Too Many Matchmakers

by Allison Lane

  “How did you know, Nicholas?” demanded Justin, thankfully diverting his thoughts.

  He raised his brows.

  “That Bowles wouldn’t finish the race.”

  “Ah.” He smiled. “That one was so easy even a cub should have seen it. Surely you can figure it out. How would you describe Bowles’s taste?”

  “Flashy.”

  “Does he know anything about horses?”

  “Not really,” Justin admitted, his eyes beginning to gleam.

  “Exactly. So if he buys a team, is he likely to get quality?”

  “Damn!” He shook his head. “I stood right there while Shelford disparaged his team. But how did you know he’d have an accident?”

  Nicholas sighed. “If I’d had any idea he would destroy one of his cattle, I would have done something. I expected him to drop out when he winded them.”

  “I know that, but why did you expect even that?”

  “Think about the race he won so handily against Hanson. How long was the course?”

  “Two miles.”

  “An old campaigner like the captain always chooses stamina over speed. So Bowles probably shot out to the lead, then whipped the team home.”

  “That’s exactly what he did, but I didn’t expect the same tactics over a ten-mile run.”

  “That was your mistake – and everyone else’s. Bowles hasn’t the brains to consider the course. Whipping up the horses worked once, so why not again?”

  “It sounds so simple when you explain,” complained Justin.

  “Surely you didn’t lose money on that race!”

  “No, I learned long ago never to bet against you. But I feel for that horse.”

  He nodded. Justin turned to greet Lady Stafford, allowing Nicholas’s eyes to again stray toward Diana.

  She was gone.

  Just as well, he decided. He was not ready for another meeting. Even thinking about it set his hand shaking. But he would have to warn her about Langley.

  Swearing, he quitted the rout and headed to Drury Lane. One of the actresses could soothe his irritation. Even morning disgust with himself had to be better than the fires now consuming him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Nicholas nearly groaned as he stepped into Lady Hardesty’s drawing room. Despite knowing that Diana was now a countess, he had not expected her to be here. In his mind she had remained the daughter of an impoverished baronet. Beautiful, but unimportant.

  Ignoring his increased tension, he turned to his hostess.

  “Lady Hardesty.”

  “I am delighted that you could join us, my lord.”

  The gleam in her eye confirmed that he should have listened to instinct and declined this invitation. Lady Hardesty was a blatant matchmaker.

  He had been right to suspect his mother of some devious plot. She had written to several old acquaintances, claiming that he was in the market for a wife. Rumors were already rife, irritating him more each day. The question of what to do with her loomed larger. He wanted her out of the Abbey before he returned.

  But at least one of his problems was improving. His aunt was finally recovering from the fever that had consumed her since her last childbed. She and the girls would soon remove to the dower house.

  When Lady Hardesty signaled Diana closer, he barely suppressed a new groan.

  “May I present Lady Bounty? She is a delightful young widow who shares many of your interests.”

  “We’ve met.” Adopting an expression of ennui that bordered on rude, he toyed with his quizzing glass. “Lord Justin introduced us at her last soiree.”

  Diana shrugged at his lack of enthusiasm, adding another irritation to his day. “Not everyone enjoys them,” she said. “Discussing our victory over Napoleon doubtless pales against your usual pastimes.”

  “What do you know about my pastimes?” He had again awakened in self-disgust. His lack of control was making him defensive.

  “Aside from the dalliance – which has titillated the gossips for years – I was referring to your shocking obsession with wagering. I understand Lord Shelford set a new speed record yesterday. Only eight hours to Brighton, or some such. Did you make as much on that as on Bowles’s race?” Her tone made it clear that she had no real interest in either him or the subject. She was merely chatting until Lady Hardesty left.

  And that was perfect. He had no interest in her, either, and could only be grateful that she had no designs on him. “I find Shelford’s incessant racing boring. And I only made about five thousand on Bowles.” Those winnings would have supported him for a couple of years in his old lodgings – in opulence. That had been his key to success. He bet seriously only once or twice a Season. The rest of the time, he carefully balanced his wins and losses. A reputation for infallibility would have dried up his income. Only Justin had ever realized that his serious wagers were always side bets.

  “Why would anyone risk so much on something so trite?” She could not hide her real curiosity at the question. It gleamed in her eyes, hinting that she shared his interest in human nature.

  He had to fight to keep his voice detached and fight harder to keep his hands calmly at his sides. “What risk? The odds that Hawkins was more inept than the little I had heard of Bowles were slim.”

  “You bet that much on two men you didn’t even know?”

  “But I knew the course – there are a dozen hills in that ten miles, two of them quite steep.”

  “Yet people drive them every day,” she protested.

  “Not at speed. Shelford disparaged the horses, so they must have been short-chested.” He grinned. “I supported myself for years on wagers, Diana.” He couldn’t help himself. When she raised a questioning brow, he plunged into his philosophy of betting. It no longer mattered if people understood his methods. He did not need the income. Besides, few would recognize their peril when faced with their next wager anyway.

  “Misdirection,” she murmured, smiling. “Astute of you. Do you always make it look like your opponents can’t lose, when in fact, they can’t win?”

  Her smile caught him by surprise, punching the air from his lungs and the question from his head. Maturity made her more beautiful than ever. She was dressed in subdued green – which had always flattered her. Though modest for evening, her neckline was low enough to raise his temperature. The color should not have been notable, but somehow the combination of the gown and candlelight made her eyes gleam like shafts of sunlight in a forest. His fingers itched to touch her. His lips recalled how hers could soften with desire.

  Damnation! Why was he lusting after Lady Bounty? His appetites had raged out of control for days, but it was time to draw the line. She had already burned him once. He would not give her a second chance.

  But first he owed her a warning about their hostess. If she knew their peril, she would help by avoiding him.

  “How well do you know Lady Hardesty?” he asked, abandoning the subject he could no longer recall.

  She raised one elegant brow, but followed his lead. “She was Bounty’s goddaughter.”

  This time it took more effort to hide his surprise. “Then you must know that she fancies herself a matchmaker.”

  Her smile had all the fondness of a mother for a particularly mischievous child. “But harmless.”

  “You wouldn’t think so if she had her eye on your future.”

  “What makes you think she doesn’t? I’ve been dodging her candidates since the day I emerged from deep mourning.” She looked him up and down. “You’re undoubtedly her latest, but you needn’t fret. I’ve no intention of wedding again.”

  He wanted nothing to do with marriage, but learning that he was merely the latest in a long line of rejected suitors hurt. What the devil was wrong with him? Prudence failed to keep his mouth shut. “Do you expect me to believe that you would not grab a fortune and title if it were offered? I’m out of short pants. Every lady in London lusts after what I can offer.”

  “Such conceit. Your priorities haven�
�t changed a bit in ten years, have they?” She sighed, shaking her head almost in sympathy. “Unlike you, I care little for title and wealth – and never have. I could be happy in a country cottage provided I shared it with a man I loved. Dear Harry. No one can ever replace him.”

  He didn’t understand her at all – and never had, apparently. But Langley’s arrival reminded him of another duty. “Perhaps you really are different,” he conceded smoothly. “But few gentlemen will see it that way. Have a care with young Langley.” He nodded toward the door. “He is desperate for a wealthy wife.”

  “I see.” Her voice had turned to ice. “I’m not sure why you feel this is necessary, as you are neither friend nor relative. Rest assured, you need not concern yourself with my welfare.” She turned away, plunging into an animated conversation with Lord Hartleigh.

  Accepting wine from a passing footman, Nicholas worked his way to the far side of the room. He should be relieved. Diana no longer cared, confirming that his judgment ten years ago had been sound. She had moved on to a successful marriage and had carved a niche for herself in society.

  So why did he feel like the weight of the universe had just been draped over his shoulders? The last of his energy drained out through his feet. Interest in other people rapidly followed. His blue devils were back, more powerful than ever. But he couldn’t find the will to care.

  “Who has she got you paired off with?” demanded Justin with a chuckle. He nodded toward Lady Hardesty, who was manipulating Lady Melissa Stapleton into conversation with Lord Rathbone.

  “Lady Bounty. She must be slipping. Who did she push on you?”

  “Miss Riverton. She does like to see people lined up in twos.”

  “But few stay that way.” Lady Melissa had already turned away. “Besides, the chit’s affections are firmly engaged.”

  “Possibly. But no one knows where. Rufton had eyes only for Miss Rosehill last night.” Rufton had been Lady Melissa’s most ardent suitor in recent weeks.

  Nicholas hid his shock. He had considered Rufton’s match a certainty – to the delight of both parties. What had gone wrong? Especially with his judgment. Thank God he no longer depended on it for his living. But if he lost control of anything else, he might need to hire a keeper.

  It was a frightening thought.

  “Maybe Lady Hardesty is onto something,” Justin added as he moved away. Rathbone was gazing after Lady Melissa, his desire almost embarrassing.

  Nicholas shuddered. That look elicited an echoing heat in his own loins. He hoped he still had enough control to master his face.

  But he dared not look at Diana.

  “I need your help, my lord,” said Sophia, interrupting his meditations. He hadn’t realized she was also here. Lady Hardesty’s definition of a small gathering was quite different from his. Fifty people already crowded the drawing room, and dinner would not be called for another half an hour.

  “With what?”

  “Can you please speak to Papa? He must rescind this ridiculous ultimatum. His pressure will land me in Bedlam. Every time I turn around, I trip over Charles.”

  “I doubt that has anything to do with your father. Langley is under even more pressure than you.”

  “I hate him,” admitted Sophia. “If you cannot dissuade him, I want you to convince Papa to give up this plan and let me leave town. I despise London. This constant frivolity is making me ill. Why can I not move onto my own estate? It would satisfy everyone. I could live my own life, and they would be rid of me.”

  “You know very well why they will not allow it. Even the most scrupulous chaperon would not do. Setting up your own establishment will destroy your reputation. You are simply too young.”

  “Too young,” she repeated bitterly. “Yet only this morning Mama bemoaned the fact that I am already on the shelf. If I do not wed this Season, she claims, then I will be unmarriageable. No man will take an old maid for a wife.”

  “It does sound like a conundrum,” he agreed. “But that is the way of the world. If you do not wed, you will be shuffled into the spinster’s corner as an embarrassment to the family. It will be many years before you could consider living apart from your parents, even with a companion.”

  “How can they claim to love me when they are forcing me into a distasteful marriage?”

  The sheen in her eyes proved how close she was to tears.

  “Lady Sophia.” He tried to keep his voice gentle, though he was already exasperated with the chit. “You have more freedom of choice than any other girl I know. Your parents have allowed you to dither over prospective suitors for five years. Even now, when you face a choice between marriage and spinsterhood, they are giving you a voice. They could just as easily have signed a nuptial agreement with Langley and saved themselves another Season in town. You will be well served to take a serious look at the new arrivals, because one way or another, you will have to wed.”

  He watched as she practically stalked away. The Bankleighs had spoiled her. Why else had a girl renowned for propriety entertained even the thought of setting up her own establishment? He would still keep an eye open for possible suitors, but it wouldn’t hurt her to believe that she was on her own.

  * * * *

  Diana turned her back on Nicholas, praying that she still controlled her face. Why did he have to show up in town this Season? And why did Lady Hardesty believe that they should make a match of it? The woman was usually more astute.

  He had certainly lost no time in warning her not to throw herself at him again.

  Humiliation swept her, as it did every time she recalled that scene. Would she ever get over the pain? Not that she still harbored any trace of a tendre for him. That had disappeared within a month of her marriage. Nicholas had revealed his true character that day – selfish, scheming, unprincipled, lecherous. Not one minute of that summer had meant anything to him. Every word had been false. Kissing her had filled the time until he could return to London and the women who could satisfy him. Even seducing her held little interest, for she had succumbed to his charms too eagerly to offer him any challenge. So he had discarded her.

  But the crowning touch was that remark about Langley. He believed that no gentleman could want her. Only her money made her attractive.

  She wanted to scream.

  At least she had managed to match his nonchalance. Ignoring him would grow easier with practice. Her heart might leap whenever he walked into a room, but that was merely fear that he would expose her youthful indiscretions.

  Wrenching her thoughts back to the present, she went in search of Chloe. Lady Parker’s malady, which had begun the day of Lady Debenham’s rout, had settled into a chill. It was not serious, but until she recovered, Diana had agreed to escort Chloe.

  The girl was laughing with Langley. For the first time in days, she looked like she was enjoying herself. New fears settled on Diana’s shoulders.

  Nicholas’s warning had been unnecessary, for she had no intention of wedding. But Chloe had a sizable dowry. It was not large enough to call her an heiress, but if Langley was desperate, it might do. Legitimate heiresses avoided anyone who smelled like a fortune hunter. An existing betrothal was a minor impediment for a desperate man. It could easily be cured by eloping.

  She shivered, recalling Lady Sophia’s cut.

  Langley laughed again, then moved on to mingle with others. Smooth. Very smooth. Fortune hunters were adept at applying just the right pressure. Had he chosen Chloe because her mother was currently indisposed?

  “You should avoid linking your name with his,” Diana warned her. “He has a well-deserved reputation as a rake.”

  “But he’s not,” protested Chloe. “He cultivates that image because it is acceptable, but his real interests lie elsewhere. He was just telling me the most fascinating tale about Lord Wedgeburn’s recent visit to Paris. If only I could go there myself.”

  “Perhaps George will take you there for your wedding trip.”

  Chloe snorted. “George won’t ev
en allow me back to London once we’re wed. He is the most stodgy, unimaginative lout I’ve ever met. I hate him!”

  Alarm knifed Diana’s mind. “Quietly, Chloe! Do you wish to create a scandal?”

  “It might prompt him to abandon this farce.”

  “Enough! You know better than to entertain such notions. Betrothals are binding. He could not back out even if he wished to.”

  “That is the most absurd—”

  “Have you honestly tried to understand him?” She interrupted before the girl attracted attention. “He is a good, steady gentleman. And you have no choice. You know very well that your parents will never change their minds. Any display of missishness will only tarnish your reputation.”

  “I have talked to him.” At least she had regained control of her voice. “For hours. He ignores most of what I say and rejects the rest. As do my parents. George is a perfect choice in their eyes because he is exactly like them, only stricter. They think of nothing beyond crops and weather. I am surprised they even agreed to bring me to town for the Season. It would have been more in character to schedule the wedding the very day he came to call.”

  Diana heard the bitterness, but she refused to encourage it. Chloe had always longed for more than she had – more adventure, more excitement, more experiences. This diatribe was a natural case of wedding jitters. The girl devoured books on other lands and had often expressed a wish to see them, but she could not reasonably expect to actually do so. Few gentlemen took their families farther than Paris, and women did not travel alone – except Lady Hester Stanhope, but she would never again be welcomed back to England.

  Was Chloe’s dissatisfaction a natural reaction in a high-strung girl facing an arranged marriage? Diana felt a wave of guilt. Teaching Chloe to think and act for herself could be making her jitters worse. It hadn’t crossed her mind that Chloe might not like her husband.

  But Langley’s attentions concerned her far more. He was just the sort of rascal who would appeal to a girl facing an unwanted future. The situation was all too familiar. Langley was older than Nicholas had been, but he was a glib-tongued charmer whose intriguing tales were already inciting revolt. If he ever maneuvered Chloe into privacy, he could wreak even more havoc.