by Emma Wildes
insists she wore the blasted thing because she thought I would like it.”
“Did you?”
Colton sent a sardonic look across the table. “If worn only for me in private, perhaps.”
“Perhaps?”
“Well, yes, I thought it was becoming, but from the most primitive male point of view only. As
my wife, she shouldn’t have worn it.”
“Ah.”
“What the devil does that mean?”
His brother struggled to hide his smile and failed. “She has thoroughly rattled the prim and proper
duke in you, I see. Good for her.”
Being called prim was annoying as hell. It brought to mind images of disapproving white-haired
old ladies or dour Presbyterian ministers, and he wasn’t either one. Yes, Colton believed in at
least some measure of decorum, but after all, he was a Peer of the Realm, and his position in
society warranted a certain level of behavior. “Not all of us, Robbie, embrace notoriety,” he
observed, not bothering to hide his irritation. “Nor can we all skip from the bed of one lovely
lady to the next, never looking over our shoulders. I do take my responsibilities seriously, and
that includes my marriage.”
Robert, who had a reputation as a rake of the first order and was infamously opposed to
permanence, hardly looked chastened. Instead he chuckled. “I am sure you do. Everything you
take on, from estate matters to your seat in the House of Lords, you handle with the same
efficiency and expertise. But, let’s face it, Colt, you have never taken on a human being before.
Not just another person, but a woman at that. She isn’t going to act as you wish, simply because
you wish it. She might not act as you wish even if ordered to do so. Brianna isn’t only beautiful,
she is intelligent—and, I am sure, confident she can make her own decisions.”
Stung, Colton retorted, “I know that. Who better? I had no interest in marrying an empty-headed
doll. I admire her spirit and her intellect.”
“Then I caution a more subtle approach to this issue than telling her dressmaker you wish to
approve her gowns from now on. That is insulting to Brianna, and since you abhor gossip, most
ill-advised. It is an indication you disapproved of her attire and will get everyone talking about it
again. You cannot count on your instructions to the modiste being kept quiet.”
It was galling to think his younger brother might be giving him sage advice—on the subject of
marriage, no less, in which Robert had exhibited very little interest. But then again, his brother
was right. Robert knew women—or should, for he had certainly sampled the charms of many of
them.
Colton finished his brandy and poured another. He rubbed his jaw and sent his brother a narroweyed look. “For the sake of argument, let’s say I agree with you in principle. I naturally prefer
diplomacy over being autocratic, but neither do I wish her name to regularly be on the tongues of
the gossipmongers.”
Robert’s handsome face quirked into a thoughtful frown. “I’d say persuading her to your point of
view is preferable to issuing dictates. If she chooses to wear another daring gown, change your
mind at the last minute about going out. You just said you would be happy to appreciate it in
private. Show her you do. This way, if every time her clothing is too outré for you to want to
share her with all of London, you just stay in. She will get the message at once. If she wishes to
go out, she will dress more demurely. If you are lucky enough she wants to stay at home, that, I
suspect, will be even more pleasant. As I see it, you can’t lose.”
To Colton’s surprise, Robert’s advice made sense. At least he would not find himself making
rash, uninhibited love to his wife in a moving carriage but could take her properly upstairs and
close the bedroom door. Not that the interlude hadn’t been gloriously pleasurable, but he really
hadn’t enjoyed almost being caught in the act. He much preferred to take his time, especially with
a woman as alluring as Brianna.
He stared at his brother over the rim of his glass, the fragrance of the fine brandy drifting upward
in a tantalizing waft. “That actually sounds like a viable solution.”
Robert spread his hands in a self-deprecating gesture, a cheeky grin on his face. “I enjoy
discussing this subject much more than the dust-dry politics that usually occupy you, or worse
yet, the latest meeting with your solicitors over some financial arrangement. What could be more
intriguing than talking about women?”
Spoken like a true rakehell. Colton didn’t have the luxury of sitting around and daydreaming
about how to placate his latest paramour like his younger brother, but quite frankly, since Robert
had just exhibited such educated insight, Colton might have to consult him again.
“I don’t suppose I have ever thought of it that way, but I don’t have your latitude,” he murmured
and then drained his glass.
“True enough,” Robert agreed cheerfully, reaching for the decanter. “Being the Duke sounds like
a dreadful bore. It’s infinitely preferable to be third in line. When you get an heir, I won’t even be
that.”
Now and again it was a bore to carry the burden of title and responsibility that went with having a
great deal of influence, of course, but all of life was that way. His lighthearted younger brother
hadn’t discovered that reality yet.
“Some day,” Colton speculated, his mouth curving as he imagined the event, “the time will come
when a young lady brings you to your knees and I will enjoy the moment immensely.”
“Perhaps.” Robert looked unfazed and more than a little smug. “But until it happens—and I am
not convinced it ever will—I’ll be around if you want to discuss again how to handle your
beautiful bride.”
Chapter Two
Intrigue is as essential to the relations between men
and women as the air is necessary for us to breathe.
Our subtle dance with each other is what makes it
all so interesting.
From the chapter titled: “They Are All the
Same and Yet Different”
The image in the mirror wasn’t displeasing. Rebecca Marston smoothed one last brown curl into
place and studied her appearance with a critical eye. Yes, the pale rose gown was a good choice,
for it went well with the ivory of her skin and set off the dark gleam of her hair. There was one
advantage to not being fashionably blond: her more dramatic coloring stood out from the other
popular debutants vying for the attentions of eligible males. While she did wish she wasn’t quite
so tall, her height wasn’t so pronounced it discouraged many suitors.
No, her real problem was her age, her prominent background, her very marriageable status, and
her formidable father.
Actually, that was quite a list of problems—but problems that mostly applied to one man.
Rising from her dressing table, she picked up her fan with a sigh and left her bedroom.
Downstairs she found both her parents waiting in the foyer. Her mother looked splendid, draped
in emerald silk and a fortune in diamonds, a glittering diadem in her intricately coiffed dark hair.
Her father was also dressed handsomely in his elegant evening wear, a ruby stickpin in his snowy
cravat, his graying hair brushed neatly back. His impatience showed in the way he r
an his gloves
through his hands, his gaze settling on her with approval as she descended the stairs.
“There you are. I was just going to send up someone to get you, my dear, but it was well worth
the wait. You look stunning.”
Rebecca smiled, but it was a little forced. She wasn’t looking forward to the next few hours.
Another ball, another evening of eager men dancing attendance on her while the man she
desperately wanted to show even a flicker of interest was laughing, charming, and dazzling other
women, without even a passing glance in her direction.
It was a depressing thought.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she murmured, turning her back so one of the footmen could settle her cloak
over her shoulders. “I couldn’t decide what gown to wear.”
How frivolous that sounded, though she didn’t think of herself as superficial in the slightest. If
anything, she was quite the opposite. Music was the true passion of her life, and though her
parents discouraged her from mentioning it when out in company, she wasn’t just a talented
pianist and more than adequate on the harp, flute, and clarinet—her real interest lay in
composition. Already, at the age of twenty, she had composed two symphonies and countless
other smaller works. It felt as though a tune played continuously in her head. Putting it down on
paper seemed only natural.
That, of course, was as unfashionable as the color of her hair.
The carriage was waiting and her father escorted them outside, handing her mother in first and
then Rebecca. She settled on the seat and braced herself for the usual lecture.
Her mother lost no time. “Darling, Lord Watts will be at the Hampton’s this evening. Please
favor him with a dance.”
Boring Lord Watts with his staged laugh and wispy mustache. Rebecca didn’t care if he was the
last man on earth—a potential earldom and fortune aside—she would never enjoy his company.
“He’s a pompous oaf,” she said truthfully. “A philistine with no interest in the arts and—”
“Handsome, wealthy, and the son of a friend of mine,” her father interrupted firmly, his gaze
holding a flinty look. “Dance with him. He’s thoroughly besotted with you and has asked for
your hand in marriage twice.”
Why she would encourage a man she had no intention of ever marrying was a reasonable
question, but she declined to argue. Instead she murmured, “Very well. I can spare a dance.”
“You might want to reconsider his suit. I am in favor of the match.”
She didn’t, couldn’t, and never would it be a possibility. Rebecca didn’t say a word.
Her mother gave her a reproving look as they clattered along the cobbled street. “You will have
to choose at some point.”
And since many young ladies her age were already engaged or wed—her two closest friends,
Arabella and Brianna among them—she needed to make up her mind. She well understood her
parents’ position on the subject. Rebecca had chosen, actually, but it was a wildly impractical,
impossible, entirely scandalous selection.
No one knew about her secret infatuation.
The mansion glittered with lights, and the long line of carriages in the circular drive gave an
indication of the popularity of the event. They alighted finally and were ushered inside amidst the
other arriving guests. Immediately Rebecca scanned the crowd in the well-lit ballroom, unable to
help herself. Would he make an appearance tonight? He attended most of the prestigious
entertainments because his brother was a duke, and . . .
There he was.
So tall, so masculine with his nicely chiseled features and light brown hair that always managed
to look well-groomed and yet endearingly tousled at the same time, his face lighting in an
animated smile as he greeted a friend. Lord Robert Northfield was a charming rogue, suave,
sophisticated, and as uninterested as any man could be in a marriageable young miss. Which,
Rebecca thought with a sigh, left her out in the cold. A certain part of her wished she wasn’t
friends with Brianna so she would never have had the opportunity to meet the Duke of
Rolthven’s youngest brother, but another part—a treacherous one—was glad she had.
Falling in love could happen in an instant, Rebecca had discovered. One look, one fascinated
moment in which he bent over her hand and brushed her with one of those legendary smoldering
looks . . . and she was lost.
Her father, at the moment at her side, would be horrified if he could read her thoughts. Robert
had, she needed to face it, a wicked reputation. A very wicked reputation for enjoying cards and
women, and not in that order. As respectable as Colton might be with his political influence and
grandiose fortune, his youngest brother was just the opposite.
Her father disliked him intensely—he’d mentioned the Duke of Rolthven’s younger brother with
bitter derision more than once—and she had never dared to ask why. Maybe it was merely his
notoriety, but she suspected there was more to the story.
Even as she watched from across the crowded room, hoping no one noticed the direction of her
stare, Rebecca saw their hostess sidle up and touch Robert’s sleeve in a gesture that was both
playful and intimate. Rumor had it Lady Hampton had a distinct preference for wild, handsome
young men, and the Duke of Rolthven’s brother certainly qualified. The two duels he’d fought
already didn’t enhance his respectability.
When it came to Lord Robert, the only signs of respectability were his family name and his
brother’s prominent place in society.
Yet here she was, hopelessly fascinated. It was hopeless too, because even if by some miracle he
ever noticed her, overcame his infamous aversion to marriage, and approached her, Rebecca
knew her father would never allow it.
Too bad she didn’t write romantic novels instead of composing music. Then she could pen a
melancholy tale about a bereft young heroine who pined for a handsome, sinful lover.
“Miss Marston. How delightful to see you. I was hoping you would attend.”
The interruption tore her gaze from the sight of Robert Northfield leading Lady Hampton onto
the floor for a waltz, his head bent as he listened to whatever the brazen woman had to say, a
faint smile on his face over what was undoubtedly clever flirtatious banter.
Were they lovers? Rebecca wished she didn’t care, didn’t speculate over something that was
essentially none of her business, because Robert didn’t even know she lived and breathed, and if
Lady Hampton wanted to look at him with that particular brand of possessive longing, there was
nothing Rebecca could do about it. . . .
“Miss Marston?”
Rebecca jerked her attention away from the striking couple on the dance floor with a dismal
sinking feeling. A beaming Lord Watts stood in front of her, wispy mustache and all. “Oh, good
evening,” she murmured without enthusiasm, earning a frown from her father.
“Dare I assume you will consent to a dance?” The young man looked irritatingly eager, and his
pale blue eyes held an imploring light.
If only his eyes were a deeper pure azure, framed by long lashes, his hair not the color of pale
straw but instead a vibrant golden brown—if instead of a rather weak chin, he had clean-cut
masculine features and a seductive
mouth that could curve into a mesmerizing smile.
Even then, if that was all true, he still wouldn’t be Robert Northfield.
“Of course she will,” her father said smoothly. “Rebecca mentioned earlier she was looking
forward to just that. Didn’t you, my dear?”
Since she had never been one to tell falsehoods, she simply smiled. Or she tried. It might have
come out more as a grimace. It was going to be a long, dismal evening.
“You seem distracted.”
The implied intimacy in Maria Hampton’s comment grated a little, and focused Robert’s
attention once again on the woman in his arms as they whirled across the floor in time to the
latest popular tune. “I am tired, actually.”
“Oh, I see.” Maria smiled, a salacious gleam of interest in her green eyes. “Do I know her?”
“There’s no ‘her.’ ” Robert replied, irritated. “Or well, I suppose it is due to a woman—but not
what you are thinking right now.” He swept her into a turn and felt a sardonic twist touch his
mouth. “It was my grandmother’s birthday today.”
Maria, all vibrant red hair and luscious full curves, looked puzzled. “So?”
“So,” he explained softly, “I rose at dawn and rode quite a distance to make sure I could be at the
family estate for luncheon in her honor.”
“You?”
“Is it such a surprise I would make the effort?”
At least Maria didn’t patronize him with a simpering denial. She merely said, “Yes, darling, it is.”
He didn’t suppose he could blame her for her view. Given Robert’s reputation, London’s gossips
would be surprised to learn that he adored his grandmother. Despite the aftereffects of a little too
much wine the night before, he’d made the journey gladly. Colton, of course, had already arrived
at Rolthven with his lovely wife in tow, and Brianna had looked particularly fetching in a day
gown of sprigged muslin adorned with tiny pink rosettes, her flaxen hair caught up simply with a
twist of matching pastel ribbon. In direct contrast to the insinuations in the paper and the
whispers over her scandalous attire of the other evening, she was dressed in the style of a fresh,
innocent schoolgirl. But Robert did notice two interesting things.
The first was Colton seemed to treat her a little differently. Robert wouldn’t go so far as to say
