Perfect 2 - A Perfect Groom

by Samantha James

  Justin reached for his port. “And greetings to you, too,” he murmured dryly.

  “Oh, all right, then. I daresay, you are looking singularly well.” Gideon eyed the perfect fit of snug wool across his shoulders. “Must be your tailor. Weston, I presume?”

  Justin inclined his head. Weston was the premier — and most expensive — tailor in the city. “You presume correctly.”

  Nearby came a raucous burst of laughter.

  “Two thousand pounds to the man who can take her!”

  Justin glanced over just as Sir Ashton Bentley executed a wobbly bow. Justin was not surprised; Bentley’s predilection for drink somehow always managed to surpass his tolerance.

  “Raise the stakes and make it worthwhile,” boomed another fellow.

  The voices came from a group of men gathered just a few paces away from White’s famous bay window where Beau Brummell and his cronies usually gathered, though they were absent this night. It appeared the discussion was growing quite animated.

  There was a loud guffaw. “No one’s seen her muff or likely to, lest it be on her wedding night!”

  “She’ll never consent to a bedding before marriage!” hooted another. “Ask Bentley!”

  “Ha! It damn well won’t take marriage, or even an offer, to make her mine. She’ll be green-gowned by the end of the season or my name isn’t Charles Brentwood!”

  Another man chortled. “Her? Tumbled on the grass? Not bloody likely.”

  “Two thousand says I can mow her down!” boasted Patrick McElroy, second son of a Scottish earl. “And her husband, should she ever deign to choose one from the buffoons courting her, will never know he wasn’t the first!”

  “And just how will we know the deed has been done?” came the inevitable inquiry. “To lay claim to it is one thing, to succeed is quite another.”

  Indeed, Justin’s mind had been pondering that very point.

  “He’s right,” came the shout. “We’ll need proof!”

  “A trophy!” someone cheered. “We need a trophy!”

  “A lock of hair ought to do the trick! There’s not a soul in England with hair the color of flame!”

  No doubt it was some young debutante who had captured their fancy. Trust the Scotsman McElroy to be vulgar. And Brentwood had no finesse when it came to the fairer sex. Justin almost felt sorry for the poor chit, whoever she was.

  Justin’s gaze hadn’t left the group. “A randy lot, it would seem,” he murmured to Gideon. “But I confess to an abounding curiosity. Who is this woman with whom they’re so fascinated?”

  Gideon offered a mocking smile. “Who else? The Unattainable.”

  “The what?”

  “Not what, but who. You’ve been gone too long, my friend. Since she turned down three offers of marriage in a fortnight — Bentley among them — she’s become known as The Unattainable. She’s quite famously in vogue, you know. The toast of the Season thus far.”

  Justin’s gaze lifted heavenward. “Just what London needs. Another drab, boring, insipid debutante.”

  “Not precisely a debutante. She’s almost one-and-twenty, though I don’t believe she’s ever had a formal coming-out. And she’s hardly insipid.” Gideon erupted into laughter. “Ah, but that is the last word I should use to describe The Unattainable.”

  “And what word would you use to describe her?”

  Justin lifted his glass to his lips, while Gideon pursed his lips. “Hmmm. Do you know, one simply will not do! She’s truly quite delectable, but oh, how shall I say this? She is not a woman of convention, yet she’s all the rage. She is most certainly never boring, and she’s hardly drab. I don’t believe I’ve yet to see her dressed in white. And her hair is indeed the color of flame.” He nodded toward the group. “A fitting trophy indeed.”

  “She hardly sounds the usual diamond of the first water.”

  “She’s not the usual debutante. But perhaps that’s the lure. She is a woman of…how shall I put this? A woman of statuesque proportions.” Gideon gave a dramatic sigh. “She has all the grace of a fish out of water. And she cannot dance to save her soul.”

  A perfectly arched black brow climbed high. Justin lowered his glass to stare at Gideon incredulously. He pretended a shudder of distaste. “The chit is a giant, a bumbler, nearly on the shelf, yet she’s entertained three proposals?”

  “Quite so,” Gideon affirmed lightly, “and not even a fortune to commend her.”

  “My God, have all the men in Town gone mad?”

  Gideon laughed softly. “Yes. Mad is what they are. Mad about her. Mad for her. I should estimate…oh, perhaps half are ensnared. Enamored. Entranced, falling at her feet and declaring themselves instantly in love with her. The other half are here at White’s” — Gideon waved a hand — “seeking to slip beneath her skirts, as you can hear.”

  Ever the cynic, Justin quirked a brow. “You sound quite besotted yourself,” he observed. “Have you fallen beneath her spell, too?”

  A laugh was Gideon’s only response. But almost before the sound emerged from his lips, Gideon’s eyes slid away for a fraction of a second. Justin had known him too long and too well not to see what Gideon chose to hide. Justin gazed at him, in truth no less than shocked. Gideon was hardly the sort to embarrass easily.

  “Never tell me,” he drawled, “that you were among the buffoons paying court to her.”

  Judging from his glower, Gideon did not take kindly to his jibe.

  Justin couldn’t resist teasing. “Set you in your place, did she?”

  “Don’t be so damned smug,” Gideon snapped.

  Justin took a sip of port. “Why, I wouldn’t dream of it.” He contemplated the brew, his mind stirring. He was nor fond of red-haired females, and for good reason. They put him in mind of —

  “You’re looking vastly annoyed, Justin. What is it?”

  “If you must know, I was just thinking about a female who gave me a set-down some years ago.”

  “What, you?”

  Oh, but the incident playing in his mind was not one he cared to remember. She’d dealt quite a blow to his pride; granted, it had been a bit inflated at the time. Why the girl had singled him out for her mischief, he had no idea. Of course, Sebastian persisted in reminding him of the minx’s little scheme whenever he could. Child or no, he’d never quite forgotten — or forgiven! — that wild little hoyden’s attempt to demean him.

  He offered a tight smile. “Suffice it to say that perhaps we’re not so dashing as we think, either of us.” He didn’t divulge that the female had been a mere child — though he had been a mere youth himself. God knew Gideon would have gloated to no end.

  He steered the conversation back to the subject at hand. “She must be quite something, this chit known as The Unattainable, to send you sniffing about her skirts — and you the most notorious rake in Town.”

  “Oh, but I do believe that honor is solely yours.” Gideon had regained his aplomb and proved himself fully up to par. “However, if you think you would fare better, perhaps you should put yourself into the running.” He nodded toward the group where The Unattainable was still being discussed — and in ever more bawdy terms.

  Before Justin could answer, Bentley’s voice rang out again. “Three thousand pounds to the man who succeeds in deflowering The Unattainable!”

  “Ah,” said Gideon. “The stakes are rising.”

  Justin gave a shake of his head. “Good God, Bentley’s drunk. Someone should get him out of here before he goes back to the hazard table and loses the very clothes on his back.”

  “Who is in?” There was a flash of hands, five in all — McElroy, Brentwood, Lester Drummond, William Hardaway — a lad barely out of the schoolroom! — and Gregory Fitzroy.

  “ ‘Tis done,” came the shout. “Three thousand pounds to any man among the five of us who claims The Unattainable!”

  There was a raucous cheer, a flash of banknotes, and a footman was sent scurrying for the betting book. Justin was hardly shocked by the
subject of the wager, for when it came to the matter of wagers, nothing was sacred here at White’s — or any of the gentlemen’s clubs, for that matter. They were rakes one and all, he decided with more than a hint of self-derision, and he and Gideon perhaps the worst of the lot.

  Yet almost in spite of himself, Justin found himself pondering what it was about The Unattainable that everyone found so captivating.

  His gaze returned to Gideon. It was disconcerting to discover Gideon’s eyes already locked on his face. Justin wasn’t certain he liked the flare of amusement in Gideon’s gaze.

  He knew it for certain when Gideon tipped his head to the side.

  “Intrigued, are we, Justin?”

  Justin shrugged.

  Gideon’s laughter rang out. “Admit it. We’ve known each other too long. You are, if not by the fact that the sum is a significant one, then because of the fact that my interest was once piqued by The Unattainable.”

  An elegant black brow arose. “She must be a veritable ice maiden to resist the likes of you.”

  Gideon neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead his eyes glinted. “If that is indeed the case, no doubt you think you can thaw her.”

  “I am not inclined to try,” Justin said baldly.

  “I confess, you disappoint me.” Gideon affected shock. “You, the man with innumerable conquests. By God, you’ve gone and gotten almost…dare I say it? Almost respectable. You,” came his drawling complaint, “are growing into a dullard.”

  Now, that was laughable.

  He was a devil inside, and everyone knew it…everyone except, perhaps, his brother Sebastian, who liked to remind him of his occasional lapses into respectability. The way he’d ventured into several business dealings and profited quite fortuitously, for one. Too, he’d left the family townhouse two years earlier and leased his own just prior to Sebastian’s marriage. Those were, he supposed, the trappings of respectability.

  A pleasant haze had begun to surround him, for he was well into his third glass of port. Nonetheless, his smile was rather tight. “Don’t bother baiting me, Gideon,” he said amicably.

  Gideon gestured toward the group still gathered around the betting book. “Then why aren’t you leading the way?”

  Justin was abruptly irritated. “She sounds positively ghastly, for one. For another, no doubt she’s a paragon of virtue —”

  “Ah, without question! Did I not mention she’s the daughter of a vicar?”

  Justin’s mind stirred. A vicar’s daughter…hair the color of flame. Once again, it put him in mind of…But no. He dismissed the notion immediately. That could never be.

  “I am many things, but I am not a ravisher of innocent females.” He leveled on Gideon his most condescending stare, the one that had set many a man to quailing in his boots.

  On Gideon, it had no such effect. Instead he erupted into laughter. “Forgive me, but I know in truth you are a ravisher of all things female.”

  “I detest redheads,” Justin pronounced flatly. “And I have a distinct aversion to virgins.”

  “What, do you mean to say you’ve never had a virgin?”

  “I don’t believe I have,” Justin countered smoothly. “You know my tastes run to sophisticates — in particular, pale, delicate blondes.”

  “Do you doubt your abilities? A woman such as The Unattainable shall require a gentle wooing. Just think, a virgin, to make and mold as you please.” Gideon gave an exaggerated sigh. “Or perhaps, old man, you are afraid your much-touted charm is waning?”

  Justin merely offered a faint smile. They both knew otherwise.

  Gideon leaned forward. “I can see you require more persuasion. No doubt to you Bentley’s three thousand is a paltry sum. So what say we make this more interesting?”

  Justin’s eyes narrowed. “What do you have in mind?”

  Gideon’s gaze never left his. “I propose we double the stakes, a wager between the two of us. A private wager between friends, if you will.” He smiled. “I’ve often wondered…what woman can resist the man touted as the handsomest in all England? Does she exist? Six thousand pounds says she does. Six thousand pounds says that woman is The Unattainable.”

  Justin said nothing. To cold-bloodedly seduce a virgin, to callously make her fall in love with him so that he could…

  God. That he could even consider it spoke to his character — or lack thereof. Indeed, it only proved what he’d always known…

  He was beyond redemption.

  He was wicked, and despite Sebastian’s protestations otherwise, he knew he’d never change.

  “Six thousand pounds,” Gideon added very deliberately. “And worth every penny, I’ll warrant. But there’s one condition.”

  “And what is that?”

  “She must be yours within the month.”

  A smile dallied about Justin’s lips. “And what proof shall you require?”

  Gideon chuckled. “Oh, I daresay I shall know when and if the chit falls for you.”

  He was drunk, Justin decided hazily, perhaps as drunk as that fool Bentley, or he wouldn’t even give the idea a second thought.

  But he was a man who could resist neither a dare nor a challenge — and Gideon knew it.

  There had been many women in his life, Justin reflected blackly. He had reached the age of nine-and-twenty, and thus far no woman had ever captured his interest for more than a matter of weeks. He was like his mother in that regard. In all truth, what was one more?

  And if everything that had been said about The Unattainable was true…if nothing else, it might prove an amusing dalliance.

  He met Gideon’s keen stare. “You’re aware,” he murmured, “that I rarely make a wager unless I stand to win.”

  “What a boast! And yet I think perhaps it will be you paying me. Remember, you’ve the rest of the horde to fend off.” Gideon gestured toward Brentwood and McElroy.

  Justin pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “Something tells me,” he drawled with a lazy smile, “that you know where this beacon of beauty can be found.”

  Gideon’s eyes gleamed. “I believe that would be the Farthingale ball.”

  Two

  Miss Arabella Templeton strained to see around the marble column on the edge of the ballroom, doing her best to remain hidden.

  The reflection of hundreds of candles glistened in the cut-glass chandelier that dominated the center of the Farthingale ballroom. While it was quite a breathtaking sight, Arabella wished she were elsewhere. Anywhere else would have done nicely. But thus far Aunt Grace and Uncle Joseph had displayed no indication that they were ready to leave.

  “Is he gone yet?” she whispered.

  “No.” The lovely Georgiana was fervidly scanning the sea of faces. “The others have dispersed, but I spotted Walter a minute ago near the musicians. Now I fear I’ve lost him again.”

  Arabella stifled a groan. He was Walter Churchill, a pleasant enough fellow, she supposed. They all were, with the exception of Ashton Bentley. But Walter had proved most persistent tonight.

  From the moment of their arrival, she’d been surrounded until she thought she would surely smother! Her feet ached abominably from being crammed into slippers that didn’t fit — that was what came of having feet the size of a continent — and all she craved was her bed and a moment to herself. But her dance card was filled from now until Perdition. She’d managed to cry off the next several dances, but a number of gentlemen remained, hovering at her elbow, offering to fetch lemonade. In particular, Walter, who chattered in that nonstop way he had until she wanted to scream. Desperate, she’d announced the need to answer nature’s call. There was silence — she knew they were shocked at such frankness, but Arabella no longer cared.

  Luckily Georgiana had seen her plight. A year younger than Arabella, she had met Georgiana years earlier at the finishing school they’d both attended. In the room where the girls took their meals one evening, Arabella was on her way to the table in the corner where she usually ate her supper alone.
She was walking past a group of girls when the inevitable comments about her hair and her height began, comments she was plainly meant to hear. Her face burning, Arabella lowered her gaze, set her shoulders straighter. There was nothing she could do to disguise her long limbs anyway, and besides, Mama had always taught her to be proud of what she was. And so she had marched on, determined to ignore them. Unfortunately, the only route to the corner took her directly by them.

  There was a particularly unkind comment — from her nemesis Henrietta Carlson — and the inevitable snickers. Arabella didn’t stop to think — oh, but somehow that was always her downfall! — she simply did the first thing that came to mind.

  The sight of slimy pea soup dripping from Henrietta’s pink-beribboned curls had been most gratifying.

  Aunt Grace and Uncle Joseph’s afternoon-long session with the headmistress the next day was all that had saved Arabella’s place in the school.

  It also marked the last evening she ate alone in the corner. The very next night, Georgiana had shyly asked if she could join her. It seemed Georgiana liked Henrietta no better than she.

  It didn’t seem to matter that they were vastly different in many ways. The other girls’ ridicule was no less virulent than before, but with Georgiana’s friendship, it was easier to bear. Arabella was ever one to spout her feelings aloud, while Georgiana was quietly reserved, more thoughtful. Georgiana summed it up quite nicely one long-ago day: “The difference between us, Arabella, is that you have the courage to say what I should only like to.”

  Their friendship had not waned over the years.

  Indeed, Arabella’s upbringing was hardly the norm for a proper London miss. True, she was schooled primarily in England, but Papa’s missionary duties often took the family off to such faraway places as India and Africa. Arabella had always enjoyed London, but at times it was difficult to conform to the many strictures required of a proper lady. To be sure, Arabella had never really quite fit in anywhere. When she was away with Mama and Papa, there was no need; thus, she’d grown rather used to going her own way.

  Once again, she strained to see around the marble column toward Georgiana. “Georgiana?”