by Diana Bold
Not that a woman like Lady Natalia Sinclair would have been within reach, even if he had been looking.
“Give it a try,” Jonathan urged. “I’ll make it easy on you. All you need to do is get her to agree to a second dance, a boon she has yet to grant anyone. One hundred pounds if you succeed.”
One hundred pounds. It was a small fortune, and Dylan badly needed the funds.
He’d much rather dance with some silly young girl than beg his father for an advance. Especially given his behavior tonight.
“All right,” Dylan agreed. “You’re on.”
NATALIA SPENT THE NEXT hour sending covert glances toward the ballroom entrance, hoping for another tantalizing glimpse of Captain Blake. She refused to believe he’d already left. Who knew if she’d ever cross paths with him again?
Just when she’d nearly given up hope, she caught sight of his brilliant scarlet uniform. Her heart gave a little thrill of delight. Perhaps she’d have a chance to meet him, after all.
Unfortunately, Captain Blake accompanied Lord Jonathan Taylor, one of her most annoying and persistent suitors. Usually, she dissuaded unwanted attention with a condescending stare, but Lord Jonathan had not yet taken the hint.
She wondered what the little weasel had in common with a hero like Captain Blake. Surely, they weren’t friends?
The two men spoke intently for a few moments, but to her relief, Lord Jonathan soon drifted away, leaving Captain Blake alone. Perfect. She was breathless with excitement at this unexpected stroke of luck.
The next man on her dance card arrived, and Natalia sent him off to fetch a glass of champagne. Having bought herself another moment or two of solitude, she plotted her next move. How could she arrange an introduction to the captain without damaging her reputation?
The captain remained at the edge of the crowd, leaning against one of the marble pillars as he cast his brooding gaze over the assembled guests. His thick, inky black hair made a stark contrast to the white stone, and his broad shoulders spanned the entire width of the column.
To her everlasting embarrassment, he caught her staring. One corner of his mouth lifted in a questioning smile, and his disturbing blue gaze met hers with shocking familiarity. A strange little quiver raced up and down her spine.
He’d been the main topic of conversation during the past hour, and everything she’d heard only intrigued her more. Dylan Blake was one of her peers, yet he’d chosen to break free of the stifling restraints aristocratic society placed on its members.
Ever since he’d sold his commission and returned to London, he’d refused to conform to his father’s wishes. Rumor had it that his father had been furious with him for selling out and had refused his request to give him an estate of his own to manage.
Undaunted, Captain Blake had begun searching for work as an estate manager somewhere else, a quest nobody could understand. A gentleman did not work. It simply wasn’t done.
In response to his scandalous actions, the ton had closed ranks against him. None of them would allow him to manage so much as a haystack.
But Natalia approved of his need to do something worthwhile. How could anyone expect a man who had done such great things, who was used to being in command, to come back to England and rest on his laurels?
The other rumors concerned her a little more, given her intense attraction to the man. Apparently, he was a rake and a womanizer, but Natalia decided those were small things, easily forgiven in light of the fact that he’d spent the last twelve years fighting for his country.
Perhaps all he needed was the right woman. Someone who would love him enough to calm his restless spirit. She desperately wanted to talk to him. She needed to prove to herself that the man she’d idolized for so long was worthy of her affections. Something good and fine lurked behind that too-handsome face and mocking smile; she just knew it.
Unfortunately, she still hadn’t figured out how to initiate a conversation with him.
For the Duke of Clayton’s daughter, the world was a narrow and confining place. Soon, her father would decide on a suitable husband, and, after her marriage, she’d be sent away to some country pile to produce the requisite heir and spare. Her own wants and wishes didn’t matter.
Still, she couldn’t resist glancing at Dylan Blake again and again. Why did he keep looking at her? From everything she’d heard, she didn’t think he cared about marriage.
Surely, he realized her father would never consider him?
Her gaze met his once more and a ripple of awareness sent shockwaves through her very heart. The duke might not consider Dylan Blake suitable, but she found him absolutely perfect. More than handsome, he embodied all her dangerous dreams.
As though he’d read her mind and knew how much she wanted to meet him, he smiled and moved toward her through the crowd. She watched, torn between terror and heady excitement as he paused to speak to her cousin, Nigel Sinclair. Nigel frowned a bit, then nodded, and the two men headed her way.
As they approached, Nigel gave her an apologetic little smile, as though on a distasteful but necessary mission. She clenched her fists, and her nails bit into her palms as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. She shouldn’t want this introduction so badly and must never allow her true feelings to show.
“Lady Natalia Sinclair, allow me to introduce Captain Dylan Blake.” Nigel smiled at her again, as though the two of them shared a private joke at the expense of the earl’s prodigal son.
Captain Blake smiled as well, drawing her gaze to the lush, full curve of his lips, so at odds with the harsh, uncompromising line of his jaw. His dark lashes, too, seemed out of place. The thick fringe framed his eyes in a sensuous tangle.
And the impact of that stare up close took her breath away. His eyes weren’t really blue, she discovered. They were gray, the color of smoke and stormy skies.
He bowed with effortless grace and then brought her gloved hand to his lips. The heat of his mouth warmed her skin through the thin layer of silk. “Lady Natalia.” His voice was smooth and cultured, as beautiful as the rest of him. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Unsettled and strangely breathless, she forced herself to hide her unusual attack of nerves. “Good evening, Captain Blake.”
Ever since her debut, men had thronged to her side in hopes of winning her dowry. She’d learned early to protect herself, to be cool and cutting and utterly unimpressed with the many insincere words her suitors lavished upon her. As a result, London’s young rakes thought her cold and haughty.
She took a certain amount of pleasure in that.
It wouldn’t do to let Dylan Blake know he’d melted all her defenses with one burning glance in her direction.
“Would you do me the honor of the next dance?” His smile dazzled her, even though it was practiced and didn’t quite reach those spectacular eyes.
But something in his tone, in the falseness of that wicked grin, gave her pause. She looked deep into those silver-gray eyes and found... nothing. No answering spark of attraction, no emotion whatsoever. For such a young man, his eyes were incredibly old. Dead.
In fact, she had the feeling he didn’t really see her at all.
Disappointment lanced through her. She’d thought him a hero, but he was no different than the rest. She was a dowry, a prize to be won, nothing more. Certainly not a real person, with hopes and dreams of her own.
When he looked at her, all he saw was a way of financing an estate of his own.
She hated him suddenly, hated him for making her want him when he felt nothing in return.
“I’m sorry, Captain Blake, but my dance card is full.” She gave him her most wintry stare, the one intended to put him in his place.
His look of astonishment was almost comical. Apparently—and not surprisingly—he’d had little experience with feminine rejection.
“Of course. My mistake.” Giving her another graceful bow, he pivoted and strode off through the crowd.
“What an insuffer
able boor.” Nigel tossed her a superior grin. “Well done, Nat. You certainly let him know the way of things.”
Natalia ignored her cousin’s inane chatter. As she watched Captain Blake walk away, she wished with all her heart that he’d stayed on the other side of the ballroom. Far better for him to have remained a beautiful fantasy than to have learned the truth.
Dylan Blake was not the answer to her prayers.
He was just another fortune hunter—one who hadn’t even pretended to like her for something other than her dowry.
Chapter Three
“I need two more weeks,” Dylan told Jonathan as they exited the ballroom. “You can’t expect me to win her over in two minutes.”
Jonathan laughed, the sour sound tinged with satisfaction. “It wouldn’t matter if I gave you a year. Lady Natalia will never want what little you have to offer.”
Dylan said nothing. Lady Natalia’s dismissal had left him reeling.
When Jonathan first pointed her out, Dylan thought the whole thing would be ridiculously easy. She’d seemed transfixed by him, breathless with yearning.
But when he’d asked her to dance, the light had gone out of her lovely green eyes. She’d become every bit as cold and condescending as he’d heard.
Needless to say, the challenge she presented made her infinitely more appealing. Besides, he couldn’t afford to lose this bet with Jonathan. He didn’t have one hundred pounds to give the bastard.
“Two more weeks,” he bargained. “And we’ll double the wager. Two hundred pounds if I lose.”
Jonathan thought it over for half a second and then nodded. “All right. Two hundred pounds. But you’d better be good for it.”
“I’m good for it,” Dylan lied.
“Excellent. Then it’s settled.” Jonathan’s wide smile seemed out of place on his pinched little face. “Shall we have another drink?”
Dylan shook his head and glanced toward the stairs that led to the family’s private rooms. He had no desire to return to the party. “No, you go ahead. I’m off to bed.”
Turning his back on Jonathan, Dylan made his way through the deserted upper floors of his father’s house to the suite of rooms he seldom used.
Lady Natalia presented an intriguing puzzle.
She was nothing he’d expected her to be. Young, yes. But not silly or simpering. Her looks were far too striking to be fashionable, but he’d never cared much for the pale, willowy blondes who were all the rage.
The top of the tiny brunette’s head didn’t even reach his chin, and her demure white gown did nothing to hide her voluptuous curves. Her mother, the duke’s first wife, had been a Russian princess. Perhaps that accounted for the exotic tilt of those wide, emerald eyes, and the full lush mouth he’d instantly imagined kissing.
He let himself into his old room and sank down on the huge pedestal bed. Loosening his cravat, he stared into the empty grate, still trying to make sense of what had gone wrong.
He’d thought her pretty at first sight, exquisite up close. But when she’d stared deep into his eyes—and he’d noticed the passion and light fade from hers—she’d become more than just a quick way to make a hundred pounds.
Since his return to London, no one else had made an effort to see behind the careful façade he’d erected to keep the world at bay. Unfortunately, he had the distinct impression that what she’d seen had disappointed her in some soul-deep way.
If she’d caught even a glimpse of the things he kept hidden, it was no wonder. Ugliness seethed within him. It seemed a farce that God had gifted him with such a pleasing form and face. Then again, Lucifer had been the most beautiful of all the angels.
“What did you see, Natalia?” he whispered into the stillness of the room. And he wondered why he cared.
THE EARL OF WARREN’S ball seemed to last forever. Natalia went through the motions. She smiled and danced as though having the time of her life, but in truth, her feet were killing her, and she was desperate for the evening to end.
As she fended off Lord Jonathan Taylor’s advances for the dozenth time—and earned a fulminating glare from the gentleman in question—she wished for the peace and quiet of her father’s country estate. Now that she saw the reality of Town life, she couldn’t imagine why she’d been so excited to make her debut.
The Season was only a few weeks old, but she’d already grown tired of the constant social whirl. The endless balls, teas, concerts, and soirees exhausted her.
It might have been different if she’d been allowed her to choose her own husband, but she knew she wouldn’t have any say in the matter. Her father would choose for her, and there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it.
Why take the time to get to know any of the young men who flocked to her side? If she foolishly fell in love, she’d only wind up with a broken heart.
She felt like a fraud, a carrot her father dangled in front of London’s most eligible bachelors for the contrary satisfaction of snatching her away. It was a game to him.
She suspected he’d already struck a deal with one of her mother’s Russian cousins. No ordinary earl or marquess would do. No. The duke’s daughter would marry a prince.
As a matter of fact, when the Season ended, the duke intended to take Natalia to St. Petersburg for a prolonged visit with Prince Nikolai Ivanovich.
The duke assured Natalia nothing was definite. He claimed she’d have the chance to get to know Prince Nikolai before he agreed to the marriage. But she’d already met the prince, long ago, and had no desire to further their acquaintance.
Nikolai was handsome, but calculated cruelty lay in the depths of his ice-blue eyes. The mere thought of becoming his wife made her uneasy.
Her father refused to listen to her fears. She’d been a child the last time she and Nikolai met, he reminded her. She needed to give the prince a chance, see him with the eyes of a woman.
In response, she’d tried to make herself unapproachable, going so far as to deny any man the privilege of more than one dance a night. She didn’t want to encourage anyone unduly, didn’t want to make any of these young men think they had a chance at winning her hand and, more importantly, the fortune that came with it.
“I believe this last dance is mine.”
The gentleman who’d spoken approached when Natalia’s former partner—an elderly German count, who’d trampled on her toes—led her off the dance floor. The handsome newcomer, with his golden hair and deep blue eyes, looked familiar.
Natalia smiled with more enthusiasm than she’d shown all evening. The last dance. Finally.
She glanced down at her dance card, and then back at her new partner with renewed interest. “Lord Sherbourne?” Michael Blake, the Earl of Warren’s heir—and Captain Blake’s older brother.
Sherbourne nodded. Genuine warmth sparkled in his eyes. “I’ve been looking forward to this dance all evening, Lady Natalia.”
“You flatter me, Lord Sherbourne.” The practiced words slipped easily off her tongue. For once, she allowed herself to relax and be a little flirtatious. It was late, and she grew tired of guarding her heart.
The string quartet began yet another waltz. To her delight, Sherbourne danced divinely. As they whirled across the thinning dance floor, she took the opportunity to study him and marveled at his lack of resemblance to the captain. She would never have known they were related, if not for their names.
Unfortunately, Sherbourne came up lacking.
Sherbourne was a bit shorter and thinner than his younger brother, and his warm blue eyes weren’t as intense. Nothing mysterious or rebellious about this man. In fact, she’d bet a million pounds he’d done exactly what was expected of him his entire life.
He was titled, wealthy, and handsome—everything Society found attractive in a man. So, why didn’t he have the same effect on her that his brother did? In Sherbourne’s arms, she felt none of the rioting emotions Captain Blake elicited with one casual glance.
“It’s been a wonderful party.” Afraid S
herbourne might somehow read her wayward thoughts, she kept up a steady stream of small talk. “Your father is a magnificent host.”
Sherbourne gave a short laugh. “I’m just glad it’s over. If I never see another guest list in my life, it will be too soon.” His candor surprised her. Perhaps she’d been wrong, and there was a bit of rebelliousness behind his blandly perfect features. She wanted to commiserate, tell him of her own impatience with the endless rounds of invitations, but years of training kept the words locked in her throat.
Before she could think of anything else to say, the music died away. Sherbourne released her with obvious reluctance. “The dance was much too short. Perhaps you would allow me to call on you tomorrow?”
Such a simple request, but she’d yet to grant such favor to any of her suitors. Her first impulse was to refuse him, as she’d done all the others. But thoughts of the foolish way she’d behaved over his sinfully attractive brother stayed her tongue.
Perhaps, she’d refused the others because she'd secretly been searching for a hero, someone to love all along. Somehow, she’d turned Captain Blake into such a paragon of virtue in her mind that no one, not even the captain himself, could live up to her imaginings.
If so, she truly was a fool. Far better to play the game and continue to guard her heart.
“I’d like that,” she told Sherbourne. “I’d like that very much.”
BY THE TIME DYLAN ENTERED the dining room the next morning, every trace of the party had been swept away. A sideboard of delicacies gave off assorted tantalizing smells, and his stomach growled noisily.
He’d missed dinner, after all.
Michael entered the room while Dylan filled his plate. They eyed each other warily. The easy friendship they’d enjoyed as children had disappeared long ago.
“Good morning,” Dylan said, hoping to set a light tone. He wasn't in the mood to argue or to be lectured. He wanted to eat and then make his exit before his father showed up.
