Sarah pushed up her glasses then asked, “What are some of the things our Perfect Man will do?”
“You mean besides accompany us to the shops, dance and talk with us, and tell us how magnificent we are?” asked Emily.
Again Lord Langston’s huskily spoken words drifted through Sarah’s mind. You are…magnificent. She cleared her throat. “Yes. Besides that.”
“Flowers,” Julianne said. “He should bring flowers.”
“And plan romantic outings,” added Emily.
“Take the time to find out our favorite things then give them to us,” said Carolyn. “They don’t have to be expensive or elaborate. Just…thoughtful.” Her gaze took on a faraway expression. “My favorite gift from Edward was a single pansy. He’d pressed the flower—which is my favorite—into his own book of Shakespeare’s poems, between the pages of my favorite sonnet. The flower came from the patch of garden where we’d shared our first kiss.” A small smile touched her lips. “It cost nothing, yet to me that gift was priceless.”
Sarah made a notation on her list, then looked up and asked, “Anything else?”
“I think our man now is quite perfect,” Julianne said. “All we need to do is assemble him.”
“Let’s meet here tomorrow afternoon after your shopping excursion,” Sarah suggested.
“Aren’t you coming?” asked Carolyn.
“I’d prefer to stay here and explore the garden, do some sketching, if you don’t mind. The grounds are spectacular.” Her lips twitched. “Perhaps you lovely ladies can entice some of the gentlemen to accompany you to the shops.”
Emily looked toward the ceiling. “Highly unlikely. They’d no doubt prefer to run a few foxes to ground. I sat next to Lord Thurston at dinner, and the man, while exceedingly handsome, is a bore. He was unable to discuss anything other than horses.”
“But he isn’t unpleasant,” Julianne said. “Indeed, all the gentleman are agreeable. And Jennsen seemed quite taken with our Sarah.”
“I noticed that as well,” Carolyn said. “The man couldn’t take his eyes off you.”
It was Sarah’s turn to look toward the ceiling. “He was merely being polite. And grateful not to have to discuss the finer points of fox hunting with Lords Thurston and Berwick as he’d done at dinner the night before.”
“Lords Langston and Surbrooke are both amiable,” Emily admitted. “Of course that may change if Mama and Julianne’s aunt Agatha don’t cease their nonsubtle matchmaking efforts.”
“Which are directed toward Lords Berwick, Thurston, and Hartley as well,” Julianne added. A frown puckered her smooth brow. “Do you suppose one of the gentlemen present could be a Perfect Man?”
Emily shook her head. “No. Such a man doesn’t exist, which is the entire reason we’ve had to make him up.” She blew out a dramatic sigh. “But wouldn’t it be wonderful if he did?”
After all agreeing it would indeed be wonderful, albeit unrealistic, Sarah gathered up the articles of clothing and hid them in her portmanteau, which she secreted in the bottom of her wardrobe. The ladies bid each other goodnight, promising to meet the following afternoon to bring Franklin N. Stein to “life.”
Sarah closed the door after their departure, but seconds later there came a quiet knock. She opened the door and found Carolyn standing in the corridor. After her sister entered the room, she said, “I know you must be tired Sarah, but…” She reached out and clasped Sarah’s hand. “I wanted to tell you how happy I am that you’re here with me.”
Relief filled Sarah that nothing amiss had prompted Carolyn’s return to her bedchamber. “There’s no where else I’d rather be.”
“I know, and I’m grateful. This time with you, Julianne, and Emily, and our adventures with the Literary Society, are exactly what I need.” A small smile touched Carolyn’s lips. “Of course, I’m sure you suspected as much.”
“I can’t deny I’d hoped you’d enjoy yourself.”
“As I’d hoped the same for you, Sarah.” Carolyn’s eyes searched her face. “And I can see that this trip has been good for you. I’d hoped that being away from your usual routine, being away from Mother, would enable you to spread your wings a bit.” Her smile flashed. “And I knew you would enjoy the marquess’s renowned gardens.”
Sarah blinked. “Do you mean to tell me that all this time I thought we’d come here for your benefit, you’d planned to come here for mine?”
Carolyn grinned. “There’s a saying about great minds thinking alike.”
Surprised and touched, Sarah said, “True. But you’ve no need to be concerned for me, Carolyn. I’m perfectly content.”
“Yes, I can see that. There’s a…glow about you, and I’m delighted about it.”
Heat rushed into Sarah’s cheeks. Before she could say anything, Carolyn gave her a peck on the cheek then said, “Good night, poppet. Sleep well.” And then she was gone, closing the door quietly behind her.
Sarah heaved out a long, slow breath. Clearly her inward glow did show, at least to Carolyn, who knew her better than anyone. Thank goodness her sister was ignorant of the source. Which called to mind Julianne’s question: Do you think one of the gentlemen present could be a Perfect Man?
She made an impatient sound, annoyed with herself for being so fanciful and impractical. No, the Perfect Man did not exist. He was merely a figment of their imagination. Although…Lord Langston had certainly been perfect as far as kissing was concerned. And he’d said several of the things on their Perfect Man list. And based on their previous list of traits the Perfect Man should have, in addition to being a good kisser, Lord Langston was handsome, witty, and intelligent. And she could attest firsthand that he was stunningly passionate and made her insides flutter. She wasn’t yet sure if he was kind, patient, generous, honorable, and honest. Certainly those last two traits were suspect, given the secrets he obviously had. Certainly he knew far less about horticulture than he’d led people to believe. And besides, he didn’t wear glasses—so how perfect could he be?
Still, even if he were the Perfect Man, of what use would that be to her? He would never be her Perfect Man for she’d never be the sort of woman such a man would want. Indeed, it was a very good thing he wasn’t the Perfect Man or else she might fall madly in love with him. And that would be a disaster of gargantuan proportions that would only bring her heartbreak.
But, if after finding out more about him it turned out he was close to perfect, he would be a good match for Julianne or Emily. In which case she needed to stop thinking about him. Immediately. She needed to forget his kiss. The feel of him touching her. The texture of his skin beneath her fingers. The taste of him.
Unfortunately, she suspected that would prove easier said than done.
“Excellent shot, Berwick,” Matthew said as his guest’s arrow landed in the nine point golden ring on the archery target set up across the lawn.
Lord Berwick lowered his bow. “Thank you. I believe that puts me in the lead.”
“True, but Jennsen still has one arrow left to shoot,” Matthew reminded him.
After observing the quiet, steady determination Jennsen had displayed for the past two hours on the archery field, Matthew didn’t question why the man was such a financial success. Although far less experienced in the sport than any of the other archers, one by one Jennsen had unraveled his opponents, never appearing as if he so much as broke a sweat. Even on those occasions when his shot proved less than brilliant, his quietly confident demeanor often shook the other shooters, forcing them to make costly errors. Over the course of play, the atmosphere had deteriorated from amiable rivalry to chilly tension, especially during the last two rounds. Hartley and Thurston had given in to frustration several times, Thurston going so far as to break an arrow across his knee.
All the rounds had proven very competitive with close scores. Daniel won the first round, and Matthew the second. Hartley and Thurston tied in the third, the victory going to Hartley with the tie-breaking shot. Jennsen had taken the four
th round and Berwick the fifth. They’d all agreed this was the last round, and it now came down to the final arrow.
“Jennsen needs a ten point shot to win,” Thurston said, eyeing the American. A cold gleam entered his eyes. “Anyone care to make it interesting?”
Logan Jennsen flicked a cool glance Thurston’s way, then settled his gaze on Berwick. “I’ve a fiver that says I make my shot.”
One of Berwick’s blond brows cocked upward and a coolly amused smile touched his lips. “I’ve a tenner that says you won’t.”
“I’m in,” Hartley said, looking at the American with the same lack of friendliness Thurston had. “My money’s on Berwick to win.”
“Mine as well,” Thurston agreed. He turned toward Daniel. “What about you, Surbrooke?”
Daniel smiled. “I’ll go with Jennsen to win.”
Matthew noticed the annoyance that flickered in Berwick’s eyes. “You’ll miss your blunt when it’s gone,” Berwick said, a hint of chill in his tone.
Daniel shrugged. “It’s mine to miss.”
“And you, Langston?” Berwick asked, fixing his blue gaze on Matthew. “What’s your bet?”
Matthew raised his hands in mock surrender, hoping to diffuse the frosty tension permeating the warm air. “As host, it would be impolite for me to show any partiality. I’ll therefore remain neutral and wish you both the best of luck.”
Still, Matthew made a mental bet, placing his money on Jennsen. Everything in the man’s demeanor made it clear he was accustomed to getting what he wanted, and what he wanted right now was to best Berwick and cut Hartley and Thurston down a notch or two.
Matthew had heard rumors that Jennsen’s decision to abruptly leave his native America was prompted by more than a simple wish to expand his business, that his past was less than sparkling clean. He had ignored the gossip as coming from Jennsen’s competitors, but now, seeing the cold-eyed determination and unwavering control with which the man conducted himself on the archery field led him to wonder if those rumors might in fact be true.
With the same unruffled calm he’d displayed through all the matches, Jennsen lifted his bow and took aim. Seconds later the arrow tip found its home in the ten point gold ring. He turned toward Berwick, and Matthew noted that no triumph gleamed in Jennsen’s dark eyes. Rather, he regarded Berwick with a cold, indecipherable expression that Berwick returned with his own icy glare before finally giving a tight jerk of his head to acknowledge his loss.
“I’ll settle my debt when we return to the house,” Berwick said in a curt voice.
Thurston and Hartley mumbled their concurrence, although their displeasure was obvious. Jennsen merely inclined his head in response.
“Well, that was fun,” Daniel said in a patently overbright tone. “I for one could use a brandy. Anyone else?”
“A brandy,” Thurston agreed, sounding as if he were speaking through clenched teeth. He turned toward Matthew as the group walked across the lawn toward the targets to retrieve their arrows. “And a game of whist with your lovely female guests, Langston.”
“Excellent suggestion,” Hartley said. “Lovely women, all three. Too bad you didn’t invite more, Langston.”
Matthew refrained from mentioning the two additional invitations he’d dispatched, or the fact that Hartley and Thurston unexpectedly tagging along with Berwick had thrown off his male to female ratio. “Yes, they’re all lovely,” he murmured.
“Lady Julianne, especially,” Berwick said, his composure back in place. “She’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.”
Matthew barely refrained from looking skyward. Bloody hell. The last thing he needed was a determined rival for Lady Julianne’s attentions, especially with time so short.
Jennsen turned toward Hartley and said, “You said all three women are lovely. There are actually four—and yes, all of them are lovely.”
Hartley’s brow puckered in confusion. “Four? Surely you don’t mean to include Lady Gatesbourne or Lady Agatha?”
Matthew’s shoulders stiffened. Damn it, he knew all too well to whom Jennsen was referring.
“I meant Moorehouse,” Jennsen said mildly. His gaze shifted, and Matthew was treated to the same inscrutable stare Jennsen had fixed upon Berwick only a moment ago.
“ Moorehouse?” Hartley repeated in an incredulous tone. “Surely you jest. She is naught but Lady Wingate’s traveling companion.”
“And most assuredly not lovely,” Thurston said, his lip curling with distaste.
“Unless one was without benefit of any lighting at all,” Berwick added.
“I completely disagree,” Jennsen said. “But I’ve always believed that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” His dark gaze challenged Matthew. “Wouldn’t you agree, Langston?”
Matthew’s jaw tightened. Clearly Jennsen was staking a claim of some sort upon Moorehouse—something that certainly shouldn’t have mattered to him or bothered him in the least, especially given his situation and his need to court Lady Julianne. But damn it, it did bother him. A tide of unwanted yet undeniable hot jealousy washed through him, and it was only with the greatest effort that he managed to tamp it down.
Returning Jennsen’s stare, he forced a calmness into his voice he was far from feeling and said, “Yes, I agree that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
And so long as he kept his eye trained where it needed to be—on Lady Julianne—all would be well.
After partaking of a brandy in the drawing room with his male guests, Matthew begged off a move to the billiards room and instead made his way to his private study. Once there, he tried to concentrate on the estate’s account ledgers, but the task proved frustratingly impossible. And for no good reason. With the men engaged with billiards and the ladies not yet back from the village, the house was quiet. Even Danforth wasn’t snoring on the hearth rug as he usually would be at this time of day. There was no excuse for him not to be making good use of this uninterrupted time to go over his finances, to see what else could be sold, to find another way to cut expenses.
Unfortunately he knew that no matter how hard he pored over the ledgers, he was out of options save two. The very practical “marry an heiress” option, or the “succeed at his quest” option, which sadly, over the past year, had miserably failed. Yet even if he succeeded at his quest, honor dictated that he still needed to decide upon a wife. And soon. And given his failure thus far at his quest, an heiress his wife would have to be.
Although the house was quiet, his thoughts were anything but. No, his thoughts were filled with images of her. And the passionate kiss they’d shared. A kiss that had somehow tested his restraint as no other kiss ever had. Perhaps because she was unlike any other woman he’d ever kissed. Regardless of her questionable level of experience—and he judged that in spite of her penchant for sketching naked men, she wasn’t very experienced at all—she was…natural. Unpracticed. Completely lacking in guile and vanity. And he found that irresistibly alluring. That and those huge eyes. Those luscious curves. And those soft, plump lips…
He dragged his hands down his face. Bloody hell, he’d wanted to know how she felt, how she tasted, and now he knew, and he’d been unable to think of anything else since she’d left his bedchamber. Certainly his erratic performance on the archery field reflected his distraction. This preoccupation with a woman who was in every way the complete opposite of what he was normally attracted to utterly baffled him. He’d always preferred demure, soft-spoken, classically beautiful, petite, blue-eyed blondes. Someone like Lady Julianne. Yet for some reason, Lady Julianne—who was also conveniently the much-needed heiress—had failed to capture his attention.
Instead he’d been grabbed in a stranglehold by an outspoken, brown-eyed, dark-haired, tall, bespectacled spinster who would never be described as a classic beauty. But there was something about her that somehow ensnared him. In a way he couldn’t name because he’d never experienced the feeling before. And based on Logan Jennsen’s behavior and words,
Matthew wasn’t the only one affected by her. Bloody damn hell.
But unlike him, Jennsen was free to pursue whomever he wished. Not that Matthew wished to pursue Moorehouse. Even removing the heiress factor from the equation, she wasn’t his type at all. Which only made this situation of her occupying his thoughts more confusing and irritating.
He blew out a frustrated sigh and was about to force his attention back to the hated ledgers when he heard a familiar woof. His gaze drifted to the open French windows through which a shaft of bright afternoon sunlight streamed. Apparently, Danforth had roused himself from whatever spot he’d found to nap in. Probably a patch of warm sun on the terrace. Lucky beast.
Another woof sounded, followed by a soft feminine laugh. A laugh he instantly recognized. A laugh that had him sitting up in his chair as if a plank had been shoved down the back of his breeches.
“Silly dog, sit still.” Moorehouse’s laughter-filled voice floated in through the open glass-paneled doors that led out to the far corner of the terrace.
As if in a trance, he rose. He’d made it halfway across the Axminster rug toward the French windows when Danforth came bounding through the opening. Tongue lolling, tail wagging, the dog made a beeline for him. He greeted Matthew with a trio of deafening barks, then sat. Right on his boot.
Seconds later Moorehouse burst into the room from the terrace. “Come back here, you mischievous beast. I’m not finished—”
Her gaze fell upon Matthew and her words chopped off as if sliced with an ax. She halted as if she’d slammed into a wall.
Matthew’s heart ridiculously seemed to trip over itself. He stared at her, noting her plain gray day gown and disheveled chignon from which dozens of shiny tendrils had escaped. A bonnet hung halfway down her back by its satin strings, which were tied loosely around her neck. A rosy glow suffused her cheeks, and her chest heaved as if she’d run some distance.
She moistened her lips, a gesture that had him pressing his own lips together to keep from mimicking her. She shoved up her glasses, which had slid halfway down her nose, then offered him an awkward curtsy.
Sleepless at Midnight Page 11
