Chapter One
Something in the way the woman dipped her head and smiled stopped Evan MacLaren in his tracks. The breeze from the ballroom’s open terrace doors caught one dark ringlet and ruffled the lock against her long, elegant neck. From her pure Grecian profile to her lithe, narrow waist to the softly rounded flare of her hips, she embodied perfection.
She turned in her chair to face the turbaned matron she addressed, and her eyes met his. He caught his breath. Clear pools of honey-brown fringed by gold lashes seared his very soul. She was a goddess. He grimaced inwardly at the turn of his thoughts and offered a rakish grin in hopes of hiding his attraction. The touch of a smile on her rose-hued lips betrayed only tolerant amusement in the instant before she returned her attention to the woman at her side.
Thank you, but no.
The swift dismissal heated his blood with challenge.
A low laugh arose from that graceful flower, then she and her matronly companion rose and strolled toward the refreshments table. The rich, olive-green velvet of her skirt swayed with the subtle shift of her hips. He quashed the desire to chase her. She was just another woman, in a chamber filled with luscious beauties.
Evan wound through the crowd to the quiet cardroom, where a man might find a better suited drink than the lemonade served in the ballroom. A sideboard laden with decanters and bottles sat against the left wall. He crossed the room and filled a tumbler with whisky. Glass in hand, Evan wandered past the table of card players. Sir Stirling James looked up from his cards and nodded. Evan nodded back and took the final three paces to the hearth, where sat half a dozen other gentlemen. He leaned one shoulder against the mantle and savored the liquor, waiting for its mellowing effect to take hold.
“She is looking for a new interest, I hear,” Lord Smith said.
The Duke of Holmes’ eyes lit with devilry. “Her interests have always been wide and varied.” The portly gentleman leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers against his vest, embroidered in bright jewel tones and gold lace. The style echoed the flamboyance of his youthful days, yet still suited his shoulder length, faded red-gold locks.
Lord Smith nodded. “Aye, her interests have always been adventurous.”
Evan wondered which woman present was the object of their discussion. Did he know her? Was she someone who would make this trip to the country brighter?
“Ah.” Holmes gave an exaggerated sigh. “Were I only twenty years younger…”
The younger man leaned over and slapped the elder’s shoulder. “What’s the matter, Your Grace? Afraid you’re not up to the—ride?”
Holmes broke into loud guffaws.
Lord Bumbleberry clapped a hand to his chest. “Oh, to be clasped by those firm, ivory thighs.”
Holmes shook his head. “Now, what would a scapegrace like you know about the lady’s thighs? I said she was adventurous, not lacking in taste.”
Lord Bumbleberry’s reddish brows drew together sharply. “Keep your opinions to yourself, thank you very much.”
The duke slapped the table. “Told you he had no idea of the lady’s secret charms.” His eyes sparkled with a wicked light. “Remember how she raced her phaeton?”
“Such a daring girl.” Lord Parker almost sighed the words.
The duke grinned. “Carr came up from London like a fury. Her papa was helpless to do aught but agree to Carr’s demand that the wedding take place immediately.” He sobered. “She quieted for a time after that. Perhaps, if he had been able to sire a child on her, she would have remained quiet.”
“She’s an excellent horsewoman,” said Lord Parker.
“A reckless hoyden of a horsewoman, if you ask me,” said Lord Smith. “Of course, her thighs would be long and lean from all that wild riding.”
“Wild riding, ho!” Holmes said.
“Tally-ho!” said Lord Parker.
The chamber erupted into raucous laughter and the men lifted their glasses in a toast and drank.
Lord Bumbleberry scowled. “I will win her over.”
“I don’t know about that.” The duke regarded him doubtfully.
“Oh, no?”
“Well, you have much competition,” Holmes said.
Lord Bumbleberry slammed his glass down on the table. “No man here can outride me—in bed or out.”
The duke turned to Evan. “What of young Mr. MacLaren?” The older man made a dramatic show of appraising Evan. “He’s certainly a handsome young swain and I think our Lady Hoyden will be most impressed by his horsemanship skills.”
Lord Bumbleberry’s scowl deepened. “I have never been impressed by the horsemanship skills of a common privateer. Much less one without two pence to rub together.”
A sudden fury seized Evan. What in hell’s name could this spoiled, soft bellied noble know of the sacrifices he had made for his family’s honor?
He studied the amber liquid in his glass for two heartbeats, forced calm, then said, “You may have a point about the horsemanship of privateers, compared to the nobleman who rides in leisure with hounds.” He raised his gaze and held Lord Bumbleberry’s. “But marksmanship skills are another matter, entirely.”
The other man paled.
Evan offered a cold smile. “I would be pleased to make a demonstration at dawn.”
Lord Bumbleberry snapped his spineless form against the polished mahogany chair back, then sought quick refuge in his drink. Quiet settled over the group. The scrape of shifting boots and the clink of decanters against glasses wafted from other parts of the room. Someone began shuffling cards. Gradually, the gentlemen departed. Only the Duke of Holmes remained.
“Well, young Mr. MacLaren, the question remains,” he said.
Evan raised a hard stare to the older man. “What question?”
He bristled, ready to challenge even this powerful duke if he dared insult his situation or family. Yet, he had no idea why his pride was so easily pricked tonight. It was a shameful loss of self-control. He might have a taste for danger and risk, but he was no hot-headed fool.
Holmes stared back warmly, seemingly unaware of any contention. “Are you going to ask the adventurous lady to dance?”
“Who?”
“Lady Carr.”
“I do not know her,” Evan replied.
The duke snorted. “Surely you could not have missed that lithesome beauty gowned in green velvet? The one with the deep brown hair and the—” He made quick motions with his hands, approximating a woman’s lush form.
Ah, so it was the female who had given him the polite—but firm—rebuff. Like simmering rum on a cold Atlantic morn, his blood began to warm.
“I see you know her.” Holmes chuckled, then rose.
He canted his head in a goodbye, then strolled away. Evan watched his retreat. This gathering had become too stale to bear. A spoiled, wealthy hellion, and the gentlemen who so lacked zest in their luxurious lives that they found her a novelty. Evan tossed back the last of his whisky, set the glass on the mantle and started toward the door.
“She’s not really the wild adventuress that they have painted her.”
Evan stopped and turned. Sir Stirling James stood near the chair Holmes had vacated, his dark eyes alive with excitement. Or was it expectation? It rankled Evan’s growing sense of impending…what? Trap?
Evan kept his expression impassive. “Pardon me?”
Sir Stirling smiled with warmth. “Lady Carr is not some silly minded, wild girl. She is a sophisticated woman who lives life to the fullest. Though she still retains a sort of naivety…no, it is more a freshness.” Sadness flickered in his expressive eyes. “It is unfair that some malign her.”
In this, Evan agreed. His earlier disgust for those gentlemen returned—parlor tigers—who lacked backbone. They bolstered their flagging manhood by making a conquest of a woman they neither understood, nor fully appreciated.
“Would you care to meet the lady?” Sir Stirling asked.
The man’s expression was pleasant. The sense of a trap returned. Nevertheless, he found himself following Sir Stirling James back to the ballroom.
GET YOUR COPY HERE