by Diana Bold
“Is that what this is all about?” Michael lowered his voice, obviously ashamed of his earlier outburst. This rigid adherence to Society’s rules, even in private, was what Dylan disliked the most about his brother. “I can’t help being what I am any more than you can.”
Dylan decided to bluff his way through this with single-minded bullheadedness. “I want this girl. I’m not going to give her up, just because you want her, too. She and I have gotten to know each other quite well during the last few weeks. I’m sure she’d choose me if she had any choice in the matter.”
“Well, she doesn’t have a choice.” Tension laced Michael’s voice. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of choices. I have to marry whoever Father chooses, and so does Lady Natalia. You can’t interfere. We need her dowry too badly.”
“What are you talking about?” Dylan had always assumed the earl’s fortune was limitless.
Michael sighed in frustration. “Must I give you a lesson in economics on top of everything else? Yes, we need her money. The country estates cost more than they bring in, and Father’s gambling is out of control. We’re in dire straits. If I don’t marry Lady Natalia, I’ll be forced to offer for that dreadful American heiress you dined with tonight.”
“So, you want me to step aside? Let you save the old bastard from financial ruin, even if it means sacrificing your own happiness?” Dylan shook his head, all too aware of his own dire situation. “Why should I care if the earl needs money? It isn’t as though I’ll ever see a penny of it. He’s cut me off for good, you know.”
Michael’s expression softened. “No. I didn’t know that.”
Dylan shrugged off the pity in his brother’s voice. “It doesn’t matter. Bound to happen sooner or later.”
“How much do you need?” Michael’s earlier tension vanished. “I have enough funds at the moment to offer some assistance.”
“I don’t want your money.” The last thing Dylan needed was his brother’s charity. He paced the room, trying to work things through in his mind, trying to orchestrate a scenario in which he might actually emerge from this little skirmish as the victor.
Finally, he sighed in angry frustration, conceding the futility. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing that Michael would fail, too. If the duke intended his daughter to wed a prince, the heir to an earldom would never do.
Petty of him, he knew. But he had no intention of letting Michael know he’d never win Natalia’s hand. Not yet. Michael needed to know how it felt to aim too high.
“Just allow me to dance with Natalia tonight,” Dylan muttered in resignation. “Then I’ll give you a clear field and never bother either of you again.”
“Why do you want to dance with her?” Michael eyed him with suspicion.
“Jonathan Taylor and I have a bet. If I can get Lady Natalia to dance with me twice in the same evening, I’ll win two hundred pounds.”
“A bet? You’re willing to ruin this girl’s reputation over a stupid bet?” Michael shook his head in disgust. “Aren’t you ever going to grow up?”
“I grew up the first time I had to send a man into battle and watch him die, so don’t treat me like a child.” Dylan managed to hold his anger in check, despite the overwhelming temptation to give in to it. Couldn’t the bastard give him even this? “No matter what Father thinks, I’m not the devil. I won’t ruin Lady Natalia’s reputation with a few dances.”
Michael turned away. He moved to one of the windows, his shoulders stiff with obvious anger of his own. Silence stretched between them for a long moment, but at last, Michael said, “All right. Go ahead and try to win your infernal dances.”
Dylan breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he wouldn’t be evicted, after all. And he could find another wealthy bride, perhaps a prosperous merchant’s daughter.
Hell, maybe he should rethink his dinner companion, Miss Marks.
Unfortunately, at the moment, the thought gave him little pleasure. He still wanted Natalia. He couldn’t imagine settling for anyone else.
“If you succeed, you’ll have your 200 pounds,” Michael continued. “If you don’t, I’ll pay off your debt to Jonathan. But either way, I want your word that you’ll leave town tomorrow and stay gone until Lady Natalia and I are wed.”
“Where the hell do you expect me to go?” Dylan asked in exasperation. Unlike his brother, he didn’t receive a dozen house party invitations each week.
Michael turned around and gave Dylan a searching look. “I’ve never understood why you insisted on pissing your life away in the army, when you hated military life so much. Not when you could have lived at Aldabaran.”
Aldabaran. Dylan closed his eyes and fought a wave of despair at the mere thought of his mother’s family’s Scottish estate.
Fiona Cameron Blake had taken her life when Michael was ten and Dylan a mere lad of seven. But until then, she and Dylan had journeyed to Aldabaran for three glorious months every summer. At Aldabaran, they’d ridden their horses through the heather, played games, and laughed with abandon, free of the earl’s anger and Michael’s shadow.
It was the only place on earth where Dylan had ever been happy.
“Don’t make such an offer if you’re not serious,” Dylan told Michael, his voice unsteady. “You know how much I love Aldabaran. It’s the only thing you own I covet.”
It would kill him to live there and know it could never be his, but he’d gladly do so if Michael would let him.
Michael frowned. “What are you talking about? You know Aldabaran isn’t mine. It’s yours. And even if it were mine, I’d never keep you from going there.”
“This isn’t funny.” Dylan’s voice rose with hurt and anger. How could Michael jest about such a thing? “I have nothing of my own, Michael. Nothing. If Aldabaran truly belonged to me...” He shook his head and turned away, overwhelmed by the very thought. “Bloody hell. It would be a dream come true.”
Michael squeezed Dylan’s shoulder. “Didn’t the old man ever tell you that grandfather left it to you?”
Dylan shuddered, afraid to believe Michael’s words. “Do you think I’d have joined the Army if I’d known? Do you think I’d beg Father for a stipend every month if I had anything of my own?”
“He told me you spent all the money.” Michael’s voice trembled with dawning understanding. “He said you had gambling debts and were too much of a wastrel to want the responsibility of running an estate of your own.”
“That bastard.” Dylan faced Michael again, not bothering to hide his anguish. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?”
“I thought you knew.” Michael looked sick about the whole matter.
“He’s kept this from me ever since grandfather died? He’s purposely made me dependent on him?” Dylan’s fury mounted, but with it came an overwhelming sense of excitement.
Aldabaran is mine.
“I’m sorry. I’ve always hated the mere thought of the place... Because of Mother. I figured you felt the same way.”
“Mother loved it there,” Dylan whispered. “That’s why she went there to die.”
Michael swallowed hard and looked away. “You should go to Edinburgh. Speak to the solicitor, Mr. Byrnes. I believe he is in charge of your trust.”
“I will. But first, I’m going to confront Father.” The old bastard had a lot to answer for.
“Go to Scotland first,” Michael advised, his face grim. “Secure your assets, think things through. Then come back and speak to Father.”
When Dylan started to protest, Michael silenced him with a swift hard hug. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why he treats you this way.”
Michael’s unexpected generosity made Dylan feel like the worst kind of an ass. Once again, Michael had proven himself to be the better man.
“If you pay off my debt to Jonathan, I won’t dance with Natalia. But I must warn you, she’s already promised to a Russian prince.” Dylan hoped to make amends by telling his brother the truth, guilty for not having done so in the beginning.<
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Michael laughed and squeezed Dylan once more before he let him go. “Thanks for the warning, little brother. But I’m not worried. You’re far more competition than any prince could ever be.”
Chapter Nine
Natalia’s heart pounded with nervous anticipation when the Blake brothers returned to the ballroom. They’d left half an hour ago, and she had been on pins and needles ever since. She liked both men and didn’t want to be the cause of any further strain in their relationship.
Sherbourne scanned the room. When his gaze lit upon Natalia, he gave her a bright smile. Whenever he and the captain had discussed, he was obviously pleased with the result.
Captain Blake, however, refused to meet her gaze.
Oh, this was so unfair! Apparently, they’d decided Sherbourne was to have her.
Why had the captain bowed to his brother’s demands? How could he? She didn’t want him to give up on her now. Not when she was finally ready to take a chance and discover whether the reality of being in his arms lived up to the promise in his burning gray eyes.
Viscount Sherbourne had claimed her as his prize, but he had no right. His Greek God looks, title, and bland good manners didn’t interest her. She liked her angels fallen. For the first time in her life, she wanted something enough to fight for it.
So few things were within her control, but in this one matter, she had the power to bend circumstances to her will. She wanted to dance with Dylan Blake tonight. Perhaps she’d even sneak away with him for that promised kiss. And she wasn’t going to let Lord Sherbourne or even her father stand in her way.
She made her way through the crowd to stand by their side. “Hello,” she said breathlessly, breaking every rule of etiquette she could think of.
A lady should never approach a gentleman. She should never initiate a conversation. And never, under any condition, should she scheme to find herself alone with one so he could kiss her.
Sherbourne raised a disapproving brow at her unladylike behavior, but the captain continued to ignore her. It was unnerving—she’d grown accustomed to being the center of his attention. He stared at the hem of her gown, a muscle ticking in his lean jaw, as he obviously tried to pretend she didn’t exist.
“Lady Natalia,” Sherbourne said, recovering from his shock. “I was just telling my brother what a delightful dinner companion you were.”
At that, the captain laughed, the sound tinged with a touch of bitterness. He still didn’t look at her. “Oh, indeed.”
Sherbourne scowled at his brother, then returned his gaze to Natalia. “Will you do me the honor of the first waltz, Lady Natalia?”
She shook her head, enjoying the moment. Sherbourne was a nice enough fellow, but he needed to be taken down a peg or two. “I’m sorry, Lord Sherbourne. I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”
She shifted her gaze to the captain, feeling as though she were about to jump off a very steep precipice with nothing beneath her to break the fall. “You see, I’ve already promised the first dance to your brother.”
SHE CHOSE ME.
Dylan lifted his gaze, feeling off-kilter, as though he’d had the wind knocked out of him. He didn’t know how to react to Natalia’s unexpected pronouncement.
After weeks of obsessive pursuit, she was finally giving in. Now. When it was too late.
He shared a quick glance with Michael, who looked even more stunned than he was. Neither of them had anticipated this. But what the hell did Michael expect? Was he supposed to refuse her? Not bloody likely.
Giving his brother an apologetic shrug, Dylan turned the full force of his delighted smile on Natalia, enchanted by the look of tentative happiness in her beautiful emerald eyes. “Of course. Our dance. I’d almost forgotten.”
Ignoring Michael’s low mutter of dismay, Dylan took Natalia’s small gloved hand and led her onto the dance floor. It was only a dance, he told himself, pushing away a twinge of guilt. Just one dance, and it had nothing to do with that infernal bet.
He just wanted to hold this lovely unattainable girl in his arms for a few breathless minutes, secure in the knowledge that she’d chosen him over Michael. Then he would walk away, go to Aldabaran, and begin a new life. One that was far simpler than the chaotic, unhappy existence he been living here in London.
The music swirled around them as he led her into the simple steps of the waltz. Her hand was warm and welcoming on his shoulder, and he couldn’t remember ever being quite so enamored.
He caught sight of Jonathan, lurking behind Michael, and felt a moment of sweet dark triumph. It didn’t matter that he’d already promise Michael he would concede the bet. He’d always have the satisfaction of knowing he could have won, if he’d wanted to.
“Your brother has warned you off, hasn’t he?” Natalia stared at him, her wide bright eyes drinking him in, as though she wished to memorize this moment, and him, for all time. “Sherbourne told you he plans to offer for me. Or, more correctly, for my dowry.”
Dylan nodded, surprised by her accurate assessment of the situation. “The old man has given him strict orders to land you. And I’m supposed to slink off to my estate in Scotland, posthaste, before I tarnish your reputation.”
My estate.
He’d waited his entire life to say those two simple words, and the need to share his good news with her overwhelmed him. He longed for a quiet dark place where they could have a few moments alone. He wanted to tell someone about his amazing stroke of good fortune. He wanted to ask her what she thought he should do about the fact that his father had kept his inheritance from him for so long.
Such uncharacteristic thoughts alarmed him. It might be a good thing he’d just given up the right to share anything with her.
A flicker of unmistakable disappointment crossed her lovely features. “So, you’re just going to give up on me? Bow to their wishes? Run away with your tail between your legs?”
He frowned, shocked by her audacity, stunned by the cowardly picture she painted. “Why should I stay? You haven’t given me any encouragement. No reason to believe you care for me in the slightest.”
“Doesn’t this dance prove anything? I do care for you. I care for you very much.” She seemed surprised by her words, but she didn’t try to take them back. Instead, she squeezed his hand, her small fingers lost in his much larger ones. “You said you weren’t interested in my dowry.”
“I’m not.” At least not anymore, he reasoned to himself, once again feeling enormous guilt. He should never have used her weaknesses against her. He felt a sudden intense urge to make it up to her.
“You’re a very beautiful woman.” He wished she could see herself through his eyes, if only for an instant. “You shouldn’t worry that men only want you for the money you’ll bring.”
She gave him a tremulous smile. “You also said you wanted to make me laugh, to kiss me, and show me passion.”
He stumbled, the steps of the waltz forgotten as she repeated his own reckless words. Fear tempered the challenge in her eyes. He doubted she’d ever spoken so incautiously in all her life.
“What are you saying?” He forced himself to move back into the steps of the waltz, pretending nothing was amiss, even though she’d just turned his every expectation of her upside down. Natalia Sinclair had chosen him over his brother. That fact alone made him fall a little bit in love with her. “Are you telling me you want those things as well?” All thoughts of the bargain he’d struck with Michael fled his mind.
“I want to be with you,” she whispered, all in a rush, as though she couldn’t quite believe her own words. “Alone. Can you meet me in the rose garden in about an hour?”
He knew he should say no. He’d just promised his brother he’d quit pursuing her. But he couldn’t walk away without ever knowing if this thing between them was truly as powerful as it seemed. “Of course, I’ll be there.” How could he say no?
AFTER DANCING WITH the captain, Natalia waited fifteen endless minutes before approaching her father and Clarice. They
were deep in conversation, and Clarice seemed upset. Torn, Natalia was about to turn away, but Clarice saw her hovering and beckoned her near.
“Natalia, darling. Are you having a nice time?” The duchess was obviously glad of the distraction, and Natalia felt terrible about her intended deception.
“Actually, I’m feeling rather ill. I think I’ll go up to my room and rest a bit.”
Clarice placed one slender, bejeweled hand on Natalia’s forehead, her lovely face full of concern. “You don’t feel hot. Is it your stomach?”
Natalia nodded and turned to her father. “Would you mind if I left the party early, Father?”
The duke stared at her for a long moment, but her flushed face and the tremors of excitement she couldn’t conceal seemed to convince him she was truly sick. “Go ahead, I’ll make your excuses.”
Hardly daring to believe her luck, she fled the ballroom as quickly as propriety would allow, careful not to glance in Captain Blake’s direction even once. She didn’t want her disappearance linked to the one he’d make in just a little less than forty-five minutes.
Once inside her room, she dismissed her maid, Cora. She refused to allow the girl to unlace her gown on the pretense she might want to return to the ball later, after she’d rested a bit. Then she sat in a chintz-covered chair in front of the fireplace.
With so much time to analyze her actions, she couldn’t help but regret her impetuous actions. Whatever had she been thinking? If she were found out, it would ruin her.
Was it worth it, to risk so much over a man she barely knew?
Closing her eyes, she remembered the way it felt to be in his arms—the intensity in those beautiful gray eyes when she’d told him she wanted to see him in private. He’d seemed so surprised to have finally won her favor, so genuinely glad she’d admitted her feelings.
Hugging herself tightly, she knew she’d risk anything to have that again. To have more than that. A kiss. A caress. Sweet words in the dark...
