Chapter Two
Giles had watched Miss Blake dance with several men, old and young, in the hour and a half the musicians had entertained the guests at the reception following the wedding breakfast. He bided his time, waiting for his waltz, which the master of ceremonies had told him would be the next number played.
Before anyone had the chance to usurp him, he made his way across the room and extended his hand. “I believe the next dance is mine.”
“Indeed?” Although her eyebrows rose almost to her hairline, the twitching of her lips told him she found his smugness amusing.
He grinned, continuing to hold out his hand when the music started. As promised, the musicians played a waltz. He made a deep bow. “May I have the pleasure of this dance, Miss Blake?”
She took his hand and followed him to the dance floor. He turned and swung her into his arms, perhaps a bit closer than was considered proper. They fit together perfectly and danced as though they’d done so many times before. “Are you enjoying the music?”
“Yes, I am. I love to dance, and it’s been wonderful to have so many opportunities to do so.”
“I’ve noticed.” He twirled them around a slower-moving couple. “Oftentimes young ladies dance because it’s expected, or they feel it’s a way to garner a man’s attentions. You dance for the absolute enjoyment of it. It shows in your face and in how you move.”
“Have you been watching me?” If that thought frightened her, it was not reflected in her eyes. She studied him, as if she were searching for something.
“I have, and I’ve had a great deal of pleasure in doing so.” Moving them into a turn, his legs briefly brushed against hers, his skin burning where they touched. She looked up quickly and licked her lips. Perhaps she had felt it, too?
“As I mentioned last evening, I would like to see you again when we are in London. Perhaps I may call at your cousins’ home? Or you might enjoy a ride in the park?”
She shook her head slowly and looked away from him. “No. That is perhaps not the best thing to do.”
“Does your cousin not approve of gentlemen calling on you? Is that not the purpose of the Season?”
Miss Blake hesitated, and chewed her lower lip, as if she were trying to find a way to say something she did not want to tell him. “No, my cousin would not object.”
“Then?” He did not believe she didn’t hold an interest in his attentions. She had been far too receptive to his subtle advances so far. He’d had enough experience with women to know when one was amenable and when one was not. “Do you find me offensive?”
“No.” She shook her head slowly, avoiding his eyes.
“Boring, or disagreeable?”
She gasped as he pulled her close to avoid another couple who had stopped in the middle of the dance floor to argue. “No, Mr. Templeton, you are not offensive, boring, or disagreeable. You are, in fact, quite pleasant and charming.”
She said the last part as though she were insulting him instead of offering a compliment. “And you find pleasant and charming not to your liking?” He smiled, trying to cajole her out of the somber mood the conversation had put her in.
“Not at all.”
“Oh, I see. So, you find pleasant and charming distasteful only in me?” His grin grew wider at the flush on her face. The music stopped, and he held onto her hand. “Walk with me.”
He led her toward the French doors. “Will you allow me to escort you to the patio? There are several couples out there.”
She nodded, and he opened the door and allowed her to pass through in front of him. Taking her arm, he led her to a small stone bench under a large elm tree. The sun had just started its final descent in the sky, leaving the entire area bathed in a golden glow. They sat, and she turned to face him.
He studied her for a minute. “What is it you are trying so very hard not to tell me?”
Miss Blake took a deep breath and looked away from him, examining the newly planted flower garden. When a full minute passed, and she still had not answered him, he placed his finger under her chin and turned her head. “What is it, Miss Blake?”
“It is nothing of great importance. My goodness, such a fuss.” She drew her head away, smoothed out her skirts, and attempted a smile.
She failed.
“Since there is nothing of great importance that you feel you need to tell me, then I will proceed as I said, and call on you when we return to London.”
Miss Blake stiffened her shoulders and looked him in the eye. Whatever it was she wanted to say, he gave her credit for facing it square on. “Perhaps I do not want you to call on me.”
“I see.” Although he certainly did not. This woman was definitely attracted to him. “And why is that?” She appeared to become more agitated.
“Mr. Templeton, I am flattered that you wish to call on me in London, but I am afraid I will be quite busy and will be unable to receive you or accompany you on rides to the park.”
“Hmm. That doesn’t answer my question.” He dipped his head to look at her face.
Suzanna studied her lap and pinched the fabric of her gown, avoiding his gaze. “Because nothing could come of it.” The whispered words were barely out when she jumped up, but before she could race away, he grabbed her hand and pulled her back down. “Why not?”
She looked away, studying the fading sun behind the trees surrounding them. Taking a deep breath, she looked up. Her beautiful blue eyes, that had held him captive since they’d met, regarded him sadly. “Because I may encourage only men with a title.”
He released her hand and she rose, then hurried back to the ballroom, her hips swaying enticingly, leaving her flowery scent behind.
…
One week later
Suzanna joined Lord and Lady Montford at the top of the stairs as the butler announced them at the Linden ball. This was the first event they’d attended since Patience’s wedding. Suzanna had spent a few days with her aunt and uncle, Lord and Lady Wilton, before the Montfords arrived in London to open their townhouse for the Season.
If she’d had a hard time relegating the very tempting Mr. Templeton to the back of her mind, the arrival of Mother’s missive that morning had reminded her she needed to forget him entirely.
Remember, my dear daughter, it is my fondest wish that you marry well. Anyone can marry, but my daughter, with her beauty and charm, can have any man she wants. A titled man, a man of consequence.
I am sorry I cannot be with you at this crucial time in your life, to advise you and encourage you to aim for the best. Keep your reputation unsullied and go forth and enjoy yourself. Make your mother proud.
With Great Fondness, Mother
Despite Mother’s words, ’twas not easy to forget Mr. Templeton’s broad shoulders, teasing smile, quick wit, and most of all, the flattering attention he paid her. When they’d gone outside together, she’d been certain he’d planned to kiss her. The thought had excited her, but instead of receiving her first kiss, she’d made an abrupt departure. Once she’d blurted out her preference for a title, she’d not had the courage to look at his face to see what he’d thought of a woman who was only interested in such shallow things.
Mother’s words any man she wants had run through her mind for the rest of the day, until she’d grown weary of the sentence. Of course, Mother had not meant “any man” because if Suzanna brought home a tradesman—or the horror—any man without a title, he would be dismissed out of hand. She could have any man she wanted if—a small but powerful word—said man held a title. He could be a philanderer, a gambler, a drunkard, abusive, or any number of nasty things that can be found in a man, but as long as he held a title, he would be welcomed into the bosom of her family with open arms.
Susanna sighed and shook herself back to the present. The ballroom had been gaily decorated in honor of Lady Esther, who was making her debut this Season. Huge vases of flowers were tucked into each corner, next to every piece of furniture left in the room. Flowers were wrapped around picture frames, draped from the walls, gathered together in bunches, and tied with enormous pink bows.
Hundreds of candles glowed from chandeliers and candelabras, reflecting off the numerous mirrors along the east wall, creating a beautiful backdrop for the colorful gowns and jewels sparkling in the light.
Lady Esther was swathed in pale pink, beribboned and ruffled so she looked like an exploded wedding cake. Suzanna shook her head. It seemed the Season was already overdone. She could only guess that every debut ball going forward would attempt to outdo one another.
She scanned the crowd, telling herself she was not searching for anyone in particular. But she couldn’t lie, not even to herself.
As she and her chaperone wandered the room, her dance card was signed several times. Mother would be pleased. Every man who’d requested a dance had a title.
Are you happy, Mother?
Halfway through a lively country dance, the butler announced Mr. Giles Templeton, Lord Hawkins, and Lord Campbell. Suzanna almost tripped over her own feet as the three men descended the stairs, one more handsome and compelling than the other.
The room held its collective breath as the trio reached the bottom of the staircase. Fans fluttered, young ladies sighed, and marriage-minded mamas rallied, ready to present their darling daughters to the men.
If only she felt the same draw to Lord Hawkins or Lord Campbell, she might consider this a successful Season. But it was the sight of Mr. Giles Templeton that caused her heart to flutter in her chest, and not due to the efforts of the lively dance. Determined to put him out of her mind, she cast a brilliant smile on her partner, Lord Thomas, who then stumbled.
He swung her into a final turn, they both bowed and dipped a curtsy, and the dance ended. “I feel a bit parched, my lord, after that rousing number. Would you mind escorting me to the refreshment table?”
“Of course, Miss Blake.” Lord Thomas extended his arm, and they took the slow walk to the wall where the lemonade and ratafia were being served.
He took a sip of the lemonade and said, “May I call on you, Miss Blake?”
Here it comes, then, the men who Mother would love to call son-in-law would start showing their interest. “Of course, my lord, I would be flattered.”
“Then perhaps I may call on you as well.” The deep, warm, already-familiar voice of Mr. Templeton almost made her spit out the mouthful of lemonade. Thank heaven for quick reflexes. She turned and offered him what she hoped was a warm, but not encouraging, smile. “Good evening, Mr. Templeton. I did not see you arrive.”
He raised one eyebrow and offered his lazy smile. She cringed. He’d probably seen her gaping at him and his friends as they arrived.
“Mere moments ago.” He nodded in his lordship’s direction. “Thomas.”
“Templeton.”
For heaven’s sake, they both stared at each other as if they were preparing to turn their backs to walk twenty paces, then turn and shoot.
Mr. Templeton redirected his attention to her. “May I request a dance, Miss Blake?”
“Of course.” She held out the small card dangling from her wrist. Mr. Templeton glanced at it, then jotted his name in one of the spaces. “Pity all the waltzes are taken.”
Lord Thomas bowed. “You must excuse me, Miss Blake, but I need to find my partner for this next dance.”
Suzanna nodded and tried her best not to glance back at Mr. Templeton.
“Ignoring me is not going to work. I have no intention of ignoring you. And you have not answered my question. May I call on you?”
She sighed and looked him in the eye. “We have already had this conversation.”
“Yes, we have. But, unfortunately, it did not end in my favor, so I would like to have it again.”
Why, oh why, does this man appeal to me so? She wanted very much to dismiss him, and his intentions, but the draw was simply too strong. Would it be fair to allow him to dance attendance on her when she knew there was no future for them?
She opened her mouth to decline his request—in a gentle tone, of course—then said, “If you wish to call upon me during Lady Montford’s calling hours, I don’t believe I can stop you.”
His eyes narrowed, then a smile touched his lips, giving him a look he had, no doubt, honed to perfection over the years. “I guess that is sufficient for now, but don’t believe for one minute I am accepting your halfhearted acquiescence.”
“Are you always so certain of yourself, then?” The man’s arrogance was beginning to chafe.
“My dear Miss Blake, I always prevail. Whether it is cards, racing, financial investments, or a young lady’s attention.”
Before she could come up with a snappy retort at his high-handedness, Lord Twinnings approached, his brow damp, and the few strands of hair remaining on his head plastered to his scalp, most likely from an energetic dance. “My dance, I believe?” He reached out for her, and before she took his hand, he delved into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief that he used to pat his forehead. “Quite warm in here, eh?”
Mr. Templeton gave him a dismissive glance, then waved at her dance card. “I shall return for my dance.” With a slight bow, he turned and left her to make his way through the couples joining the queue.
For most of the dance with Lord Twinnings, she prayed the poor man would not collapse at her feet. He was a bit on the corpulent side and seemed to have trouble gaining his breath. His forehead continued to drip perspiration, and instead of reaching again for his handkerchief, he simply swiped his brow with the back of his hand.
Thank goodness for gloves.
After a few more dances, Suzanna was ready for a rest, but she noted on her card that Lord Benson was next. A waltz. If only she could find a way out of the dance and perhaps spend a few minutes in the fresh air.
Lady Montford had been absent most of the evening thus far. She was an avid card player, and Suzanna was certain that she’d found her evening’s entertainment in the card room. Suzanna was more than happy to not have her chaperone watching over her, even though Cousin Eunice was a wonderful woman.
The orchestra started up again, and she sighed, waiting for Lord Benson to claim her. “My dance, Miss Blake.” She shivered and turned quickly.
“Mr. Templeton?” She fumbled with her card and checked it. “This is Lord Benson’s dance.”
“Ah, he was affable enough to surrender this one to me.” He extended his elbow to her and, still confused at this sudden change, she placed her hand on his arm. “But, how did you know? I mean, how—”
“No need to worry. I asked him, and he agreed.” He turned her so they were facing each other. He placed his warm hand at her lower back, took her hand in his, and the music began.
“You are holding me too close, Mr. Templeton.” She stepped back, and to his credit, he softened his grip.
“My apologies.”
She noted his athletic grace as he guided her around the ballroom floor. His movements were fluid; his long legs brushed against hers as they turned. She spent the first few minutes staring at his cravat, then eventually looked up into his laughing eyes staring back at her. “Are you enjoying the ball, Miss Blake?”
“Yes. Lady Esther looks lovely, does she not?”
“Would you laugh out loud if I said I have eyes only for you?” Another twirl, and once again they brushed up against each other, but this time he did not release her.
She groaned. “That was terrible.” Then seeing his slight smile turn into a full grin, she joined him, and they both laughed.
“I see I am not impressing you with titillating conversation. Perhaps we can continue with our chat from your cousin’s wedding.”
She glanced away. “Hmm. I’d rather not, actually.”
He looked down at her and moved his lips so close to hers she was afraid he would kiss her right there on the dance floor, with the entire ton watching. Her heart sped up, but he stopped within inches of her lips. “As far as I am concerned, that conversation was unfinished.” His mint-scented breath wafted over her.
“And what was unfinished about it?”
“Admittedly, I do not know you very well—certainly not as well as I intend to.” His words brought gooseflesh to her skin, the deepness of his voice flowing over her in waves. He held her mesmerized, as if they were the only two people in the room, others’ voices fading as he continued. “I have spoken to Her Grace, and she had nothing but good things to say about her beloved cousin.”
His words broke the spell he’d had her under. Her back stiffened, and she drew herself away from him, as far as he would allow her to go, which wasn’t much. “I do not like that you have discussed me with other people.”
He shrugged as if it were no great matter to invade her privacy that way. “I was most anxious to learn more about you.”
Honestly, the man’s smugness was unparalleled. “Why?”
“Because I know you feel the attraction between us, and your statement about not wanting to encourage any man who did not possess a title did not ring true. From the little I’ve gleaned from those who know you, and what I saw of you at the wedding, you are not a superficial woman. I have spent quite a bit of time with women of the ton. There are those who are firm in their convictions about marrying only a title—sad that—but you do not strike me as that type of lady.”
He leaned in closer. “The duchess told me when you were both young girls you waxed poetically about how you would marry only for love. What changed? Do you not hunger for love or passion anymore? Has the idea of a lofty title become so attractive that you no longer want what the young Miss Suzanna Blake desired?”
…
Giles watched Suzanna carefully. Ordinarily, he would dismiss out of hand a woman who told him she would not encourage any man who did not hold a title. There were far too many of them in the ton, but also a good number of ladies who wanted money—which he had in abundance. Hence his popularity with the ladies, despite his lack of a title.
It hadn’t been something that bothered him overmuch. His elder brother, Eric, had always been the heir, his brother, Richard, the spare, and Giles was happy to be comfortably removed from the title. He and his brothers were good friends, supporting one another, rarely any animosity among them. Frankly, Giles preferred his life. No duties to a title, to numerous estates, or to Parliament.
He’d had an excellent education and had been granted a nice estate by his maternal grandparents, along with a generous settlement. Known for his so-called Midas touch, he’d invested the money wisely and had trebled it.
He enjoyed the typical well-placed bachelor’s life, and one day he would settle down, take a wife, and fill his nursery. He’d always assumed he could have any woman he wanted. There certainly had been enough pushed in his direction.
Now—for the first time in his life—he craved someone who was not going to come easily.
Miss Blake chewed on her lower lip for a while then tossed her head. “I find a man with a title much more to my liking.”
“I don’t believe that’s true.”
Her eyes snapped at his blunt observation. “Sir, how dare you call me a liar!”
“Again, my apologies, Miss Blake. Perhaps I should reword that. Let’s say, I refuse to believe that.” He pulled her closer than he should. “Is that better?”
She sucked in a deep breath, which caused her breasts to press up against his chest. Even through all the layers of clothing, the heat from her flesh seared him. She must have felt the same thing, because her face flushed, and she jerked back as if burned. “No, that is not better. But I prefer not to have this conversation at all.”
“Very well. The conversation is closed. For now. However, I will call on you at Lord Montford’s townhouse.”
“Fine,” she huffed, “if you wish to make this a battle of wills.”
Oh, my very dear Miss Blake, this is truly a battle and it has only just begun.
…
The next afternoon, Giles stepped from his carriage and climbed the stairs to Lord Montford’s townhouse. A liveried footman opened the door and bowed when Giles presented his card. “They are gathered in the drawing room, Mr. Templeton. I will announce you.”
The entrance hall was well done, nothing at all ostentatious. Black and white tiles stretched from the door as far as he could see. Muted silk paper covered the walls of the entire entranceway. A bust of some man—no doubt a pompous ancestor—rested on a pillar next to the staircase, staring with vacant eyes in his direction.
Once he’d handed over his hat and cane to the footman, he was led up the stairs where the sound of subdued conversation led them to the drawing room.
“Mr. Giles Templeton,” the footman announced, then he stepped aside so Giles could enter the room. There were five ladies and two gentlemen, as well as Miss Blake, in attendance. An older woman, whom Giles knew to be Lady Montford, sat on a settee near the window.
At least eight vases of flowers graced the room. He hadn’t sent flowers, because he knew everyone else would. He preferred to wage his campaign in person, and not rely on a few posies to do the job.
“Good afternoon, Lady Montford, Miss Blake.” He bowed and took the seat near Lady Montford that Lord Pomeroy had vacated, announcing he would be on his way. Two of the other ladies left with him, and Giles hoped they would all leave so he could have some time alone with Miss Blake. Lady Montford sat, watching the group as if she expected one of the men would hop up and ravish her charge at any moment.
“Would you care for tea, Mr. Templeton?” Miss Blake touched the teapot in front of her. “I am afraid this one is cold; I can send for more.”
“No. Don’t trouble yourself. I had a late luncheon.”
“If you’re sure?”
He grinned. “I am quite sure.”
“I say, Templeton, did I hear that Lord Loverly had escaped his prison hold and is wandering about London? Isn’t he the traitor the Duke of Bedford brought back from America?” Mr. Davis leaned forward on his seat, his eyes bright with excitement.
Too bad the man didn’t know Miss Blake would have no use for him, since he was only the fifth son of the Earl of Devlin.
“Yes. He has apparently escaped, but I doubt very much if he is running around London. He would be stupid to do such a thing with everyone on the lookout for him.”
“Yes, true, I am sure.” Davis turned his attention to Miss Blake. “I would be certain to have a footman accompany you, along with your maid, for the next few days. One never knows what a desperate man will do.”
“I hardly think it necessary to frighten the ladies, Davis. Lord Loverly is most likely on a ship headed back to America.” Giles regarded him with contempt. What was wrong with the man that he would say something like that in mixed company? But then, Davis had never been graced with an abundance of common sense.
Within the hour, the rest of the guests announced their intention to withdraw, leaving only Lady Montford, who was fast asleep in the corner, Giles, and Miss Blake. The departing guests spoke in hushed tones to keep from waking their hostess.
Miss Blake glanced at Lady Montford with a soft smile. “I’m afraid my cousin does not sleep well at night, so she catches little naps during the day.”
“I understand. She is a lovely lady. Perhaps to keep from disturbing her, I could offer you a stroll in the garden?” He hurried on when it appeared she was about to refuse to go without her chaperone. “It would be unkind to awaken her.”
“Very well. I would enjoy taking the air, myself.” She stood and smoothed her skirt. “Do you think I need a pelisse?”
“No. It was quite comfortable when I arrived.”
They entered the garden through the French doors in the drawing room. It was a short walk down the stone steps to the brick pathway through the newly planted flowers. Winter had finally loosened its grip, and the promise of spring was evident in the light green budding leaves on the trees.
Giles and Miss Blake walked arm in arm along the pathway, remarking on the fine weather, and avoiding any conversation that would lead them back to their stalemate. Finally, Giles had enough. He stopped their movement forward, turned her to face him, and took her hands in his. “I wish to court you, Miss Blake. I want to speak with your father and receive his approval.”