by Alyssa Drake
Almost unconsciously, her eyes searched out Lord Westwood on the dance floor. She spied him twirling gracefully with one of the girls from the annoying, eavesdropping cluster and shot him a scathing glare. It zoomed across the floor and floated over the back of a gorgeous yellow dress. Lord Westwood glanced up at that exact moment and caught Sam’s glower. Embarrassed she glanced away quickly, the pink blush traveling down her neck again. When she peeked in his direction again, he winked. Sam blushed even darker.
“Miss Hastings, are you feeling alright? You are looking a little flushed.”
“I do feel a bit warm,” admitted Sam, turning her attention back toward Captain Mason.
“We could take a turn about the terrace,” he suggested, holding out his arm.
Apparently, Captain Mason planned on luring her into some dark corner. Perhaps Lord Westwood’s warning was warranted. Captain Mason’s eager response confirmed her suspicions. Sam studied his offered elbow for a moment, debating if the look on her guardian’s face would be worth the little charade.
A grin tugged at her lips. Perhaps Lord Westwood needed to know how difficult this task of custodian was going to be. She imagined his aggravation would be great when he realized she stepped out onto the moonlit terrace with a young man and no chaperone. Definitely worth the trouble, she decided, shooting a winning smile in Lord Westwood’s direction. He raised his eyebrows in response, confusion crossing his face.
“I would be delighted, Captain Mason,” smiled Sam, taking Captain Mason’s arm, walking slowly toward the terrace doors. She felt Lord Westwood’s irritated gaze burning into her back as he watched her move across the floor. By now, he would have figured out her intentions. She wondered if he would cause a scene in front of the whole of society.
“Daniel,” a voice called warmly from a refreshment table set near the veranda. An older version of Captain Mason gestured them over to the table. “Come, introduce me to your lovely dance partner.”
“It seems my brother would like to meet you,” grumbled Captain Mason, clearly displeased at the distraction. He steered them away from the French doors and toward the owner of the booming voice. Sam noted the frustration etched in Captain Mason’s features. Perhaps he was a bit too keen to get her alone.
“Miss Hastings, I would like to introduce you to my brother, Mr. Mason. Nigel, this is Miss Hastings, sister of the late Mr. Hastings.”
Mr. Mason lifted her arm and placed a showy kiss on her hand. “Of course, Miss Hastings, I see the resemblance. Your brother was a good friend of mine. I was sorry to hear of his passing.”
“Thank you. You are very kind. It is always nice to meet one of Edward’s friends. I knew so very few of them.”
Mr. Mason chuckled. “Yes, he did keep you safely tucked away in the country.”
“Nigel, we were just about to—” began Captain Mason, his head inclined toward the balcony, but he was cut off by his brother.
“I hope that I may have a dance later, Miss Hastings. It would be nice to reminisce about Edward.”
“I would be delighted, Mr. Mason,” answered Sam with a polite smile, offering him the wrist on which her dance card was still tied. He signed his name with a flourish on the last available line.
“Captain Mason, I believe you are holding my dance partner hostage.”
The deep timbre sent tremors traveling the length of Sam’s spine. She shivered involuntarily, the anger in Lord Westwood’s voice apparent. Without turning her head, she felt the precise moment he reached their trio. The heat radiated off his body, burning her exposed skin in unyielding waves.
“You are not on my dance card,” growled Sam through her teeth, finally turning toward him. The inferno in his eyes caused her to step back. Sam gulped. She began to regret her imprudent escapade.
“I traded with Mr. Reid,” Benjamin retorted. “After all, we are so easily interchangeable.”
“I sincerely doubt that,” muttered Sam, thinking the upcoming conversation would be much nicer if it were with Mr. Reid, instead of his brother.
“I would like to have a few words with you, Miss Hastings. Gentlemen, please excuse us.” Lord Westwood grasped her arm tightly, his eyes never leaving her face.
“Mr. Mason, Captain Mason, it was a pleasure to meet both of you.” Sam curtsied to each gentleman. Mr. Mason gave her a sympathetic smile. Sam allowed Lord Westwood to drag her across the ballroom and into the quiet hallway.
“What, exactly, are you trying to do?” he demanded, letting go of her arm as soon as they were clear of the door.
“I do not know to what you are referring,” retorted Sam, returning his hard glare.
“You are very fortunate I asked Mr. Mason to watch you to ensure you would not do anything foolish.”
“Do you have spies following me?” Sam stretched on her toes to reach her full height.
“Yes. Apparently, for good reason too.” His lips twitched.
Sam placed her hands on her hips, still stretched tall. “How dare you?”
His eyes raked over her stance, a twitch still tickling the edge of his mouth. “Miss Hastings, it appears I must save you from yourself. No wonder Edward encouraged you to remain in the country.”
“Lord Westwood, it may be your intention to act as my guardian, but I am fully able to take care of myself.”
“Must I remind you how incapable you are in these matters,” murmured Lord Westwood, quickly closing the distance between them.
Sam’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes tracked his lips as they moved ever closer to her blazing skin. This was madness, the manner in which his proximity affected her rationality. Sam tried to move away but found herself cornered against the wall. Lord Westwood leaned in, his eyes level with hers. An unreadable expression flitted through his emerald pools.
“Please,” she whispered, tilting her head and exposing the soft skin of her throat. Her body continued ignoring the explicit instructions her mind repetitiously shouted. How could he affect her so completely?
Lord Westwood paused millimeters from her, brooding. He sighed heavily. Sam wondered what emotion lay behind the deep sigh. Resolutely he stepped back with a slight shake of his head.
“No moonlit walks,” he growled from the darkness.
“Yes, my Lord,” answered Sam shakily. The sudden lack of intimacy left her skin chilled.
“Thank you.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowded ballroom, leaving Sam standing in the hallway, trembling.
Chapter Eight
In the early morning hours as fog blanketed the whole city–swirling circles in the air–one lone candle burned in the Westwood study. Benjamin paced the floor, stopping periodically to gaze unseeingly at a spot on the wall. His decanter of brandy, nearly half empty, called suggestively from the oak desk. The glass beside it contained barely a few drops, begging to be swallowed; his blurry vision watched two shadows dancing in the firelight to an inaudible minuet.
He pondered Miss Shirely. She danced well, possessed good rhythm, having not stepped on his toes once during the waltz. Her voice, a sweet, soft tone, resonated pleasantly as she spoke with him about his recent journey to Greece. He noted she had focused her attention solely on him as they spun gracefully around the floor. Their uneventful dance had ended on an agreeable note when he returned her to her mother. Mrs. Shirely chatted politely for several moments, asking the same questions every other mother had asked of him that evening. Her daughter stood silently by her side, a beautiful statue, no doubt following some society encouraged instruction on proper etiquette. He must remember to send flowers in the morning—lovely, pale yellow flowers to match Miss Shirely’s elegant blond hair.
Reflecting on the evening, Benjamin wondered if there was anything unique which stood out in his mind regarding Miss Shirely’s character. Aside from her beauty, he could not find one thing of note. In fact, the harder he tried to concentrate on Miss Shirely, the more it became impossible to remember anything significa
nt. Another face persistently swam into his mind, a face which distracted him for the whole of the evening.
“Samantha,” he whispered aloud, unaware the word tumbled from his mouth. He licked his lips, the taste of strawberries still sweet on his tongue. Never before had a woman tasted so good. He moaned softly, a bittersweet sound. Never again. Of all the women he found appealing, it had to be Edward’s little sister. Benjamin sighed, shaking his head forcefully. He had made a strict vow to Edward to find the perfect husband for Miss Hastings, and Benjamin knew, without a doubt, he was not that man. Only, Benjamin feared, no other man would measure up to his standards. No man could care for her the way she deserved to be treated, the way he wanted to treat her, to spoil her, to pleasure her.
“Damn.” How could one woman torture him like this? She moved as if unaware of her beauty, unable to comprehend how her quick smile melted his resolve and left him begging for her attention. He had taken advantage of her inexperience and her trust. He sighed again.
She deserved an apology. He had handled her callously that evening. Exercising more force than he should, he had wanted to frighten her, to show her how men behaved when provoked or even slightly encouraged. Benjamin smiled wryly at the memory. She did participate, hesitantly at first, then with more enthusiasm. He had seduced her out of her first kiss, tricked her out of some innocence. He really was a cad, but now she knew what to expect. She knew how to protect herself against future advances from other suitors—and from him, he added as an afterthought.
His mind fruitlessly tried to return to his uneventful dance with Miss Shirely, but he found himself preoccupied with the thought of Miss Hastings waltzing with Captain Mason. A beautiful pink blush, like the morning sun as it kissed the sky, had crept sinfully down Miss Hastings’ neck when Benjamin caught her staring at him. It intensified when he winked. It took every fiber of his being to stop himself from crossing the floor and scooping her into his arms once he realized she intended to venture onto the balcony–alone–with Captain Mason. He shook his head in exasperation. She was quite a handful—stubborn, opinionated and deliberately trying to drive him insane. Luckily, Mason intercepted before she had a chance to ruin her reputation.
The discussion in the hallway almost completely undid him. So close to her intoxicating skin, he wanted to kiss her once more. Her whispered please melted all but a shred of his self-control. He longed to press her against the wall, causing her to moan his name, again and again, to seduce her properly. He thought of her twisting beneath him, his lips trailing every naked inch of her body. It startled him how much pleasure he derived from the fact his mere presence could wipe all intellectual thoughts from her mind.
He caught sight of himself in the darkened window—burning, a man on fire. Quickly he turned away again, ashamed at his lack of control. Edward had trusted him with this crucial duty. He would expect Benjamin to use his best judgment. He growled, took another sip of brandy, and forced himself to think as a guardian should, as Edward would.
Personal feelings aside, Captain Mason was not a bad choice for a suitor. Stationed near Hastings Manor, Miss Hastings would be able to remain in her country home if she and Captain Mason wed. He was a sweet, intelligent boy, managed his money well, and held an impeccable reputation. However, something nagged Benjamin’s unconsciousness, an annoying needle which pricked his mind—Mason’s eagerness to get Miss Hastings alone on the terrace.
“Edward,” he stated aloud to the empty room. “How could you ask me for such a favor?”
The day Edward left for France, he had appeared at Benjamin’s lodgings less than an hour before his ship departed, frantic and slightly deranged. Edward’s hair, blown wild by the wind, held none of the effort he usually put into his appearance. His jacket, flung carelessly over his arm, slipped to the ground as he paced nervously.
“Promise me,” Edward pleaded, his trembling hands gripped the lapels of Benjamin’s coat. “Promise me you will look out for Sammie.”
“Of course, Edward,” placated Benjamin, detaching Edward’s fingers from his collar and retrieving the fallen coat, which he passed back to Edward. “Everything will be fine. Do not worry about your sister.” He remembered thinking at the time—how difficult would it be, she lived in the country? Difficult indeed, he mused grimly.
“Benjamin, if I do not return…” Edward twisted his coat, grinding wrinkles into the cloth.
“Do not talk like that,” commanded Benjamin, taken aback by his friend’s frantic plea.
“Benjamin, you will keep her safe. Find her a husband, someone to take care of her. Swear to me,” he begged with wide eyes, grabbing Benjamin’s lapels again, shaking him with unintended force.
“I swear,” Benjamin replied, confused by his friend’s anxiety. He loosened Edward’s grip and turned to the desk to offer some refreshment.
However, Edward had disappeared out the door without another word, rushing for the docks. Benjamin never spoke with Edward again after that bizarre meeting. He must have known something, Benjamin thought. It seemed as if Edward had a premonition of his own death.
Due to this rash promise, Benjamin found himself saddled with this current, extremely difficult, task. He longed to curse Edward for convincing him to undertake this guardianship. However, Edward’s wretched fate prevented Benjamin from uttering the sentiment. He cleared his mind of chestnut curls and sapphire eyes, focusing on the other men who danced with Miss Hastings that evening.
Mr. Lockhearst had shown interest in her, dancing with Miss Hastings twice during the ball. She had politely held a conversation with him, offering a slight smile at the end of each dance. He, too, managed money well, shrewdly running the shipping company his father built. However, he did have the reputation of being short-tempered with his household staff. Possibly, he just needed a woman’s touch to guide him toward better manners. Miss Hastings’ sharp tongue would definitely keep him in line. Benjamin felt himself become distracted with images of other things Miss Hastings’ tongue would be capable of doing. He allowed the imagery to linger in his head for several pleasurable moments.
Benjamin hit his forehead determinedly with the heel of his palm, trying to clear out the sensuous thoughts teasing his resolve. Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus on dissecting the evening rationally.
Miss Hastings’ second cousin, a man she seemed most at ease with, Mr. Franklin Morris, would make an interesting choice. Conversing with him on the fringes of the floor, Miss Hastings and Mr. Morris both spoke animatedly, each laughing effortlessly at adventures from their shared past. Although older, his intelligence and amiability would make him a perfect match for country life. Plus, with Mr. Morris’ love of foreign countries, Miss Hastings would be able to travel abroad with him, an experience denied by her brother.
Three possible suitors.
Resolutely, he nodded, lifting his glass and sipping the final drops. His first night as Miss Hastings’ official guardian had not gone as planned, but he thoroughly enjoyed it—perhaps a little too much. Now, there would be no more diversions and no more kisses. He would marry Miss Hastings off and send her back to the country. He needed to get her out of his life, immediately, before he caused irreparable damage to her reputation. Then he could marry Miss Shirely and fulfill both his duties to his father and Edward.
His aunt’s words echoed in his head, “Not a suitable wife for you.”
Had he had missed something in his assessment of Miss Shirely? Surely, he was as good a judge of character as Aunt Abigail. However, she spent much more time in society than he did. Perhaps the warning held some merit. Then again, Aunt Abigail also singled out Miss Hastings as a preferred match.
He shook his head, trying to manage his thoughts and set the glass back on the edge of his desk, pouring a bit of liquid into the empty snifter. A little time and a little perspective would remove any improper fantasies about Miss Hastings. He did not intend to attend any of the upcoming social gatherings until the Leveret’s ball, which was a solid
fortnight away. That was more than enough time to regain control of his beleaguered mind.
And… hell. His mother’s birthday party was in six days. Were six days long enough for him to refocus his energies on Miss Shirely? It would have to be. As far as he was concerned, Miss Shirely would receive his unwavering attention for the whole of the day. Miss Hastings was nothing more than an obligation, a stubborn, opinionated, attractive distraction.
He drained the glass. “Keep lying to yourself, Westwood.”
Chapter Nine
“What does one give a countess for her birthday?” wondered Sam aloud. She stood in Wilhelmina’s bedchamber, hopping from one foot to another as Nancy helped Wilhelmina dress.
“We are giving her the little orange tree I purchased from the market yesterday,” replied Wilhelmina, her voice muffled by fabric.
“Suppose she does not like oranges,” mused Sam, chewing on her lower lip.
“Then she will be gracious enough to accept it and express her gratitude for such a lovely gift,” Wilhelmina snapped as her head popped through the collar of her dress.
“Perhaps it is too contrite a gift,” continued Sam.
“Samantha Hastings, we are going to this party,” stated Wilhelmina, turning to face Sam with a grimace as Nancy fastened the back of her dress.
“It was just a thought,” shrugged Sam.
“We should be extremely honored to receive an invitation,” Wilhelmina answered in an even tone, taking a short breath before Nancy yanked on the bodice again.
“She probably already has an orange tree,” muttered Sam loud enough for Wilhelmina to hear.
Wilhelmina studied Sam for a long moment through narrowed eyes. Sam shifted under Wilhelmina’s scrutiny. Wilhelmina’s eyes widened as she lit upon a theory. “Why do you not want to attend? Are you avoiding someone?”
“No one, in particular, I just dislike parties,” hedged Sam, turning to leave before the telltale flush gave away her feelings. Wilhelmina was more astute than Sam anticipated.
