by Emma Wildes
disappeared earlier for a romantic tryst, surely he wouldn’t now be quite so detached. He might
have a reputation for indulging in casual affairs, but she hadn’t ever heard of him leaving behind
a trail of broken hearts either. If he was that callous, he wouldn’t be so universally well liked, so
if the careless lift of his broad shoulders was any indication, the mild flirtation hadn’t led to a
seduction.
She had no right to feel relieved, she reminded herself.
She had no rights when it came to the man standing next to her at all.
“I see.” That was hardly a brilliant comment, but she wasn’t sure brilliant would ever describe
her when in his company.
“Do you?” he asked in a soft voice, looking at her in a way that made her pulse flutter in her
throat.
He could do that, she sharply reminded herself. Beguile with a look, a smile, a touch. It didn’t
mean Damien was correct.
But it gave her hope he might be.
“I think so. We shackle ourselves sometimes with all the rules of politesse,” his companion
murmured. “It might encourage someone to think there is an interest where, in truth, we are just
being polite.”
Robert barely heard what she said.
Sable. That was the color of her hair. He’d been trying to define it all evening. Rich, dark,
shining. It contrasted with the purity of her fair skin, and those long-lashed aqua eyes completed
the tantalizing picture. Robert gave an inner curse. Damien thought he was being helpful, he was
sure, by diverting Mrs. Newman.
It was not helpful in the slightest, for it placed temptation right under his nose.
As damn foolish as it was, Robert had found himself all too aware of the lovely Rebecca ever
since her arrival, parents firmly in tow, the day before. This unprecedented attraction to an
unmarried young lady had him unnerved. And he was attracted. If it wasn’t for Rebecca, he
probably would have considered Mrs. Newman’s unspoken offer and spent a very pleasant night
in her bed.
Disconcertingly, his current fascination seemed to preclude a casual interest in another woman,
and a moment like this didn’t help. Rebecca stood there and gazed up at him, the filtered light
sliding across her face, her soft mouth just slightly parted, and he had to consciously stop himself
from leaning in to her sweet scent. Luckily for him, her mother’s reaction hadn’t been much of a
secret, so he doubted their little stroll would last long before someone was sent to rescue the
innocent fair maiden from his nefarious clutches.
“At least Brianna doesn’t seem determined to fill our every waking moment with activities we are
all too polite to decline.” She favored him with a tentative smile.
It was a shy, sweet curve of her mouth that made him realize just how little he knew about naïve
young women. In his life, he’d made it a point to not know. He didn’t have a sister, he’d been not
much more than a boy when he’d become involved with Elise, and it seemed from there his path
had been set. Not necessarily in the wrong direction—or so he’d thought before—but now it
came home to him that he’d slammed some doors behind him because of his choices.
Respectability was a word he’d always viewed with amusement. Colton was respectable enough
for all of them.
It was unfortunate that his entire attention was now on Rebecca’s lips and her beguiling smile. It
would have been better if he hadn’t had that brief almost taste of her.
He’d be damned if he didn’t want more. What would it be like to be the man to initiate the
delectable Rebecca into the joys of sexual pleasure? Now that was a new fantasy. Virgins had
never, ever interested him, not when there were so many experienced lovers eager enough for the
casual type of liaison he preferred. But there was something about her, something besides her
willowy body and admittedly spectacular breasts—an unconscious aura of sensuality perhaps,
that told him she’d be a very satisfying bed partner if tutored properly.
Bed partner for someone else, he reminded himself sharply, wondering what the devil was wrong
with him. For her husband.
Robert lifted a brow and endeavored to respond to her remark with nonchalance. “That is one of
the beauties of being family. I would decline if Brianna tried to drag me into a game of charades
or some similarly insipid pastime. As far as I know, other than a musical performance tomorrow
evening, we aren’t to suffer any of the usual horrible affronts to our sensibilities. I believe one of
the Campbells is going to mutilate Haydn or the work of some other composer who should be
glad he’s dead and can’t hear the sacrilege.”
Something flickered in Rebecca’s expression. Then she said quietly, “Actually, I am to play.”
He felt immediately like a fool. Bloody hell, he was supposed to be charming to a fault, not a
buffoon who insulted young women—in this case a rather intriguing and beautiful one. Brianna
must not have told him which of the young ladies was going to play, because in his current state
of what seemed to be an infatuation, if she had mentioned Rebecca, he would have remembered.
Someone else must have said something about the Campbell sisters and gotten it wrong.
“My apologies.” He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Forgive me if you can, please. I’ve
sat through one performance too many where I left with my ears ringing and cursing the man who
invented the pianoforte. Still, it is no excuse to insult you, though it wasn’t intentional. I don’t
suppose I should have maligned one of the Misses Campbell, either, without hearing her play.”
Instead of turning on her heel and walking away in affronted hauteur, Rebecca Marston laughed
prettily, her tense manner easing. Her expression held a mischievous glint. “I don’t know, my
lord, whether you realize you just issued me quite a challenge. It seems I must change your mind
about young ladies and their musical skills. May I challenge you back?”
The unexpected reaction set him off balance. And by damn if he wasn’t looking at her tempting
mouth again. “It seems to me you are the injured party, so how can I refuse?”
“Play with me.”
He stared, startled at the soft statement. Play with me? God yes, some wayward voice in his brain
whispered. I’d love to. Play with those full, firm breasts I know exist under your demure gown,
twine my fingers in all that silky hair, kiss you breathless, part your thighs and sink my hard cock
deep, deep into paradise. . . .
A very different voice, this one cold and practical, reminded him playing with virgins was a very
poor idea. Playing with a virgin who had a powerful and protective papa (who despised him, no
less) was one of the worst notions a man might take into his head. Besides, he was sure what she
was suggesting didn’t follow at all along with his less than pure thoughts.
“Could you be a little more clear, Miss Marston?”
“Your brother tells me you are a talented cellist. I happen to have a piece of music for pianoforte
and cello. How about a duet?”
The kind of duet he had in mind had nothing to do with keys or strings.
Had they been in London, he could have refused gracefully on the grounds that his instrument
was not available. As it was, he did have his cello her
e at Rolthven, and if neither of his brothers
knew that, his grandmother certainly did. He’d just insulted Rebecca, and as a gentleman he
could hardly compound the sin with a lie. He wasn’t much for playing in public, but this
gathering was small enough. Besides, there was something in the ingenuous wideness of her eyes
that made him want to please her.
He was going to have to analyze that later.
“I haven’t played in a while, but I suppose I could oblige you.”
“Excellent. I will make sure you are given the music tomorrow morning so you can practice it a
time or two.” A teasing dimple appeared in her cheek. “We wouldn’t want you to insult the
composer by committing musical sacrilege, now would we?”
His laugh was spontaneous. “I don’t suppose I will easily live down that unfortunate remark, will
I?”
He preferred women with a sense of humor. They made for more entertaining bedmates, for one
thing, and had a tendency to not be as spoiled and haughty.
Damn all, his thoughts needed to stay out of the bedchamber when it came to Miss Marston.
“Not when it was said to someone who takes her music seriously,” she told him. “I’m afraid I
do.”
Fascinating. He did also, though it wasn’t something he shared with many people. For him it was
private, the beauty of the cadence and sound a balm to his jaded soul. “Do you?”
“Yes, indeed.” The conviction in her voice was unmistakable, and it seemed to him she wanted to
say something else, but instead she fell silent.
The air smelled like fall, he decided, trying to force himself to focus on anything besides the
young woman next to him. Like gently decomposing leaves and wet earth overlain with a hint of
chimney smoke. The fragrance of autumn in the country. London was redolent of less appealing
odors most of the time. When he was younger, he couldn’t wait to leave Rolthven for the city, but
he found the peaceful setting more appealing than he remembered. Maybe some of his youthful
male restlessness was fading with age.
Could it be he was maturing into a less reckless, more settled man, even to the extent he had a
legitimate interest in an unmarried young lady?
No. He instantly banished the thought, as visions of primrose paths and cathedrals full of
wedding guests and smiling, plump babies danced before his eyes and gave him pause. Miss
Marston brought all those things with her, and he wasn’t that ready to give up his freestyle
existence.
Besides, he clearly recalled the aghast look on Lady Marston’s face when Damien had
maneuvered a switch in escorts for her daughter. Maybe she knew of the rift between Robert and
her husband, or maybe it was just his reputation in general, but whichever it was, Robert’s suit—
if he ever contemplated such insanity—would not be welcomed.
“So, how long before your mother invents an excuse to join us?” he asked in amused cynicism, a
realist at heart, but still admiring Rebecca’s pure profile.
“I’m surprised she isn’t out here already.” She shook her head. “We are in plain sight, though,
and I suspect she is watching us.”
He liked the honesty. Perhaps that was what drew him to her. Beauty coupled with a refreshing
lack of duplicity. She was genuine. Not vain, not simpering, not superficial.
“Maybe we should allay her anxiety. I’ll take you back inside before she falls into an apoplexy.”
He cast a glance at the vast stone expanse of the terrace, a smile twitching on his lips. “Though
this really would not be a comfortable place to ravish you, I have the feeling she is worried I
might try anyway.”
Perhaps Lady Marston should be worried. . . .
Rebecca gave a choked laugh. “Surely a rake of your standing shouldn’t find stone floors a
deterrent.”
It could be done, of course. He’d had quite a bit of experience in utilizing less than ideal
locations, but he was hardly going to say so out loud.
“Do I have a standing?” he asked, fully aware he did, offering his arm.
“I don’t listen to gossip much,” she demurred, contradicting her previous statement.
Everyone listened to an extent, he reminded himself.
The sound of a deep voice with an unmistakable icy edge interrupted them. “Rebecca. I
understand you aren’t feeling well. Perhaps, after all, you should go upstairs.”
Rebecca jumped. Not much, but Robert felt the sudden clutch of her fingers through the sleeve of
his jacket.
He turned and sent her father a cool smile. “I was just about to escort her back inside.”
“No need.” Sir Benedict stood framed in the doorway, his face impassive. “I’ll see her in
myself.”
Rebecca hesitated one moment, looking both uncomfortable and bewildered at the sudden—but
very palpable—tension, and then she whispered, “Good night, Lord Robert.”
“Good night.” He watched her go in a graceful swirl of silken skirts, followed by her father’s
derisive last glance before he ushered his daughter inside.
He’d just been warned off.
“If you have some sort of absurd romantic inclination toward Robert Northfield, you may put it
aside.”
Each terse word was like a small lash. Rebecca fought both indignation over being treated so
summarily like a child in front of someone else—much less Robert—and a sense of confusion.
Being practically dragged up the stairs toward her room wasn’t exactly dignified either. “It was
merely a stroll on the terrace. Mother can tell you he didn’t even ask me. His brother suggested
it.”
“Don’t think,” her father said in the same chill tone, “I haven’t noticed your reaction to that
young man.”
That left her at a loss. If she could deny it, she would, but she couldn’t, so she simply fought to
not trip over her skirts as she tried to keep up with his long strides.
“He is entirely unsuitable.”
The set of her father’s face did not invite questions. Yet Rebecca ventured one anyway, since she
felt entirely in the dark over what precisely was going on. “You dislike him. Why?”
“I dislike him,” her father confirmed. “And I will not tell you why.”
“You like the Duke. You accepted his hospitality. And obviously Lord Damien has your
approval, for you are embarrassing me with your enthusiasm for me being in his company.”
“Neither of them have anything to do with this. Robert Northfield is his own man, and this is
none of your business.”
“How not?” she asked incredulously. “Since you are issuing ultimatums after nothing but a
simple conversation in plain sight of the whole party.”
They had been given rooms in the left wing, the long, elegant hallway full of carved doors and
lamps left burning on small, polished tables. His face like granite, her father fairly stalked to her
door and opened it for her. “I will see you in the morning, my dear.”
Chapter Eleven
As the chase begins, remember you are the prize to be won. If you relinquish the power, he will
gladly take it back. If you choose to hold it, as I strongly recommend, do so in the most subtle
and pleasurable of ways.
From the chapter titled: “Things Every Woman Should
Know”
The whimsical hunt wasn’t Colton’s idea of a pleasant way to
spend a morning, nor was it very
dignified, but he agreed because Brianna had asked him in such a way it would have felt churlish
to refuse. The other guests seemed to enter into the spirit of the event with enthusiasm, and
truthfully, it was probably more entertaining than sitting in his study with his secretary.
Especially at moments like this one, he thought, strolling along behind his wife and catching a
glimpse of her shapely ankles as she bent over and triumphantly scooped a prize from beneath an
ornamental bush. Brianna straightened and turned around, extending her hand. “Look. I think this
one is rather nice.”
“It’s a rock,” he said mildly.
“A pretty one, though, don’t you think?”
“I must admit I don’t sit around thinking about their aesthetic properties very often.”
Brianna gave him a mock glare. “Your Grace, do you not wish to win this contest? I would think
someone of your exalted rank would show a little more spirit of competition. We are supposed to
find the most interesting rock. If this one doesn’t impress you, let’s carry on until we find one
that does.”
While he found the game absurd, he couldn’t help but admire the way the sunshine lit her fair
hair. This morning she looked wholesome and fresh, dressed in a simple cream muslin gown
trimmed in pale green satin ribbon, the slightly puffed sleeves emphasizing her slender arms, a
matching ribbon holding back her fair tresses. Youthful feminine beauty personified, Brianna fit
the bucolic setting of garden and park, healthy, young, alive . . . and fertile?
He wondered. It was a little early to question her on the matter, but he was fairly sure her courses
were late by at least a few weeks. Not that he kept a calendar, but he did notice when he couldn’t
share her bed. It had been awhile since she’d admitted it was an inconvenient time for him to
make love to her. They hadn’t been married long enough for him to know if this was unusual for
her, but there was no question the sexual part of their relationship was most satisfactory and he
exercised his rights often. It would not astound him if she was pregnant already.
A child.
He liked the idea—and not just because it was his blasted responsibility to get an heir, either. It
