Sleepless at Midnight

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  Bloody hell, there was no mistaking the unpleasant sensation gripping him. It was jealousy. He wanted that lovely smile directed toward him. Not his best friend. He wanted to be the one laughing with her. Not his best friend.

  And what was this? Logan Jennsen said something across the table to Moorehouse that caused her to turn her radiant smile in his direction. Damn it, she was glowing as if she were lit from within. And Jennsen—who was supposed to be occupied with Lady Gatesbourne and Lady Agatha—was once again looking at Moorehouse as if he were an explorer who’d just happened upon a cave filled with sparkling jewels.

  Bloody bastard. Jennsen had more money than the damn royal family—he didn’t have to marry an heiress. And from the looks of it, he didn’t have any interest in the heiresses sitting in his midst. No, he seemed to have eyes only for Moorehouse—whom he’d described as lovely.

  Bloody bastard.

  “Don’t you agree, Langston?”

  Berwick’s voice yanked him from his reverie and he jerked his attention back to his dinner companion. “Agree?”

  “That Lady Julianne looks exceptionally lovely this evening.”

  Matthew turned toward Lady Julianne and offered her a smile he prayed didn’t look as tight as it felt. “Extremely lovely.” And it was the truth. Dressed in a pale peach gown that highlighted her delicate features, golden hair and flawless ivory complexion, she was simply stunning. Her father was no doubt being showered with offers for her. Indeed, it looked as if Berwick was already half in love with her. A quick scan of the table confirmed that Hartley and Thurston also kept casting their gazes in Lady Julianne’s direction. He shouldn’t even have to think twice about courting her then offering for her. What the hell was wrong with him?

  And once again his gaze strayed to the opposite end of the table. To spectacles and a pair of huge doe eyes. To a dimpling smile and loose strands of unruly hair. To fingers that bore faint traces of charcoal. To full lips and a plain gray gown that somehow in no way detracted from her appearance.

  Just then Moorehouse looked beyond Daniel and her gaze met his. And he felt as if he’d been punched in the chest. The murmured conversations and delicate clinking of silverware against china faded away. For several surreal seconds it seemed to him as if they were the only two people in the room and that something private and intimate passed between them.

  Heat rushed through him, as if she’d touched him, and although he tried to keep his features composed, he wondered if she could see her effect on him. Then a quizzical look entered her eyes, one that made him feel as if he were a puzzle she was attempting to solve.

  “She has such a way with the needle and thread,” Lady Gatesbourne said, her voice rising above everyone else’s. Moorehouse blinked several times, as if coming out of a trance. Indeed he felt as if he were pulled out of a trance himself.

  Without moving her head, Moorehouse flicked her gaze toward Lady Gatesbourne then looked toward the ceiling. A laugh rose in Matthew’s throat, which he managed to smother, but he couldn’t stop from smiling. From the sound of it, Lady Gatesbourne was extolling, rather loudly, the virtues of her modiste in between enthusiastic sips of wine.

  If nothing else, the woman would sleep well tonight. With any luck, she might fall asleep before dessert was served. Good God, the thought of that woman being his mother-in-law was enough to put him off the entire idea of marriage. And certainly wasn’t doing anything to help his appetite.

  Moorehouse smiled in return then reverted her attention to Daniel. Matthew picked up his wineglass and contemplated the claret contents, trying to figure out a topic of conversation with which to engage Lady Julianne. Finally he turned to her and said, “Tell me, Lady Julianne, have you read any books of interest lately?”

  Why that question should cause her eyes to widen with what looked like panic and her cheeks to flame, he couldn’t imagine. “Oh, um, not especially, my lord.” She cast her gaze downward and appeared to be fidgeting with her napkin.

  Good God, he’d thought it a simple, innocent enough conversation starter, but she appeared about to succumb to the vapors. He was about to change the subject to the surely safe topic of the weather when she looked up and said in a rush, “But we’ve recently formed the Ladies Literary Society of London.”

  “We?”

  “Lady Wingate, Lady Emily, Moorehouse, and myself.”

  “A literary society,” he said, nodding in approval. “Reading and discussing Shakespeare’s works, are you?”

  More color rushed into her face. “We’ve only just formed. Things of that sort are in our future, I’m sure.”

  Bloody hell, she blushed at the drop of a bonnet. Not that he didn’t appreciate a beguiling blush, but good God, all he’d mentioned were books. Certainly she didn’t appear to be made of sturdy stuff. Regardless, he forced himself to press on, but decided he’d best change the subject since anything literary appeared about to send her into a swoon.

  “Tell me, Lady Julianne, what are some of your favorite things to do?”

  She considered for several seconds, then said, “I enjoy playing the pianoforte and singing.”

  “Are you good?”

  “I am passable and endeavoring to improve.” The tiniest hint of mischief glinted in her eyes. “However, if you ask my mother, she will tell you that I sing like an angel and my talent at the pianoforte is unrivaled.”

  Hmmm. Lady Julianne was not only lovely, but modest. And appeared to have a sense of humor. Both very promising.

  Yet again his gaze strayed to the end of the table. And he saw both Jennsen and Daniel listening intently to something Moorehouse was saying. His fingers tightened around his crystal wine goblet and he forced his attention back to Lady Julianne. “What else do you enjoy?”

  “Reading. Embroidery. Riding. Dancing. The usual sorts of things ladies enjoy.”

  Yes, the usual things. The problem was, it seemed he’d developed a freakish—and completely inconvenient—preference for the unusual.

  “I’m also very fond of animals,” Lady Julianne continued. “I love riding my mare when we’re rusticating at the country estate, and walking my dog in Hyde Park when we’re in London.”

  He forced himself to keep his wandering gaze on her and concentrate on this positive bit of information. That she enjoyed riding and liked animals was certainly good. “What sort of dog have you?”

  Her face lit up and she named a breed of the sort of small, yipping, ankle-biting, carpet-piddling beasts that slept on satin pillows and that one constantly tripped over and Danforth utterly disdained.

  “When I return to London, I’m planning to purchase several more in the same breed so Princess Buttercup has some companions,” Lady Julianne enthused.

  Matthew stared at her over the rim of his wineglass. “Your dog’s name is Princess Buttercup?”

  Lady Julianne smiled, a dazzling smile that no doubt lured most men like a siren’s call. “Yes. And the name suits her perfectly. I commissioned my modiste to make her several tiny doggie outfits, complete with bonnets.”

  Good God. Danforth would never forgive him. He could just see his dog’s reaction if he were to bring such a creature into their midst. “Do you like large dogs?”

  “I like all dogs, but personally prefer small breeds. Large dogs cannot sit on your lap, and they can all but pull one off one’s feet when attempting to walk them on a lead. Of course, they don’t frighten Princess Buttercup. She’s quite fierce and doesn’t hesitate to snap at beasts far larger than herself.”

  He instantly pictured a snapping Princess Buttercup dressed in tulle and a minuscule bonnet, her tiny teeth attached to Danforth’s tail while a very unhappy Danforth glared at him.

  The picture of domestic bliss he’d been attempting to paint in his mind vanished like a puff of steam in a brisk wind. Which was utterly ridiculous. Except for the Princess Buttercup situation, Lady Julianne was perfect in every way. Perfect for him in every way. What more could he possibly ask for in a wife th
an a woman who was a beautiful, witty, modest, amenable, demure, animal lover who also happened to be the much-needed heiress? Nothing. He couldn’t ask for anything more.

  Yet once again his gaze strayed to the end of the table. And he froze. Daniel had clearly abandoned his conversation with Moorehouse, as he was now talking to her sister, Lady Wingate, who sat on his other side. Moorehouse, however, didn’t look in the least bit abandoned. No, she was speaking to that bastard Jennsen, who was hanging on her every word as if pearls of wisdom dripped from her lips. Her lovely, full, lips. That she’d just moistened with the tip of her tongue. A quick glance at Jennsen confirmed that he’d seen the gesture. And had liked what he’d seen.

  Bloody hell.

  How much longer until this endless dinner concluded?

  “Well?” Matthew said to Daniel the instant the last guest departed the drawing room and they were finally alone.

  “Well what?” Daniel asked, settling himself in Matthew’s favorite chair before the hearth and stretching out his legs.

  Matthew tried to curb the impatience in his voice and failed. “You know what. How did your conversation with Moorehouse go?”

  “Very nicely. How did yours with Lady Julianne go?”

  “Marvelously. What did you learn about Moorehouse?”

  “Lots of interesting things. Did you know that she has a talent for—”

  “Sketching. Yes, I know. Tell me something I don’t already know.”

  “Actually, I was going to say a talent for conversation. Real conversation. Not just because she is able to intelligently discuss an impressive array of subjects, but because she also listens. Intently. As if what you’re saying is of the utmost importance and interest to her.”

  Matthew stood before the fireplace and leaned his shoulder against the marble mantel. An image of Miss Moorehouse as she’d appeared on the terrace earlier today flashed through his mind, her huge eyes fixed upon him, her head tilted as she carefully listened to his words. As if nothing mattered more than what he had to say. “Yes, I’ve noticed that about her. What else?”

  “She is keenly observant. Notices small details about people and things. She asked me a number of questions about you.”

  “What sort of questions?”

  “Mostly about your absorption with gardening. She’s apparently quite the expert on the subject.”

  “How did you respond?”

  “I was vague, saying you enjoyed all things concerning the outdoors. She’s either romantically interested in you—which I warned you might happen—or she’s suspicious of you, having seen you carrying that shovel.”

  The thought of Moorehouse harboring romantic feelings for him absolutely should not have pulsed heat through him.

  “Did you learn anything else?” Matthew asked.

  “She enjoys cooking and baking, using ingredients from her own garden, which is, I gather, quite extensive. Did she tell you about the Dutton sisters?”

  Matthew shook his head. “Who are they?”

  “A pair of elderly sisters who live about an hour’s journey from Moorehouse’s home. One sister is nearly blind and the other requires a cane to walk. Moorehouse walks to the Duttons’ cottage every day, regardless of the weather, and brings them a basket of food she’s cooked herself.”

  Matthew’s brows rose. “She told you this?”

  “No. Her sister told me. She further told me Moorehouse refuses to accept money from the Duttons. And that she often brings baked goods to several other families in the area, one in particular, a young woman named Martha Browne who was widowed six months ago. She already has three small children and is due to give birth to a fourth child in two months. According to Lady Wingate, Moorehouse is a tremendous help to Browne and beloved by her children.”

  Matthew stared into the fire. While he hadn’t known these things, they certainly didn’t surprise him. He could easily picture Moorehouse in the role of loving caregiver. Nor did it surprise him that the recipients of her generosity were people who were in some way broken.

  “There is an air of…something about Moorehouse,” Daniel said softly. “I don’t know quite what to call it. I’m certain comparisons between her and her beautiful sister have been common her entire life, a situation that would leave many women bitter. But instead, it seems to have bestowed in Moorehouse a particular compassion toward people, especially those less fortunate.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed that about her as well.”

  “I must say, it is a particularly attractive quality, and quite unusual amongst women of our social set. Perhaps it’s because she wasn’t born into our social set that she is so unique.”

  Unique. Yes. That described her perfectly.

  “She’s very matter-of-fact,” Daniel continued. “Outspoken, but not in an off-putting way, as Lady Gatesbourne is. I’m not ashamed to admit when I’m wrong, and I believe I was wrong about Moorehouse. Not only did I not discover any deep dark secrets, I tend to doubt she has any. Indeed, she’s quite the breath of fresh air. I see why you find her so interesting. Indeed, I find her so myself.”

  Matthew wished that he could call the feeling jolting through him anything other than jealousy, but there simply was no other name for it. He actually had to clench his teeth to keep from saying the two words that rushed into his throat.

  She’s mine.

  He shook his head and frowned. Ridiculous. Damn it, what was wrong with him? She wasn’t his. He didn’t want her.

  Yet the instant that last thought entered his mind, he rejected it. Because as much as he didn’t want to want her, by God there was no denying that he did want her. With an intensity that stunned him. Which was inconvenient in the extreme, as he couldn’t have her. She was not the woman he needed to focus on. He needed, badly, to focus on Lady Julianne— Moorehouse’s good friend.

  Bloody hell.

  Daniel folded his hands over his stomach and looked up at him from his slouched position. “Jennsen clearly thinks she’s a breath of fresh air as well.”

  Matthew’s hands clenched. “Yes, I noticed.”

  Daniel nodded. “I assumed you did, since you kept looking down toward my end of the table.”

  “To see how you were doing with Moorehouse. I noticed you spent a good deal of time speaking with Lady Wingate.”

  “She was an excellent source of information regarding her sister. Besides, I’m not one to ignore a beautiful woman, especially one who’s sitting right next to me.” His gaze probed Matthew’s. “About Moorehouse—based on the way she was looking at you when she thought I wasn’t looking at her, she is…infatuated. Paying further attention to her will only serve to falsely raise her hopes.”

  Matthew frowned. Part of him knew Daniel was correct—that paying further attention to Moorehouse was an exercise in futility. Yet the thought of not doing so made him feel as if a weight rested upon his chest.

  “You could break her heart, Matthew,” Daniel said quietly. “Surely you don’t wish to do that.”

  “No.” Daniel was right. This…attraction or whatever it was he felt for her had to be forgotten.

  “Good. Now tell me, how went your conversation with Lady Julianne?”

  He ruthlessly shoved the image of Moorehouse from his mind. “Fine. She is lovely, demure, sweet-natured, and loves animals.”

  “And is an heiress,” Daniel reminded him. “She sounds perfect.”

  “Indeed she does.”

  “You won’t want to fanny around in pursuing her in earnest. Did you see the way Berwick was looking at her? The man is smitten.”

  Yes, he’d noticed. And hadn’t cared a jot. Wasn’t touched by even the slightest twinge of jealousy.

  “Even though Thurston and Hartley lavished their attentions on Lady Emily tonight, I’d wager to say that they are smitten with Lady Julianne as well,” Daniel continued.

  Matthew stared into the fire and tried, truly tried, to dredge up even a tiny flicker of jealousy at the thought of another man courting Lady Julian
ne.

  And found nothing.

  Then the image of Moorehouse he’d only a moment ago managed to push from his mind returned. But this time he imagined her smiling across the table at Logan Jennsen…then that bastard Jennsen pulling her into his arms and kissing her. And it felt as if a red haze dulled his vision.

  With an exclamation of disgust, he pushed away from the mantel and dragged his hands down his face. Then he strode toward the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Where are you going?” Daniel asked.

  “To change my clothes then go dig some holes. Pray that I find what I’m looking for.”

  “I wish you luck. Would you like some company?”

  Matthew halted, turned, then cocked a brow at his always perfectly turned out friend. “You’d be willing to dig holes?”

  “I’d prefer not to. But I’d gladly stand watch while you do. There’s a killer wandering about, you know.”

  “I know. And I thank you for the offer, but I’d prefer that you get some sleep. That way you can act as host tomorrow afternoon, thus allowing me several hours to continue my search during the day. Besides, we agreed that Tom’s murder might not have anything to do with me. And even if it does, we also agreed that I’m most likely safe until, or unless, I find what I’m looking for.”

  “‘Most likely safe’ doesn’t sound all that promising, Matthew. And what if you actually find it?”

  “I’ll hardly jump about like a jackanapes and announce it at the top of my lungs. I’ll be armed. And accompanied by Danforth, who has better eyesight and hearing and a superior sense of smell than you—no offense intended.”

  “No offense taken. And I’ll be happy to take over your hosting duties. I’m not the least opposed to spending my time with a bevy of beautiful young women.”

  “Excellent.” He resumed his walk to the door.

  “Matthew…you realize this search is almost for a certainty a waste of time?”

  He paused, then nodded. “I know. But I have to try.”

  “Well then, be careful, my friend.”

  Matthew quit the room, closing the door behind him, then headed for the stairs, feeling completely out of sorts, and it was all her fault. This digging of the holes would be good for him tonight. Yes, he’d dig lots and lots of holes that would, like their countless predecessors, yield nothing. He’d dig until he was exhausted and couldn’t think anymore. Until he was too tired to want that which he couldn’t have.