by Emma Wildes
less than Brianna and I. Miss Marston is unmarried, well chaperoned by her protective father, and
a very refined young lady. Neither seems a likely candidate for whispering scandalous
suggestions into my wife’s ear, and I can’t think of anyone else with whom Brianna would
discuss something so personal. I suppose my sister-in-law might have said something, but truly,
she’s a respectable matron with three children.”
The mention of the lovely Rebecca with her sea green eyes and gleaming dark hair brought back
Robert’s memories of holding her pressed to that wall of hedge, his mouth hovering over hers and
the quiver of her shapely body against him. The incident was trivial, nothing but a few moments
of polite speech followed by the ensuing rush to evade the persistent Lord Watts, but Robert had
found himself thinking back on it more than once in the past few days. It puzzled him he couldn’t
just dismiss it.
That damned jasmine perfume, he told himself wryly. It evoked fantasies of exotic gardens, soft,
smooth skin, and a singular breathless sigh. . . .
He must truly be jaded to even spare one thought about the completely off-limits Miss Marston.
Marriageable , he reminded himself and squelched even the faintest hint of amorous interest.
Besides, after that incident, her father, Sir Benedict, had trouble being even marginally polite to
Robert when they occasionally came face-to-face.
“If you want my opinion, drop the whole matter, Colt,” Robert said succinctly, “or you risk
making your pretty wife self-conscious. While you are at it, I think I would tell her that as long as
she doesn’t overspend, she may handle her pin money as she wishes, and make any other
concessions that won’t cause you too much discomfort. Quite obviously she wants to please you.
Return the favor.” He nudged his horse with his heel. “Now then, shall we gallop? I’m in the
mood to try out Sahir against Thebes. He’s in a fine mettle this morning.”
The music room was quiet, with long ivory velvet draperies drawn across the windows to
improve the acoustics and enhance the aura of privacy. A pot of ink and several lined sheets of
paper lay on top of the pianoforte, but just a few unsatisfying notes were written on the bars, and
the only sound was the occasional creak of the bench as Rebecca shifted position.
Her muse was elusive this morning, she admitted to herself with a sigh. It had been that way for
the past few days. Her new routine was discomforting. She entered the room each morning and
began the same set of tasks: readying her pen, arranging the sheets so she could scribble down the
notes as they filled her head and flowed to her fingers, settling on the bench with her skirts
adjusted demurely, her hands poised over the keyboard.
But nothing came. None of the usual joy. Instead of devoting herself to her passion for music, she
found a different kind of passion now absorbed her thoughts and it was infernally distracting.
Chin in her palm, one elbow propped, she pensively played F sharp, holding the single note for a
moment before lifting her finger. There. At least she could say she’d done something besides sit
there and think about the impossible.
And her dreams were impossible.
Now she knew what it was like to be close to Robert, to smell the clean, male tang of cologne and
fresh linen, to feel the brush of his lips against her skin and the strength of his lean body as he
pressed her against him. . . .
Well, it made things much, much worse, and she’d known all along her hopeless infatuation with
a seasoned libertine who regarded casual conquest as the order of the day was ridiculous. Not to
mention her father’s disdain for the man.
A quick knock interrupted her hopeless fantasies of being held in Robert Northfield’s arms.
Rebecca prayed it wasn’t the butler or one of the maids come to tell her Lord Watts was calling.
“Yes?”
The door swung open and to her relief Brianna came into view, just enough to poke her head
around the edge of the door. “I took a chance, Beck, you would be home. I told Hains not to
formally announce me and bother you. If you’re working, I’ll call again later if I’m out and
about.”
While Rebecca’s parents considered composing music too bluestocking a pastime for her to talk
about, of course Arabella and Brianna knew about her passion and understood. In fact, they were
her best audience when she had a new piece to share, and they always at least loyally claimed to
be impressed and entranced, bless them. Rebecca shook her head. “I am trying to work but failing
miserably. Maybe a little visit with a dear friend will inspire me. Come in.”
She should probably take a duchess to the formal drawing room, but this was Brianna. Sure
enough, the exalted Duchess of Rolthven looked pleased at the informality and settled in one of
the embroidered chairs in a swirl of blue silk skirts. Her pale hair was caught up in a simple
chignon; someone of Brianna’s dazzling beauty didn’t need elaborate coiffures. Rebecca often
thought Brianna’s modesty made her even more attractive and was why she had caught the eye of
one of England’s most eligible bachelors. The Duchess of Rolthven’s air of self-possession gave
her an elegant poise for one so young.
Last season all three of them had been remarkable successes. Brianna emerged with her
handsome duke, Arabella with her good-natured earl—and then there was Rebecca. She’d turned
down proposal after proposal because she had an ill-fated penchant for a reckless rake who she
was fairly sure couldn’t even remember her name the other evening.
Maybe she wasn’t much of a success after all.
“I’m going to have a house party.”
Rebecca blinked at the bold announcement. “You are? I thought you loathed house parties.”
Brianna made a face. “I do, normally. That is, all that archery—which I am horrible at anyway—
and musicals, and playacting. But even though I detest them, it doesn’t mean everyone does.
They are immensely popular, especially in the autumn. I hope Colton will be pleasantly surprised
when I explain it is for his birthday, which is in a few weeks. It is deuced hard to find a gift for a
man who owns half of Britain, you know. He has everything material anyone could want. I think
this will please him, though I can’t be sure. We can have it at Rolthven Manor and his
grandmother can help me organize it. She’ll be delighted, and really, that huge house could stand
to be used a little more. Except for the staff, she fairly rattles around alone in it most of the time.”
“I thought you were just there.”
“For her birthday,” Brianna confirmed. “The estate is convenient to town and we didn’t stay long,
just overnight. Robert was there for even a briefer amount of time. He breezed in and then left.
Damien couldn’t come at all because he was still in Spain, but he will be back in England next
week, I’m told. I am really going to only invite close friends and family, so it won’t be one of
those grand affairs I find so tedious, but hopefully just a pleasant diversion.”
Rebecca tried to picture the Duke of Rolthven at a house party, even his own, and failed. It was
difficult to imagine him frolicking on the lawn with a bow and arrow or participating in a mock
play. He was dignified and reser
ved and carried his title easily, though once or twice she had seen
him smile, usually at his wife, and it lent a warmth to his features that hinted at a different side.
Rebecca didn’t know him well enough to judge whether he would be pleased at the prospect of
having a fete at his ancestral home, but Brianna seemed enthusiastic, and Rebecca said loyally, “I
am sure it will be wonderful.”
“I truly hope so. It’s my aim to make sure Colton doesn’t work so hard all the time.” Brianna’s
feathery brows drew together in a small frown. “I am not at all sure he’ll thank me for it, if you
want the truth, but I am determined just the same. We have been married for over three months
and I still do not know him. I admit things aren’t as I expected.”
Since one day she was going to have to choose a husband—her parents had made it all too clear
they thought they’d been patient long enough—Rebecca asked frankly, “What did you expect?”
Brianna fingered the material of her gown, a thoughtful expression on her lovely face. “I think his
formality and distance seemed normal as he courted me. He is, after all, a little intimidating on
first acquaintance. Unfortunately, nothing much has changed since we wed. Oh, he’s generous
and polite, almost to a fault. That civility makes my teeth grate at times. I think I envisioned a
growing friendship between us, but things aren’t much different. We live in the same house, I
have his name, and he visits my bed, but otherwise it seems like we are still living separate lives.
I know he spends more time at his club than he ever does with me, and he thinks it is perfectly
reasonable for his life to continue as it did before we married. Colton has what I think to be some
antiquated ideas on the male/female relationship.”
“They are hardly antiquated,” Rebecca said tartly. “If you mean he believes every woman must
act in a certain way, marry by a certain age, and follow the rules set forth by her family and
society, then he isn’t alone. That’s a depressingly conventional view of things.”
Brianna straightened her spine and stared at her. “Such vehemence. What’s happened? Have your
parents been pressuring you again?”
“That’s an understatement. I am reminded on a daily basis that this is my second season. It would
help considerably if any of the men they approved of even remotely appealed to me.” Though she
did her best not to sound despondent, Rebecca doubted she pulled it off.
“Is there no one?” Brianna looked sympathetic. “I understand your father’s well-known
exactitude over what he deems to be suitable in a potential son-in-law is daunting to some of the
men of our acquaintance, but you have had over a dozen offers for your hand, Beck. Hasn’t
anyone caught your fancy? Not a single handsome young gentleman who has inspired a romantic
flutter of the heart?”
Robert’s image unfortunately sprang to mind. The way the candlelight glinted off his chestnut
hair, the elegant line of his jaw, the roguish curve of his mouth as he smiled, the graceful athletic
ease as he waltzed . . .
Always with someone else, of course.
There was a disadvantage to having friends who understood your moods. Rebecca attempted
nonchalance. “No.”
Brianna’s eyes narrowed. “Nonsense. You’re blushing.”
Well, that was inconvenient. “No, I’m not.”
“The red spots on your cheeks support my accusation. Please, don’t leave me dangling in
suspense. You are never, well, rattled like this.”
Rebecca longed to tell someone about her penchant for Robert Northfield, but Brianna was
probably the wrong person. Rebecca trusted her implicitly, but it wasn’t a matter of trust. Brianna
was also Robert’s sister-in-law. Besides, Rebecca wasn’t at all sure Brianna wouldn’t be as
horrified as her father might be at the discovery of Rebecca’s unreasonable passion for a known
libertine.
The temptation to reveal everything but his name was there, however. She’d been keeping it a
secret for well over a year. The other night in the garden hadn’t helped to cure her one bit. Robert
had been gallant to help her, and so close she could still feel the muscled strength of his body,
and their mouths hadn’t exactly touched, but . . .
Rebecca cleared her throat and gazed over at one of the shrouded windows. “I’m in love. Or at
least I assume so. It must be, for all I do is think of him.”
“You are?”
Rebecca nodded.
“How marvelous, Beck! Who is he?”
Rebecca shifted her gaze back to her friend. “It isn’t marvelous at all, I’m afraid. Utter misery is
more like it. And I am not going to tell you his name, so please do not press me.”
The animation on Brianna’s delicate features faded, replaced by dismay. “Misery? Why?”
No longer able to sit still, Rebecca got up and walked a few paces toward the window. She sighed
and turned back around. “For about one hundred reasons, but the short of it is—it isn’t possible.
If it was possible, it still wouldn’t matter because he doesn’t share my interest in the least. I think
he would be astounded to hear of my infatuation, and worse, even amused.”
For a moment there was silence and then Brianna asked hesitantly, “Why isn’t it possible? I don’t
understand.”
This was where Rebecca knew she could get into muddy waters if she said too much. Not that
there weren’t a plethora of rakish gentlemen in English society—touting his reputation as the
reason wouldn’t narrow the field too much. Robert was more notorious than most, but not unique.
She said quietly, “My father wouldn’t approve. I am not sure why, but trust me, he would never
agree to a courtship, even if our feelings for each other were mutual.”
“Why not? Is he a servant?”
“No. His family is a good one.” In fact, you are part of it.
“Married?”
Thank God Rebecca could deny that one with honesty. “No, of course not. I would never look at
another woman’s husband.”
Brianna’s expression held relief. “I know you wouldn’t, but I wondered if maybe there was
someone from last season who might have married someone else.”
“That’s not the case.” Rebecca whirled and went to the window to pull the drapery back. Late
morning sunshine spilled in. “If it was, I would be hurt, I imagine, but then I would forget him.
No, he isn’t married. I’d wager the word isn’t in his vocabulary. The trouble is, even if it was,
even if he did realize I am alive and walk on the same planet, my father would be adamantly
against any hint of an association, so it’s all moot.”
Getting gracefully to her feet, Brianna came across the room and hugged her tightly. “No, it isn’t.
Not when you look so miserable. You do realize this explains a lot of things, don’t you? Bella
and I have wondered all along why you seem melancholy sometimes and quite honestly, when
you turned down the Marquess of Highton last year, we were both astonished. He was so smitten,
not to mention rich, handsome, and most important, nice. I thought you liked him. Moreover, I
know your parents were very much in favor of a match.”
Richard was a nice man. And Rebecca had liked him. Still did. Too much to marry him while she
was sitting around dreaming of someone else. “It soun
ds so stupid,” Rebecca said, her voice
cracking just a fraction, “but Lord Highton just wasn’t him. So I turned down a perfectly decent
proposal, even while knowing I haven’t a chance of getting what I want. I believe that officially
makes me a fool.”
Brianna let her go and said stoutly, “You are not a fool. Not in the least.”
“I must be, to harbor such an infatuation. The very first time I saw him . . .” Rebecca trailed off,
remembering the first time she’d seen Robert Northfield. She and Brianna had been together as
Robert and his older brother had entered the ballroom, both strikingly handsome. Brianna had
taken one look at the Duke of Rolthven and no suitor after that moment had a chance.
That had worked out well, for it turned out Colton returned the interest. Unfortunately, Rebecca
had been in the same predicament with his wildly attractive but not so reputable brother, and
Robert hadn’t returned anything.
Not a look. Not a glance. Not a sweet word. They hadn’t even been introduced until weeks later,
and then only because Rebecca had been with Brianna, not at his request.
It stung. Here she was pining away for a man who even at this moment was probably in some
female’s bed somewhere. No doubt the woman was gorgeous and sophisticated and . . .
Best not to think about it.
Her head tilted to the side as if she was pondering something, a thoughtful look crossed Brianna’s
face. “Love at first sight is not just a romantic ideal. It happened to me with Colton, so no one can
tell me it isn’t possible. And while my husband is imperfect, I am working on changing his
attitudes. I wonder if the book could help you too.”
Rebecca couldn’t help but let out a choked laugh. “What? Are you talking about Lady Rothburg’s
scandalous writings? You must be joking.”
“Indeed I’m not.” Brianna turned and went back to her chair in a flurry of blue silk. She folded
her hands in her lap. “Contrary to all belief, the volume isn’t entirely about sexual matters. Lady
R gives a lot of insight into the male mind, and at least one chapter is devoted to how to capture
the attention of the man you desire. As mistress to so many, she seems to have gained some very
