gold flame and illuminating her ivory complexion with an ethereal glow.
Drew felt his breath falter at the stunning sight. If Haviland was half a man, he would be just as bowled over, Drew knew. And if he were half a gentleman, he would leave before interrupting a romantic tryst.
Yet he couldn’t force himself to turn away. Instead his gaze remained riveted on Roslyn Loring as she offered her lovely smile to another man.
A trifle breathless from hurrying by the time she caught up to Lord Haviland, Roslyn was pleased when the earl turned and flashed her a welcome smile.
“I looked for you to say farewell, Miss Roslyn, but I was unable to find you.”
“Regrettably I had another matter with the staff to attend to.”
“Please accept my compliments on an enjoyable evening,” he said with a formal politeness worthy of his new rank as he bowed over her hand. “Organizing such a large celebration must have been difficult.”
To her chagrin, Roslyn felt herself blushing. “The size was a little challenging,” she began, then abruptly chastised herself for sounding inane. It was absurd how she sometimes grew tongue-tied around Haviland, no doubt because she was so eager to make a good impression. “I am glad you came today, my lord.”
“So am I. And I regret that I must leave so early, but I must be in London within the hour.”
Roslyn found herself regretting that he released her hand. “Your relatives expect you tonight, I believe you said.”
Haviland’s grimace held rueful amusement. “Lamentably, yes. My grandmother is holding a poetry reading and has requested my appearance. I would rather swallow a flaming sword than be subjected to her notion of entertainment—pedagogues and literary pretenders reciting bad poetry—but I feel obliged to attend.”
“Perhaps it will turn out better than you anticipate.”
“It will likely be pure torture.” He hesitated, surveying her thoughtfully. “You don’t find these social functions painful, obviously, so perhaps you might help me. You know that I am holding a ball of my own next week?”
“Yes, my sisters and I received your invitation.”
“Might you be willing to advise me in hosting mine? The denizens of the ton—particularly my august relations—will be expecting a disaster, and I would very much like to prove them wrong.”
“I would be happy to help, my lord.”
“Shall we meet tomorrow to discuss it, then?”
“Yes, if we can arrange it for the afternoon. Arabella and Marcus will have left on their wedding trip by then.”
“Very well, I will call upon you at three o’clock, if that’s agreeable.”
“Very agreeable, my lord.”
“Until then, Miss Roslyn,” Haviland said with another bow.
She watched, smiling, as he turned away and descended the terrace steps two at a time, heading toward his own nearby manor.
Roslyn felt like hugging herself. She wanted very much to help the rebel Lord Haviland prove his detractors wrong. Yet she was just as pleased to have the opportunity to spend more time with him, since she hoped to show him that she could make him an ideal wife.
She was still smiling when she turned back to the house, but her footsteps faltered when she happened to glance toward the side entrance door. The Duke of Arden stood there in the shadows, one shoulder casually propped against the lintel.
Her smile fading, Roslyn halted. “How long have you been lurking there, your grace?”
“Long enough to observe your encounter with Haviland. I saw you follow him and was curious to know if you intended an assignation.”
Her chin came up. “Has no one ever told you it isn’t gentlemanly to eavesdrop on a lady?”
“Has no one told you it isn’t ladylike to chase after a gentleman?” Stepping out of the shadows toward her, Arden made a tsking sound. “Such forward behavior. I expected better of you, Miss Roslyn.”
She could see the gleam of sardonic amusement in his green eyes and had to bite back a retort. Even though she longed to set the duke back on his heels, she managed a sweet smile instead. “If you overheard our conversation, then you know there was no assignation. I merely wished to say farewell to a friend before he left for the evening.”
“Haviland looks to be more than a friend to you.”
“He is also our nearest neighbor, and a man I respect and admire,” she said coolly, although why she felt she had to defend herself to this provoking nobleman, Roslyn had no idea.
“And you mean to aid him in hosting his upcoming ball?”
“Of course.” When Arden moved closer, she thought of retreating a step, but she held her ground. “If I can use my particular talents to advise him, I will. When he was younger, Haviland left home in search of adventure and was never forgiven by his family. Since returning, he has not been well received in their elite circles, but he’s attempting to rectify matters and fulfill the obligations of his new title.”
“You seem eager to attract his goodwill,” Arden mused.
“Perhaps I am,” Roslyn said lightly, “but what of it? My affairs really are not your concern, your grace.”
“Except for the matter of your conduct a fortnight ago,” he drawled. “I am still waiting for an explanation.”
The duke’s sharper tone made Roslyn recall his threat to tell Marcus about her impropriety.
“Ordinarily,” Arden continued, “your indiscretions would not concern me, but in this case, there would have been the devil to pay had we been discovered together. I might have been obliged to marry you to make amends.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed in understanding. “Is that why you are so vexed with me? Because you feared the repercussions if we were found together?”
“In large part.” His mouth curved wryly. “I wanted you as my mistress, sweeting. A wife is another matter altogether.”
Roslyn couldn’t help but smile. “Yet I hardly deserve all the blame, your grace. You were the one who propositioned me, I seem to recall. I did not seek your attention.”
“You should have stopped me before I kissed you.”
“I was too startled at being assaulted.”
“Assaulted?” he repeated, his eyebrow arching.
“Perhaps ‘assaulted’ is an exaggeration, but you could have taken me at my word when I declined your offer to become your paramour.”
His lips twitched. “I suppose I should beg your pardon for that.”
Her own smile turned rueful. “Well, I suppose you were justified in thinking I was that sort of female.”
“Indeed,” Arden said dryly. “Particularly since the annual Cyprians’ ball is held precisely for the purpose of conducting such transactions, and since I first saw you in Fanny Irwin’s company. The last thing I expected to find there was a virginal innocent. Believe me, I’m not in the habit of seducing genteel young ladies. In fact, I avoid them like the plague.”
“Well, thankfully nothing came of it, so you may congratulate yourself on your narrow escape. You are quite safe.”
He cocked his head. “Did you never consider that I might be concerned for your safety?”
“No,” Roslyn said curiously. “Why should you be?”
“You put your reputation at risk, and possibly yourself. You could have been truly assaulted that night. Had I been a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer, it would have ruined you.”
“I assure you I have learned my lesson, your grace. From now on I will be entirely satisfied with secondhand knowledge.”
“Secondhand?”
Roslyn considered him for a long moment. Judging by his current tone, the duke was prepared to be reasonable. If he understood why she had attended the ball…She took a slow breath, deciding to give him a frank explanation.
“If you must know, I asked Fanny to invite me that night so I could observe her success with her patrons. She has a remarkable talent for making men fall in love with her, and I hoped to learn her secrets.”
When Roslyn saw his eyebrow lift in surprise and skepticism, she plowed ahead, even though embarrassment stained her cheeks at having to confess her plan to a nobleman as imperious and arrogant as Arden. “You see, I want to make my own future husband fall in love with me, and observing courtesans at work seemed the best way to accomplish it.”
“I’m afraid I don’t see,” the duke said slowly.
“Well, you must admit that gentlemen fall in love with their mistresses far more often than with their wives.”
“I won’t dispute that, but what of it?”
“I wonder why that is. How do women like Fanny arouse a gentleman’s ardor? They must have some significant knowledge that genteel ladies do not. Knowledge that Fanny has promised to teach me.”
Arden simply stared at her. “So you are scheming to find a husband,” he finally said.
Roslyn was rather taken aback by his derisive tone. “I wish to find love in marriage, not merely a husband.”
“And I presume Haviland is the husband you have in mind?”
“Well…yes,” Roslyn admitted.
“And you intend to entrap him? Rather cold-blooded of you, is it not, sweeting? And to think I had decided you were an innocent, not a designing female.”
“I am not a ‘designing female,’ as you put it,” Roslyn replied stiffly. “Nor am I cold-blooded in the least. I hope to make Haviland fall in love, not entrap him.”
“Isn’t it the same thing?”
“I don’t believe so, your grace.” Roslyn’s own gaze narrowed. “But perhaps you wouldn’t understand, since Fanny tells me you are reputed to have no heart.”
Arden took a step closer, studying her intently, before finally shaking his head. “Of course I have a heart.” Surprisingly, his tone turned more amused than caustic. “I am kind to children, animals, the elderly. I just don’t believe in love.”
“Your cynical view is not surprising, I suppose, considering how often you have been targeted for matrimony.”
“So you see why I might feel sympathy for Haviland? I would no doubt be doing him a favor if I warned him of your scheme.”
Dismayed to think Arden might spoil all her plans, Roslyn searched his face. His eyes contained a gleam of mockery that made her suspect he was teasing her. “Please…you cannot tell him.”
“Oh, I won’t. That wouldn’t be gentlemanly of me.”
“And you won’t tell Marcus either about what I was doing that night? I don’t want to worry him when he is preparing to leave for his wedding trip with my sister.”
“I don’t want to worry him, either,” Arden agreed dryly. “I have no desire for him to discover that I tried to seduce his ward, however unwittingly.”
“I am not technically his ward any longer. He drew up a contract, granting us our legal independence.”
“So he told me, but he still would not be happy to learn of our prior encounter. I might end up facing him over pistols at dawn, God forbid. So you may count on me to keep your indiscretion a secret. I suppose your crime was not so terribly egregious, after all. And the danger is over now.”
Roslyn breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I know I acted foolishly. And I promise I won’t be attending any more notorious functions like that again.”
“I will let it pass if you will.”
“Agreed, your grace. Indeed, I would prefer to forget that night ever happened.”
“Oh?” An odd little smile touched his lips. “Do you think you can forget?”
“I suppose not. No one has ever…”
“Ever what? Tried to seduce you?”
Roslyn wrinkled her nose in amusement. “Oh, several have tried, but they never succeeded. I have never allowed any man to…to kiss me as you did.” Or touch me like that, she couldn’t help thinking.
“I am gratified,” he said in that dry-as-dust tone.
When a silence fell between them, Roslyn suddenly became aware that dusk had fallen during the time they’d been talking on the terrace. She could hear the strains of music spilling through the doors from the ballroom, could smell the sweet scent of roses from the gardens below. With his face in shadow, though, she had trouble making out the duke’s expression.
Then he took a step closer, and she recalled the last time she had encountered him alone…what had happened between them.
He was gazing down at her mouth, and Roslyn found herself staring back at his, remembering how those sensual lips had kissed her breasts, suckled them.
A hot, biting arc of awareness flared between them.
As if he was remembering, too, his voice lowered to a husky murmur. “You shouldn’t make a practice of being alone with a gentleman after dark.”
“I know.” Her own voice was unsteady—and that was before he reached up to lightly touch her jaw, stroking with a fingertip.
Roslyn knew she should pull away, yet she couldn’t move. She stared up into his unforgettable eyes, wondering if he intended to kiss her again. The very air seemed to crackle all around them. She moistened her lips, half in dread, half in anticipation.
Then suddenly the duke dropped his hand. “You had best return to your ball.”
Roslyn curled her hands into fists and struggled to breathe evenly. “Y-yes, your grace.” Shaking herself, she started to move past him but then stopped. “Thank you for being so reasonable,” she said, her tone conciliatory.
His mouth twisted, but he didn’t reply, so Roslyn turned away.
Drew watched her go and then stood there on the darkened terrace long after she had slipped through the ballroom doors.
He didn’t feel particularly reasonable. Instead he felt…sexually frustrated. He had been the one to end their encounter this time, but it had been unaccountably difficult.
The damnable truth was, the spark he’d felt that night for Roslyn Loring was still there between them.
Drew cursed beneath his breath. She was a forbidden temptation, one that aroused all his most dangerous instincts. He’d had the strongest urge just now to draw her into his arms and make love to her right there. Her supple body had beckoned him, her innocence had dared him. In her elegant silk gown, Roslyn had looked remote, untouchable, yet he knew better. He’d seen a glimpse of the real woman before this. The woman whose untutored passion had set his blood racing.
He hadn’t imagined her wild, sweet responsiveness that night, or the way she had set him alight. He was still unsettled by the disturbing potency of that encounter.
Even now her delicate scent filled his nostrils, the same fragrance that had haunted him for days after the Cyprians’ ball. And earlier this evening…seeing the evening sunlight catch her hair, caress her face, had taken his breath away.
He wasn’t just merely appreciative of her perfect beauty, though. There were other things he couldn’t forget about her. Her eyes, her lips, her breasts. Her voice—velvet, warm, honeyed. He hadn’t liked her using that soft, warmhearted tone with Haviland.
Drew shook his head abruptly. He couldn’t possibly be jealous. He never became possessive over a woman, never felt any such heated emotions. He couldn’t refute Roslyn’s allegation about his lacking a heart. He’d been raised by his haughty, aristocratic parents to be emotionally detached and had never seen any reason to change.
Oh, he’d experienced infatuation before, but he had never fallen in love. He didn’t think he was even capable of it. And while any number of women had professed to love him, he knew the attraction was as much for his immense wealth and vaunted title as himself.
His own attraction to Roslyn Loring was inexplicable, since he’d had more than his fair share of beauties. No doubt his trouble was merely physical, Drew reflected. It had been too long since he’d enjoyed the services of a mistress.
A self-mocking smile curled his mouth. And perhaps the trouble is that you’ve finally met a woman who clearly isn’t interested in you.
He had never found himself in such a novel situation. It was amusing really. He’d always earnestly avoided designing females, and Roslyn Loring was certainly a designing female of a sort. She just didn’t have designs on him. If he were a vain man, he might be insulted.
But she didn’t want him; she wanted her neighbor. She was also right on that one account. Her pursuit of Haviland was none of his own affair.
Remembering, Drew felt his smile fade. He was oddly disappointed in Roslyn. Admittedly she wasn’t quite like the usual scheming husband-hunters he’d encountered in the past. She claimed her motives were a bit purer, that she was after love, not fortune and title. Even so, she was still on the hunt for a husband—the very kind of mercenary female that made him shudder.
On the other hand, he was grudgingly impressed by her honesty. In fact, he could actually admire her initiative and her boldness, even if he couldn’t like her purpose.
Recalling her goal of finding love in marriage, Drew made a scoffing sound and abruptly turned back toward the house.
He had no desire to return to the ball, however. Instead, he meant to find Marcus’s study and indulge in a very large brandy…until he could politely take his leave and return to London, where he would try to forget that the most beautiful of the three Loring sisters even existed.