“I had no choice. She moved into the manor the second Father died.”
“So you have come to flee from her? Good choice. Did you bring the boys with you?”
His brothers, Darin and Lawrence, were much younger than he and Stanwick, so the older boys had taken active roles in the care of their younger siblings. When Jonathan moved to London, leaving them had been difficult, but he knew Stanwick would take care of everything. Jonathan relied on his brothers more than they knew. As he had no intention of marrying, it would fall to one of them to marry and produce heirs to carry on the Alastair line.
“No. They remain in her care. And I didn’t come here to run away from her. Well, not entirely.” Stanwick shot him a grin that reminded Jonathan of their carefree days together. The time before his brother became corrupted by their father.
“Then, what do you want of me?”
“Aunt Mildred sent me to collect you and take you back to Linwood.” He held up his hand when Jonathan opened his mouth to object. “There is more. She wants you to bring a bride home as well.”
Jonathan jumped to his feet. “Absolutely not. I have never listened to her before, so what makes her think I would do so now? Did it escape her notice that I am now the head of the family?”
“Calm down. You have no reason to quarrel with me. I told her I would pass on the message, not carry it out. And while I’m here, I can’t think of a better person to show me a good time. I would not mind shopping for a bride myself.”
Surprise nearly made Jonathan choke on his words. Stanwick barely passed his twenty-fifth year. The boy needed a chance to live before his spirit became forever shackled to a soul-crushing wife. However, even more of a shock came from the fact he expected Jonathan to aid him in his unholy quest.
As a rule, Jonathan avoided all events designed to sacrifice men for the matchmaker’s pleasure. These parties were disgusting displays of chest-puffing, and he refused to show his face at such a proceeding. He made one yearly exception, but Lady Laramie’s ball wasn’t scheduled for another month.
Stanwick would have to find another unsuspecting sap to introduce him. Jonathan would not be caught dead playing a fool.
Mrs. Catherine Gates, wife to the late Solomon Gates, furiously wiped at her ball gown in the withdrawing room of Lord Minor’s townhouse. The claret stain stubbornly remained, despite her ministrations. Suppressing the urge to scream and stomp her foot in anger, she took a deep breath and stared at her flaming red cheeks in the mirror.
Lady Evelyn Landon would pay for this, Catherine would see to it. Considering the young girl was in her first Season, she should not be jealous of a twenty-four-year-old, twice married woman, but for some unfathomable reason, she was. Lady Evelyn’s supposed accidental spill down Catherine’s gown only served to create an enemy of her.
“Is that claret?” Lady Minor asked, coming up behind her. “Dabbing at it like that will never get it out.”
“What can I do?” Catherine failed to keep the misery out of her tone, earning a sympathetic look from her host.
“I’m sorry, my dear. Your garment needs a good soaking.”
Catherine slowly nodded. Lady Evelyn would not have done it otherwise. Leaving Catherine to spend the remainder of the night in a stained dress. She could appeal to Uncle Toban, but he would never agree to leave. Not only did he thoroughly enjoy these events, but he wanted her to find another husband.
Excusing herself from Lady Minor, she made her way down the corridor. Earlier she heard a few gentlemen speaking of an impressive library located near the withdrawing room. Right now the seclusion sounded perfect. Halfway down the hallway, she noticed light escaping from under a door. She slipped inside the room, grateful to see thousands of books lining the walls.
The enormous library astounded and comforted her. As she walked along the bookshelves, she ran her fingers over the spines of the books, taking in the familiar smells of leather and polish. She sighed in appreciation. Never had she seen so many volumes. Reading had always been one of her passions, much to her uncle’s dismay.
Selecting a poetry book she recognized, Catherine sat by the fire and opened it. Luke Addington, her first husband, used to read it to her during their courtship. Looking at the romantic prose now, while she searched for a man to replace him, seemed like an insult to his memory. Slamming the book closed, she put it beside her on the sofa.
Uncle Toban had introduced her to her first husband when she was eighteen years old. Luke had been instantly enamored with her. Their betrothal had been short, and their marriage even shorter.
Shaking her head, she pushed off the memories. Her uncle insisted finding another husband was the right thing to do, so here she was, in London this time, seeking out a third.
Dropping her face to her hands, she could not believe the bizarre direction her life had taken. She’d never imagined being in this situation, and if she was completely honest with herself, she would admit she didn’t want to marry again. How could she be certain it would turn out differently than the other two?
The creak of the door opening and closing behind her shot her out of her melancholy thoughts. Not knowing what to do, she remained in her lowered position. Was she allowed to be in here? Her heart seized as the sounds of kissing filled the room, then rustling skirts and feminine gasps. Heat flooded her cheeks. She wasn’t sure if she should make her presence known or hide and wait for them to leave.
A low moan echoed in the space, telling her she couldn’t bear to remain and listen further. Quickly standing, she turned toward the noise. A blond-haired man had a brunette pinned against the bookshelf as his hands roamed her body. Disgusted by the lack of respect for others in the room, as well as for the books they were crushing, she cleared her throat.
The man spun around and his sea foam green eyes pierced her. Her breath caught. As the handsome face watched her, she didn’t wait for recognition to settle in. If it did at all. She practically ran from the room, desperate to escape him and the memories he brought. It had been years, but she could never forget Lord Jonathan Alastair.
His Perfect Game Page 28
