“What is wrong with that? I enjoy reading and horseback riding. I’d have more time to do so.”
“Darling, there can be more to do once one is married than either of those activities.” The curve of his lips left no doubt as to what he meant.
Scandalous man. She huffed and peeked at Fernbridge again.
“Very well, I see there is no dissuading you. Do you wish for an introduction?”
“Yes, would you present me?”
“Of course, anything for you, poppet.”
When younger, she’d enjoyed him calling her by that endearment. Now, it grated on her nerves. “Must you call me that? I’m nearly twenty-one.”
“Practically on the shelf.” He grinned and offered her his arm.
The man irritated her to no end. Yet, after she set her hand on his sleeve and they moved across the flagstone terrace, an unsettling sensation crept over her. Ralston probably had such an effect on all women. It was the way he smiled with his sensual lips, along with the way his blue eyes held a woman’s gaze as if she were the only woman in the room. Nina gave herself a mental slap. Victoria had revealed one too many stories about her cousin’s womanizing exploits. The rogue had probably perfected his seductive smile at a young age while peering at his reflection in a mirror.
As they crossed the terrace, Lord Pendleton, who’d been conversing with the duke, strolled away.
“Fernbridge, old chum, how are you?” Ralston asked, shaking the other gentleman’s hand.
The two men looked like night and day. Fernbridge was blond with a fair complexion, while Ralston’s brown hair verged near black and his skin was a warmer, sun-kissed shade, as if he’d recently spent time outdoors.
As Ralston made the introductions, the Duke of Fernbridge took her gloved hand in his. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Nina.”
“I hope you are enjoying London, Your Grace.” Nina offered her most congenial smile.
He wrinkled his nose. “I must admit I’m anxious to return to the country. These late London hours take some getting used to.”
From the corner of her eye, she noticed the I-told-you-so curve of Ralston’s mouth.
“It’s only ten o’clock, Fernbridge. The merriment is just getting under way,” Ralston said.
His Grace released a slow breath as if the thought of staying up a minute longer weighed heavily on his shoulders, and in truth, they were nice shoulders. Not as broad as Ralston’s but impressive, and he stood close to six feet, a couple of inches shorter than the scoundrel standing next to her.
Fernbridge possessed a round, pleasant face. His eyes were a pale shade of gray as if watered down, and his blond hair tended to curl at the ends. He looked like an angel in comparison to Ralston.
Yet, her stomach didn’t flutter when she looked at him. But Nina realized compatibility and genuine regard could grow between two people once married. One’s heart didn’t need to ache for one’s spouse for a marriage to be successful. Loving someone left one vulnerable to heartache. Hadn’t she witnessed that firsthand watching her mother? Though, like her mother, Nina seemed to have a propensity to gravitate toward scoundrels. She’d proven that last season when she’d fallen for Avalon. Now, she wanted a man who would be steadfast.
Nina pitched her distracting thoughts away. “Your Grace, since arriving in Town, have you taken in any plays?”
“No. Not yet.” He turned to Ralston. “How went the hunting season in Hampshire?”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t gone hunting in some time.”
“If I recall correctly, when we were boys, you were a dashed good trap shooter.” Fernbridge frowned.
Ralston gave a weak smile, but something in his expression seemed odd. “Yes, but I’ve not engaged in the sport lately.”
The musicians struck up the first song of the evening, and Nina glanced through the French doors to the orchestra.
“Ah, a waltz,” Ralston said. “Might I have this dance, Lady Nina?”
She wanted to kick him in the shin. She’d hoped Fernbridge would ask her. She tried not to grit her teeth as she forced a smile. “Of course, my lord.”
“If you’ll excuse us, Fernbridge.” Ralston offered his arm.
As they strode inside, she narrowed her eyes at him.
“I told you he doesn’t waltz,” he said, once again reading her thoughts. He leaned close. “You know, the best way to snag a man is to make him realize you are a prize catch. Especially a man like Fernbridge who enjoys the hunt. You are going about this the wrong way, darling. If you seem too readily available, he’s less apt to be interested.”
She frowned. What was he saying? That she could win Fernbridge’s eye if he thought someone else was also vying for her hand? Surely, Ralston didn’t mean he was willing to play the role of a gallant suitor to make Fernbridge more interested. “Are you offering to play the faux competition?”
Ralston cringed as if the idea were distasteful; then a slow smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Why not? It might be entertaining. Yes, I’ll sacrifice myself for the good of the cause.”
“Sacrifice? I always thought you a smooth talker. Now I’m wondering what draws women to you like bees to a single flower in a field of dried grass.”
As they reached the dance floor, he set his warm hand to her back and pulled her close. As he spun her into the flow of those moving in tandem to the music, he whispered, “It’s not the way I talk to a woman, darling. It’s something much more wicked.”
Chapter Three
As Elliot twirled Nina around the dance floor, he gazed at her. She was lovely with her large, honey-colored eyes, dusted with long lashes, and lips the same shade as her cheeks when she blushed. If he won her over, he would enjoy tasting her sweet mouth and every other inch of her body.
“Lord Ralston,” Nina whispered, drawing him from his lustful thoughts. “You’re holding me too close.”
“Yes, darling, but notice the way everyone’s attention is centered on us.” He glanced around. Fernbridge had entered the ballroom, and though standing with a group of other gentlemen, he watched them as well. “Even your duke is looking at us. We will be gossiped about in every drawing room tomorrow. Many will think me asking you to dance means that I’ve set my sights on you.”
“Why would they think you’ve set your sights on me? Everyone knows you have no interest in marriage.”
“Then why would I ask an eligible lady, such as yourself, for the first dance?”
“True, and I’m nothing like most of the women you dance with.” Her bow-shaped lips turned up. “Your dance partners usually are blinded by your handsome face and believe they might reform you. Whereas, I am aware you are a cad who will never be tamed.”
Getting Nina to marry him might be a bit harder than he thought. “How you like to wound me.”
She laughed. “A hard feat indeed. You wear a shield around your heart.”
True, but I will have you believing otherwise, poppet. A stab of guilt prodded him over his planned deception. He squashed it as his sister’s face flashed in his mind, along with the memory of her lying on the ground, crimson blood spreading over the skirt of her green cotton dress. He shoved his guilt and the disturbing image aside. Next year, he wanted to give Meg a spectacular first season, with the finest silk gowns from Madame LeFleur’s—the most fashionable modiste in Town. He owed his sister that much and more.
It won’t ease your guilt over what happened to her, a voice in his head whispered.
Attempting to chase away his demons, Elliot concentrated on Nina, twirling her fast as they took the turn at the end of the dance floor.
Pleasure lit up her eyes.
Her countenance made it crystal clear that Fernbridge wasn’t a good match for her vivacious personality. Elliot was doing her a favor steering her away from such a wet nappy. Nina might think she’d enjoy a staid existence, but she would be bored senseless. At least life with him wouldn’t be boring.
“You look miles away,” she said. �
��What are you thinking?”
“Thinking? Why, how becoming lavender looks on you.” It wasn’t a lie. The color with her dark hair was striking.
Her cheeks flushed.
Smiling, he took her into another fast turn. She slipped her hand from his upper arm to his shoulder and tightened her grip. Though he knew several members of the ton who were sticklers for propriety would frown at them, the smile on Nina’s lips broadened.
Fernbridge wasn’t the right gentleman for her. Not with her free-spirited nature.
He shifted his gaze away from her attractive face and glanced around the massive ballroom. Everything about the space confirmed Huntington was well off. The arched ceiling possessed a mural that rivaled the masters. The walls were freshly painted. The flower arrangements, set in Sèvres vases, were larger than most and sported costly, exotic florals.
In the crush of people, Elliot noticed Nina’s brother James Trent, the Marquess of Huntington, staring daggers at him. He didn’t need to worry only about winning Nina’s heart; he needed to worry about her brother accepting the match. Unless he could get Nina into a compromising position that would dictate she marry him.
Elliot pinched his lips together. When had he become so manipulative?
When his uncle had left him a barony two farthings away from insolvency. When he’d had to put nearly every bit of savings he possessed into repairing his dilapidated London town house. Money that should have helped Meg. At least he still had enough for her to continue at Mrs. Gibbs’s School for Girls.
He scanned the ballroom again. Penny Granger was dancing with Lord Pendleton. The American heiress’s father was a wealthy banker. Perhaps, he should try to woo her instead of Nina. Dollar princesses knew what their parents wanted. They were to marry into nobility in exchange for their sizable dowries.
Elliot looked at Nina’s shimmering dark hair, intricately styled with pearls weaved in her upswept locks. As if sensing his regard, she tipped her face toward his and smiled. Her cheeks were slightly elevated in color.
No, he’d not change course now. He’d already set this ship in motion and would do his best to convince Nina to marry him.
The last cords of the Venetian waltz whispered in the air, and Elliot offered Nina his arm as they strode to where her brother Huntington stood with his wife.
The marquess hurled a disapproving scowl at Elliot, so disapproving it might have shriveled a lesser man’s bollocks. Next to Huntington, his wife smiled congenially. Lady Caroline Huntington looked like a harmless sprite, but everyone knew the truth. She was not easily intimidated. She was the editor of the London Reformer, a progressive newspaper, and had proven she was no toady. She also cared for her husband’s family and would defend them relentlessly, even Huntington’s cantankerous grandmother.
Elliot glanced around. Come to think of it, he hadn’t spotted the Dowager of Huntington, better known as the Dragoness of Huntington. “You grandmother is not attending tonight’s festivities?”
“No, she has a megrim.”
As they stepped up to Huntington and his wife, Elliot greeted them, then turned to Nina. “Thank you, Lady Nina, for a most enjoyable waltz.”
He thought he heard Huntington growl. But just as the marquess opened his mouth, his wife set a hand on her husband’s sleeve, drawing the man’s feral gaze to her.
Huntington’s granite-hard face softened.
“Darling,” Lady Huntington said, as if she knew how to soothe the beast with her generous smile, “I believe our gathering is a success.”
The marquess patted his wife’s hand. “Yes, dear, a real crush, though we invited several people who should have been cut from the guest list.”
Easy to hear the agitation in Huntington’s voice. Also, easy to decipher who he referred to, and if any uncertainty lingered in Elliot’s mind, the direct gaze the marquess kept on him dispelled any residual doubt.
Lady Huntington sucked in a startled breath. She knew it the height of impropriety for her husband to utter such a statement where he might be overheard.
Next to Elliot, Nina appeared a hairsbreadth away from strangling her brother. “James,” she hissed.
The way she chastised the marquess pleased Elliot. He liked women who didn’t wither under a man’s gaze. Women who knew how to stand their ground. They tended to act more adventurous in life and in bed.
Trying to soothe the situation, Lady Huntington said, “Lord Ralston, how are you?”
“I’m well, my lady. Your gathering is a success, and I thank you for the invitation.” He faced the marquess. “As I do you, Huntington.”
The man’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Surprised you’re not in the card room, Ralston.”
He didn’t have the funds to piss away, but he couldn’t let members of the ton know that, so he’d have to play conservatively. “On my way right now, but your sister’s beauty forestalled me. So much so, I couldn’t resist asking her to waltz.” He took Nina’s hand in his and kissed her gloved fingers. “Thank you for the honor of a dance. It was most enjoyable.”
Nina held his gaze, then briefly glanced at Fernbridge.
The man had paused in his conversation with Lord Templeton to watch them.
Elliot noticed the pleasure the duke’s regard brought Nina. He cocked an eyebrow, clearly stating he was right about men and competition.
Fernbridge ran his hand over his jaw, said something to the men in his group, then strode toward them.
As the duke approached, Nina tensed with obvious anticipation. She would be sorely disappointed if she hoped the man intended to ask her to waltz. Elliot hadn’t lied. Fernbridge didn’t waltz.
Smiling broadly, Huntington shook Fernbridge’s hand. The welcoming expression on the marquess’s face declared Fernbridge a fit suitor for his sister. Did he really wish Nina to marry such a stodgy chap?
“Weren’t you going to the card room, Ralston?” Huntington asked, obviously trying to get rid of him.
“I wonder if Sir Walter is in there,” the duke said. “I wished to ask him how the fishing is in Kent. I’ll join you.”
Elliot saw the disappointment on Nina’s face. Why the hell was she interested in Fernbridge anyway? A quick glance at Huntington and Elliot realized the answer. Not only did Nina want someone safe, she also wanted to please her brother.
* * *
As Ralston and Fernbridge walked toward the card room, Nina tried not to frown. When she’d noticed the Duke of Fernbridge watching her waltzing, she’d hoped he would ask her to dance. Instead, he’d gone off in search of Sir Walter. Perhaps Ralston had told her the truth and His Grace did not favor waltzing. Nina hadn’t missed the I-told-you-so expression on Ralston’s face when the man had confirmed he didn’t care for staying up late. Perhaps Fernbridge was too bland.
Lord Avalon’s face appeared in her mind’s eye. He’d made her believe he loved her, only to trample on her heart. No, Fernbridge was a steady fellow. He would be perfect.
Standing next to her, James cleared his throat, drawing her from her thoughts. She knew what her brother was thinking—Lord Elliot Ralston was a cad like Avalon, and she should stay as far away from him as possible. What she couldn’t tell him was that Ralston’s attention toward her was nothing more than a ruse. A game of sorts for Ralston, who wished to prove his point about the way the male mind worked.
“Nina, I hope you are not setting your sights on Ralston,” her brother said.
She held his direct gaze. “James, it was only a dance. I might have been naive last year, but I’ve learned my lesson.”
As the night went on, Nina kept an eye on the card room, hoping to spot the Duke of Fernbridge exiting it. It appeared Ralston was correct. The duke had no interest in waltzing, which was a shame since she dearly enjoyed it.
Her mind recalled how smoothly Ralston had led her across the dance floor. She shoved the memory from her head. Falling for a confirmed bachelor was more foolish than falling head over shoulders for that snake Avalon. At least Ava
lon had wished to marry her.
Ralston stepped out of the card room.
Speak of the devil.
“Excuse me,” she said to the group of women she stood with.
He appeared to be heading to the French doors, left open to cool the warmth caused by the crush.
“Lord Ralston,” she said, catching up to him.
He turned around. “Yes, darling?”
She frowned. She didn’t like him calling her darling any more than she liked him calling her poppet. The endearment sent an odd tingling through her body when he said it. “Is the Duke of Fernbridge still in the card room?”
“No. He left over an hour ago.”
Drat. She must have been dancing when he exited the room. She glanced around, looking for his tall form and blond hair.
“I doubt he is still here. He’s probably safely tucked into his bed.” He grinned. “Have you thought about my offer?”
“Do you truly believe if you pretend you are pursuing me it will capture His Grace’s attention?”
“I do.”
She was tempted. Extremely tempted. “Thank you, but no.”
“If you change your mind, let me know. I’ll even include lessons.”
Lessons? Her heart picked up tempo. “For?”
He leaned nearly as close as he had on the terrace. Once again, his breath touched her lips. “Instructions on how to win a man’s heart.”
She set a hand on her hip, then lowered it, knowing such a stance might draw attention. “I don’t need any lessons.”
He flashed one of his devilishly handsome smiles that probably turned most women’s brains to mush. “Are you sure?”
“I am.” She strode away before temptation caused her to agree to the scoundrel’s plan and his wicked lessons.
Chapter Four
A moist breath fanned against the back of Elliot’s neck. He cocked open one eye and glanced at the morning light seeping through a slim gap between the curtains in his bedchamber. Another heavy breath puffed against his nape, and he opened the other eye and stilled.
He didn’t recall inviting anyone to his bed after Lord and Lady Huntington’s ball, which meant only one thing. He slowly rolled over.
Never Conspire with a Sinful Baron Page 2
