by Brianna York
"Impatient to be on the dance floor, Your Grace?" A husky voice said from a few seats down the table. The very experienced and very widowed Countess of Pleasant stared at Matthew from beneath sultry black lashes.
Matthew glanced at her briefly, trying to decide if she repelled him or not. "Perhaps," he said easily.
“I am afraid that I have already claimed His Grace’s first dance,” an assertive feminine voice said from the lower end of the table. “Perhaps you will be able to dance with him after the first waltz?”
A surprised silence fell on the whole table as all eyes located the source of such an astounding statement. Matthew found himself looking into a face that he was not sure could truly exist. The girl who had spoken so authoritatively had a heart-shaped face surrounded by curly jet-black hair. She might have been easy to pass over if not for a pair of greenish-gold eyes that shone with life and quick intelligence. Her gaze was steady and she smiled gently at Matthew, her full lips revealing straight and white teeth. She was slender and her delicate hands moved with competent, steady surety as she buttered a piece of bread with half of London’s high society watching her in rapt silence.
With a sense of having experienced something he had expected his whole life, Matthew turned away from the compelling eyes of the girl and said to the Countess, “I shall be able to dance with you after the first waltz, Countess.” His eyes returned to the young woman who had so boldly claimed a dance he had not promised. The girl’s mouth curved into a smile that was welcoming, but in no way coy or ladylike, then she turned from Matthew’s glance to say something to the man sitting beside her.
As conversation began again, Matthew scrutinized the man beside the girl with the vivid eyes. There was a definite resemblance in his face to that of the girl’s and their eyes were strikingly similar in color. A brother then? Matthew knew that he had never seen them before, and he most certainly had not promised a dance to the girl with the astonishing eyes.
“Who is that girl?” Rob whispered to Matthew as the first course was removed and the second set down in its place.
Matthew shrugged. “I have not the vaguest idea.”
Rob goggled at him for a moment. “She acts as if she knows you very well indeed.”
Matthew shrugged again, then tucked into his dinner, ignoring the inquiring stares of Forrest, Marcus, Rob and Alex. He was eager to be done eating for a variety of reasons.
As the staff began clearing away the remnants of dinner, Matthew rose and made his way to where Rosalind’s father was seated. The two conferred quietly for a moment. With a nod, and a sidelong glance at Matthew, Duke Norwood rose and clapped his hands. “Guests,” he said in a carrying voice, “His grace has brought a gift for my daughter’s birthday which must be presented outside. For those who wish to see what this gift is, please follow us out to the front of the house.”
“Come along, Rosy,” Matthew said to the young woman, offering her his arm.
She glanced up at him in confusion, but dutifully placed her small hand on his sleeve and allowed herself to be led to the front hallway of her home.
“Cover your eyes,” Matthew ordered. When she balked at this slightly he raised her little hands to her eyes. “Go on, just trust me.”
“Oh all right, Your Grace,” she giggled. “Alex will you lead me,” she asked.
“Of course, Rosy dear,” Alexandra replied, coming to slip her arm through the younger woman’s and lead her into the slightly brisk nighttime air. “Careful now, we are at the steps,” she murmured to the other woman as she led her out of the house.
Rosalind could feel the palpable excitement of her two older friends as they finally drew her to a slightly off-balance halt. “All right, you may look now,” Matthew said, expectation brimming in his voice.
Rosalind uncovered her eyes and goggled for a slightly stunned moment at the sleek black horse being held by one of her father’s footmen. “Matthew is that Nyx?” she asked softly, blinking a bit with sudden emotion.
Matthew grinned. “It is. Happy birthday, Rosy.”
“Oh thank you!” Rosy gasped aloud, executing a little twirl and hugging first Matthew and then Alex with abandon. There was a smatter of polite clapping from the guests who had gathered to see the spectacle. “Oh I have always loved her so!” She managed to check her movements to a more moderate pace as she approached the little mare and held out her hands invitingly. Nyx snuffled at her fingers and whickered companionably.
“This is the best birthday of my life!” she enthused, hugging Matthew and Alex once again.
“Come along, Rosy my dear,” the Duke called out. “We can’t have you catch a chill.”
“Go along back into the house,” Matthew told Alex and Rosalind. “I shall be there shortly.” He turned to the footman holding Rosy’s new horse as the ladies returned to the candlelight and warmth of the house.
Once Matthew had returned, the guests were paired up by rank and ushered upstairs into the huge, glittering ballroom with its imported checker-patterned parquet floor and many mullioned windows, most of them open to let in the still-mild evening air.
Marcus and then Robert entered the ball room and made their way over to where Matthew and Alex were. Matthew was leaning his shoulders against the wall, patiently awaiting the mystery woman from dinner.
“Just how does one promise a dance to a woman that one has never exchanged a single word with?” Marcus demanded of Matthew. Matthew spread his hands in a gesture that indicated his own consternation and Marcus shook his head in disbelief. “Just how do you happen to have all the luck, Matthew?”
Matthew glanced at his friend a bit cooly. “Did it never occur to you, Marcus that luck has nothing to do with it at all?”
Rob cleared his throat, disliking the taut silence that was growing between Matthew and Marcus. “Shall I get us some champagne?”
Matthew shook his head. He did not like champagne.
“I would like some,” Marcus said shortly.
“Alex?” Rob asked. She nodded, but her eyes were trained on her brother.
“I’ll come with you and get my own glass,” Forrest said to Rob, having joined the group just in time to hear Rob’s suggestion.
As Rob and Forrest were walking away, the girl with the soul-searing eyes was announced.
“Mr. Gregory Dartmoor and Miss Theresa Dartmoor,” the butler called out in ringing tones.
A brother then, Matthew thought. The girl’s eyes were scanning the room, but they halted upon catching sight of Matthew leaning casually against the wall on the other side of the room. It might have been his imagination, but Matthew thought that he saw her tug at her brother’s arm before the pair made their way through the throng of people to stand suggestively close to where Matthew and his friends. Matthew glanced over at Alex, cocked a brow and slipped into the crowd in search of Rosalind’s father to introduce him to Miss Dartmoor.
“I wonder that he is bothering with the introduction at all since the girl already claimed a dance with him,” Marcus groused, a dark look on his face.
Alex spared him a momentary glance then sighed. “I wonder what possessed her to do something so brazen?” She looked askance at the pretty young woman, sizing her up. Miss Dartmoor caught Alex’s glance and nodded subtly at her. Alex frowned and turned away in time to see her brother returning with The Duke of Norwood.
“It seems that an introduction is in order,” the Duke said as he drew to a halt in front of the Dartmoors.
“Allow me to introduce Miss Dartmoor to you, Dunsaney,” he said, looking at Matthew for a brief moment.
“Miss Dartmoor,” Matthew greeted her. He swept her an elegant bow, and found her smiling at him when he straightened up again. She dropped him a neat curtsy. Her brother, however, was very nearly glaring at Matthew.
“Your Grace,” she replied. “Might I introduce my brother, Mr. Dartmoor?”
Matthew inclined his head in Dartmoor’s direction. “A pleasure, Mr. Dartmoor.” He turned then
toward Marcus, who was looking at Miss Dartmoor with barely concealed pleasure. “My friend, Earl Wythinghall.” Marcus made his bow to them both, and they returned the favor. He turned to his sister then. “My sister, Lady Alexandra.”
Miss Dartmoor curtsied prettily, her smile very genuine.
“A pleasure, Miss Dartmoor,” Alex said dutifully to the girl after she had curtsied in return.
“I should be attending to my other guests, unless you require further introductions?” Norwood said politely, poised to leave.
“I believe that we are quite satisfied at the moment, Norwood,” Matthew answered, dipping his head courteously at the other man. “Thank you again.”
“It was nothing at all,” The Duke of Norwood replied before slipping neatly back into the fray.
“I believe that you are the most beautiful woman in the room tonight, Lady Alexandra,” Dartmoor said to Alex then, scanning her with and overly-familiar gaze. Alex felt her skin crawl and she resisted the urge to draw away from the man.
“Thank you, Mr. Dartmoor,” she said tolerantly, her eyes going to her brother in a silent plea for help.
The first strains of a waltz filled the room, and Matthew glanced at Dartmoor. “I believe that your sister has reserved this dance with me, Sir.”
Dartmoor inclined his head by way of assent. “Of course,” he said tersely, and Matthew disliked the look in the other man’s eyes. He decided to ignore it, offering his arm to Miss Dartmoor with one of his famous smiles on his well-cut lips.
“Shall we?” he invited.
She took his arm with another smile that softened her face to nearly painful loveliness. “I am truly honored,” she informed him as they took their place on the floor.
“Then why do I get the impression that I should be the one who is truly honored?” Matthew teased her gently.
She did not blush or attempt to flirt with him. Instead, she held his gaze as they twirled across the floor and she laughed. Her laughter was so strikingly pleasurable to the ear that he longed to hear it again immediately.
“You are visiting London?” he inquired, closing the distance between them a bit and spinning her a little faster.
She matched his quickening steps neatly with athletic ease. “I find myself in a marriageable way, Your Grace,” she replied candidly.
He laughed at that. “I see. Well, let me assure you that you shall be beset with offers within a week, Miss Dartmoor.”
She tilted her head to one side inquisitively. “What makes you so sure about that, Your Grace?”
He smiled lopsidedly. “You make me sure, Miss Dartmoor,”he told her, and he allowed his eyes to travel the length of her slender body once.
Theresa, or Tess, as her friends knew her, felt under that frank gaze like a prize Thoroughbred that the Duke was evaluating for purchase. Despite this, somehow that gaze communicated nothing at all insulting. She instead felt honored to have inspired the look of genuine admiration that was in the Duke’s eyes.
“Your brother does not seem pleased to be sharing you,” Matthew observed.
Tess almost sighed aloud. She wished that her brother would play along better. This moment was the fruition of the first steps of his carefully-crafted revenge. After all, it had not been her plan to trick anyone into marriage, even if she had gone along with the plan.
She had not been prepared for the man that she was dancing with, however. His good looks were well-known throughout England, and she had expected an arrogant, self-aggrandizing dandy who spent half the day looking into a cheval glass tying his cravat. What she was beginning to discover was that he was not arrogant or self-involved at all. He was friendly, engaging and truly interested in what she had to say. While aware of his looks, he did not seem overly invested in the way in which they might define or describe him. He seemed comfortable in his own skin.
As he guided her into the first steps of a waltz, she had to admit to herself that the Duke was so good-looking that he put one in mind of a marble statue of a god. His profile could have belonged on the head of a Greek coin with its high cheekbones, straight nose, and proud, square jaw. His mouth was cut of firm lines and sharp angles, but it knew how to smile in a way that pulled at her heart. He had light, honey-blond hair that curled rakishly and eyes of the most unusual brown that she had ever seen. The color reminded her of sherry in a glass.
Although she was tall for a lady, he was more than tall enough to make her feel feminine and delicate. The way that he guided her through the figures of the waltz spoke of his natural athleticism and the precise, lithe control that he exerted over his person at all times. He was not an oaf, and he was not a dandy. She liked him very much already, and she did not yet know what kind of havoc that would wreak on her brother’s plans.
“My brother,” she said finally, “is not as severe as he looks. He does not much enjoy social outings.”
Matthew glanced over at Dartmoor who was leaning against the wall glaring daggers at them and thought that Tess’s reply was an understatement. “And do you enjoy society?” he asked her, his sherry-colored eyes capturing hers.
She smiled a bit ruefully. “It depends entirely upon the kind of society one is with,” she said.
He grinned briefly at that. “Indeed it does.” The waltz ended then, and Matthew made the required bow to her. “I am glad that you did not let me forget our waltz,” he said to her.
She laughed mischievously at that. “I am glad that you found the time to grant it to me.”
He offered her his arm again, and she slipped a narrow, white hand through the crook of his elbow before he covered it possessively with one of his much larger hands. Tess glanced down at the large hand covering hers with a mixture of wonder and premonition. That hand, with its long fingers and well-defined joints belonged there with the ease of long familiarity. It was meant to be there, more specifically. She made herself look away, but the image remained firmly fixed in her mind’s eye. She felt a thrill of fear and expectation course through her veins. “Might I claim you for another dance this evening, Miss Dartmoor?” Matthew inquired once he had returned her to her brother.
“But of course, Your Grace,” she replied with a courteous inclination of her head before offering him her dance card to sign.
“Excellent,” Matthew returned, smiling a charming smile that was welcoming and reassuring. “Shall I actually write my name down this time?” he teased her, causing her to blush slightly. He dashed his firm and expressive signature onto her card while Dartmoor looked on with an intense scowl. “Until later then,” he said as he dropped her a bow and took his leave.
Tess watched his broad shoulders push through the crush of people as he crossed the room, her mind restlessly trying to decide what she had gotten herself into.
Three
“W
ell?” Gregory asked insistently.
Tess reluctantly tore her eyes from the Duke to find her brother’s staring at her so fixedly that he made her uncomfortable. “Well what?” she replied, annoyed by his tone.
Her brother set his teeth hard, setting a muscle to ticking along his jaw line. “Will he be easy to convince?”
“Convince of what?” she shot back.
“Oh for pity’s sake, Tess!” he exclaimed, a bit too loudly, causing the people nearby to swivel around and stare at them with vague curiosity.
Tess decided to relent before he caused a scene. “I am not sure yet, brother,” she answered him quietly. “I have only just met the man.”
“He fancies you,” Dartmoor informed her, clearly displeased.
“That was the general idea, Gregory.” Tess raised two slender fingers to rub her temples in an attempt to ease the headache forming behind her eyes.
“It’s a start anyhow,” Gregory muttered. “I’m going to get some champagne. Would you like some?”
Tess nodded. She did not really want the champagne, but she wanted a few moments to be free of her brother. She watched him force his way through the thick
crowd, then shut her eyes and tried to relax.
“Headache, Miss Dartmoor?”
The voice was male and not one that she recognized. Her eyes opened to find Earl Coulthurst regarding her with genuine concern. “Yes, a small headache,” she admitted. She found herself immediately at ease with the Earl. He made her feel secure and comfortable. If she had known Rob better, she would have known that being a comforting companion was one of his skills.
“Come and sit down a moment by the window,” he invited her, reaching out with one elegant hand and taking her elbow gently. She allowed him to guide her over to one of the open windows where two empty chairs waited. She sat down and rearranged her skirts, then smiled at him gratefully. “Better?” he inquired, real concern in his face as he took the chair across from her.
She nodded gently. She really did feel better with the cooler air of the out of doors brushing over her naked shoulders, cooling her skin. “I think I perhaps danced a bit too vigorously.”
Rob’s handsome face looked a bit wry as he answered her. “Matthew tends to have that affect upon ladies.”
She noticed his usage of the Duke’s first name. “You are close to the Duke then?” she inquired. The Earl could be of real use to her in gathering information about the Duke if he was close to the man.
Rob’s smile was fond. “We met at school,” he answered her, a note of reminiscence in his voice. “Matthew was ludicrously wealthy, terribly confidant, and completely bored with school. The only thing that I had in common with him was that I too was bored with school.”
Tess turned a critical eye on the Earl and decided that he did not do himself enough justice. He would never be as ruthlessly attractive, nor as blatantly confident and worldly as the Duke, but he had other charms. He was handsome in a more conventional way than Matthew, his features well-balanced and his build elegant and athletic. He had blue eyes and dark brown hair that had a slight wave to it. She noticed that he had very long eyelashes and very straight, very white teeth. “You do yourself a grave disservice, Lord Coulthurst,” she informed him sincerely.
