WHO WILL TAKE THIS MAN?

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  It was, of course, an excellent suggestion. Taking a mistress, combined with a bit of well-timed lack of discretion—not difficult, given his already tarnished reputation—would put to bed any doubts regarding his ability to perform. However, the fact that she so calmly suggested it, in that dispassionate voice, coupled with the fact that he had absolutely no desire to take a mistress, annoyed him. Why didn’t the idea appeal to him? He’d been celibate for months. Perhaps there was something wrong with him.

  But one look at Miss Chilton-Grizedale heated his blood in a way that he recognized all too well. No, there was nothing wrong with him—aside from this inexplicable desire for the wrong woman.

  “I shall consider your suggestion regarding a mistress,” he said coolly. “But that still leaves us with the problem of the curse and locating this ‘unmarriageable’ woman you suggested.”

  She pursed her lips and frowned. “Upon consideration, I think focusing on an ‘unmarriageable’ woman might not be in our best interest. We could achieve the same goals of marrying you off and restoring my reputation by pursuing a highly marriageable woman. Therefore, I think it wiser to concentrate on a proper young woman, one very much like Lady Sarah.”

  “Rather like beauty and the beast,” he murmured.

  She stiffened. “I shall do my utmost to find you a wife who is beautiful, my lord.”

  He stared at her for several seconds, then said carefully, “I meant that I am the beast, Miss Chilton-Grizedale.” His heart leapt in a way it most certainly should not have at the notion that she did not consider him a beast. That perhaps she found him attractive, as he increasingly found her.

  Crimson stained her cheeks. “Y-yes, of course. But naturally I shall concentrate my endeavors on women I think you’ll find attractive. In fact...” Her voice trailed off, and, nodding to herself, she began pacing. He tracked her progress, his gaze alternating between her furrowed brow and pursed lips. Each time she moved past him, he caught an elusive whiff of her scrumptious scent, a fragrance that all but set him to salivating. And those pursed lips... He drew in a long, careful breath. Those lips looked puckered as if to offer him a kiss, an offer he knew he would never refuse.

  Suddenly she halted and faced him, her eyes bright, her frown vanished. “I believe I have a plan, my lord.”

  “Pray, do not keep me in suspense, Miss Chilton-Grizedale.”

  “In spite of the fact that this curse renders you—at least temporarily—unmarriageable, I think it will also provoke a great deal of interest and curiosity about you. We must make that work to our advantage. With all these rumors flying about, we shall toss a few of our own choosing into the mix. We’ll make it known that it is merely a matter of time before the curse is broken, and in the meanwhile, through the hosting of an exclusive soiree—perhaps a dinner party—I shall find you a wife. Cursed as you may be, with the imminent promise of no longer being cursed, marriage-minded mamas will be unwilling to allow the heir to an earldom slip through their fingers.”

  “And if I cannot—”

  Reaching out, she touched her fingers to his lips, effectively cutting off his words, and his very breath. Shaking her head, she whispered, “Don’t say it. You will. You must. For your integrity and to keep your promise to your father before his health further fails, and for the sake of my livelihood and reputation.”

  He wanted to tell her that it was a very real possibility that he would never find the missing piece of stone, never be able to solve the curse, would never be able to marry. But to do so would have required him to move, something completely beyond him at the moment. And movement might have dislodged her fingers from his lips, something he was most reluctant to do. The touch of her fingers against his lips simultaneously paralyzed him and sizzled a bolt of heat through him.

  He wasn’t certain what reaction must have shown on his face, because her eyes widened and her lips formed an O of surprise. She snatched her hand away as if he’d bitten her, then retreated two hasty steps.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord.”

  His lips tingled from her touch, and it required a great deal of will not to run his tongue over his bottom lip to taste the spot she’d just touched. He moved his hand in a dismissive gesture—only to discover that his hand was not quite steady.

  “No harm done,” he said lightly.“ ‘Tis better not to vocalize some things.” Like the fact that I find you fascinating. Intriguing. That I like the way you speak your mind and present your ideas in a clear, concise, nonconvoluted way. That you affect me in a way that I find very unsettling. And that I would like to know much more about you.

  No, it was definitely better that he not vocalize such things.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “I believe your plan is sound. As I know next to nothing about planning soirees, I think it might be wise to enlist my sister Catherine’s help. She is scheduled to arrive in London this afternoon.”

  “An excellent suggestion, my lord. An invitation from Lady Bickley would most certainly be looked upon with more favor than one coming from me. Do you think she would be willing to act as hostess?”

  “I’m certain she would be happy to do anything at all to help. I’ll send a note, inviting her to dinner this evening to discuss the details... if you are free to join us?”

  “Yes, thank you. The sooner we put our plan into action, the better.”

  Pulling his watch fob from his pocket, he checked the time. “Since it already grows late, and as I must send off the invitation to Catherine, then speak with my father to tell him the latest developments, I suggest we finish our respective crates, then depart.”

  She nodded her agreement, then returned to her work area. Philip forced himself to do the same. But, unable to stop himself, he turned his back to her, then rubbed his index finger over his lips where she’d touched him.

  She was coming to his home. This evening. The very thought made his heart pound in a way that it most certainly should not. But there was no ignoring the fact that it did. The question was, what did he plan to do about it?

  Albert closed the door to Miss Merrie’s house with more force than he’d intended. Muttering darkly under his breath, he limped across the foyer and dropped the missive that had just been delivered onto the salver resting on the mahogany table—along with the dozen other messages already there.

  “Was that another one?” came Charlotte’s soft-spoken voice behind him.

  He froze, and his heart skipped several beats. Damn it all, he had to stop reacting this way every time they were in the same room. But how to stop? He’d been a mere lad of fifteen when Miss Merrie had invited a beaten and pregnant Charlotte to join their “family,” rescuing her as she’d rescued him years earlier. But he was no longer a lad, and there was nothing brotherlike about his feelings for Charlotte.

  Drawing a deep breath, he turned slowly, trying to make the movement appear smooth. Unfortunately, in his attempt to appear less awkward, he nearly tripped on his own feet. He lurched forward, and Charlotte grasped his shoulders to steady him, just as he grabbed her upper arms to keep from pitching face first onto the floor.

  His balance regained, everything in him stilled. The warmth of her hands seared imprints on his shoulders that sizzled down to his feet. Her arms felt slender beneath his palms. If he pulled her closer, the top of her head would nestle perfectly under his chin.

  She looked up at him, her gray eyes filled with concern. Just concern. Not a flicker of any of the emotions churning through him. Not the slightest indication that she felt anything more for him than she ever had—respect, fondness, and friendship.

  Damn it all to hell and back, he wished that was all he still felt for her. But somehow, his feelings of respect, fondness, and friendship had flared into something more. Something that rendered him clumsy and tongue-tied in her presence. Something that made him achingly aware of her every minute of the day, that made his heart beat faster at the sound of her voice, that tensed his every muscle when they stood in the same room. Th
at made him spend sleepless, restless nights, aching in his lonely bed. For her.

  The thought of her guessing, of realizing how he felt, clenched his stomach into a tight knot. She wouldn’t laugh—she was too kind for that—but the thought of seeing pity in her eyes, of feeling sorry for him for his hopeless feelings... he couldn’t bear it.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Gritting his teeth, he slowly released her arms. “Fine,” he said, more brusquely than he’d meant to. He took an awkward step back from her, careful to keep his weight balanced on his good leg, then jerked his jacket back into place.

  Her gaze shifted to the pile of letters. “I guess we know what those are. More cancellations.”

  Not yet trusting his voice, he merely nodded.

  “Poor Meredith,” Charlotte said. “She’s worked so hard, she doesn’t deserve to be cast away like this.” Her eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed into a thin line. “But that’s how people are. They use you, then toss you aside like so much trash. You and I know that better than most, don’t we, Albert?”

  “Yes. But not all folks are that way, Charlotte.” He savored the sound of her name on his tongue. “Miss Merrie ain’t like that—you and I know that better’n most.”

  Her fierce expression relaxed a bit. “If only everyone were like her.”

  “Impossible to wish that all folks were good,” he said gently.

  She looked at the floor, twisting her hands together. “Yes. But sometimes I can’t help but wish for impossible things.”

  Her quiet voice grabbed him by the heart, and unable to stop himself, he gently touched his fingers under her chin to raise her face. He held his breath, waiting for her to recoil, but to his surprise she stood her ground. Her skin felt like... he didn’t know. Like the softest thing he’d ever felt. Her gaze met his, and his heart thumped so hard he knew she had to hear it. “Wot do ye wish for, Charlotte?”

  For a long moment she said nothing, and he simply stood, absorbing the feel of her warm skin beneath his fingertips, the sight of her eyes, so fathomless and full of shadows from past hurts and pains. The desire to make all her dreams come true, to destroy anyone or anything that would ever dare hurt her, throbbed through him. His gaze roamed her face, touching on the faint scar bisecting her left brow, and the slight bump on the bridge of her nose. An image of her, beaten and bruised, flashed through his mind.

  Never again. He’d never allow anyone to ever hurt her again. To be near her and never be able to touch her, love her, would be nothing short of torture for him, but it was the way it had to be. She deserved so much more than the likes of him.

  And even if, impossibly, his ruined leg and physical limitations didn’t matter, her words, those fervent words he’d heard her speak to Miss Merrie when she first came to them, haunted him, making him know that there was no future for them. I’ll never let another man touch me again she’d said through her cracked, swollen lips. Never again. I’d kill myself, or him, first.

  It had taken a long time for her to come to trust him, but trust him she did—at least as far as she trusted anyone. He’d do nothing to risk that. Ever. If this was all he could have of her, so be it. But God forgive him, he wanted so much more.

  “What do I wish for?” she repeated softly. “All my wishes are for Hope. I want her to have a good life. A safe life. Happiness. I don’t want her to ever have to do... the things I’ve done.”

  Her voice went totally flat, as did her eyes, and Albert’s heart squeezed. “Hope is goin‘ to have a grand life, Charlotte. You, me, Miss Merrie, we’re all goin’ to see to it.”

  The hint of a smile touched her lips, warming her eyes. “Thank you, Albert. You are a dear boy. And a wonderful friend.”

  He tried hard not to let his idiotic disappointment show. Damn it, he wasn’t a boy. He was man. Soon to turn one and twenty. He wanted to remind her, but what was the point? Forcing a smile, he said, “Ye’re welcome. ‘Tis an honor to be yer friend.”

  The clip clop of an approaching carriage caught his attention. Walking to the narrow window beside the front door, he moved the curtain aside.

  “A fancy carriage,” he reported. “Stoppin‘ in front. Must be another note delivery from another of them fancy ladies wantin’ to—”

  His words sliced off as a footman opened the carriage door and Miss Merrie emerged, followed by a tall gentleman wearing spectacles.

  Albert’s eyes narrowed as he watched the gentleman escort Miss Merrie up the walkway. Because the walkway was narrow, they proceeded single file, with the gentleman falling in behind Miss Merrie. The man’s gaze wandered down Miss Merrie’s back, taking note of her backside in a way that set Albert’s teeth on edge. Without waiting for them to climb the steps, he flung open the door.

  “Everythin‘ all right here, Miss Merrie?” he asked, scowling at the man.

  “Everything is fine, thank you, Albert.” After climbing the steps, Miss Merrie performed a quick introduction.

  To Albert’s surprise, the Greybourne bloke extended his hand. “Good to meet you, Goddard.”

  Albert wasn’t certain he returned the sentiment, but, scowl firmly in place, he shook the gentleman’s hand.

  “Thank you for seeing me home, Lord Greybourne. Are you certain I cannot offer you some refreshment before you leave?”

  “No, thank you. However, I look forward to seeing you later this evening. Shall I send my carriage? Say at eight?”

  “That will be fine.” She inclined her head in a regal fashion. “Good afternoon.”

  Lord Greybourne bowed, then returned to his carriage. Albert stood on the porch and glared at him until the carriage was no longer in sight. Entering the foyer, Miss Merrie was handing Charlotte her shawl.

  “So that bloke’s Lord Greybourne,” Albert said.

  Meredith turned toward Albert’s stern voice, a tone she was not accustomed to hearing from him. His severe frown paused her fingers in the act of untying her bonnet. “That was Lord Greybourne, yes.”

  “And ye’re seein‘ him this evenin’?”

  “Yes. I’m joining him and his sister and one of his antiquarian colleagues for dinner at Lord Greybourne’s townhouse.”

  Albert’s brows collapsed even farther. “I’d watch myself with that one if I were you, Miss Merrie. He’s got designs on ye.”

  Heat scorched Meredith’s cheeks, and she prayed neither Albert nor Charlotte would notice. “Good heavens, Albert, what a thing to say! Of course he does not. I’m trying to find him a bride.”

  “Ye already found him one. But based on the way he was oglin‘ ye, it appears he’s forgotten all about her.”

  She barely kept herself from pressing her hand against her chest where her heart thudded. Was Albert correct? Had Lord Greybourne ogled her? Something that felt suspiciously like a smile tugged at her mouth, and she clamped her lips together. Good heavens, she should be outraged! Being ogled was highly uncouth. Certainly she should not feel... flattered. Nor be experiencing this rush of warm pleasure. No, of course she was outraged.

  “What do you mean, ‘ogling’?”

  “I saw the way he looked at ye. Like ye were a treat in the confectioner’s shop, and he were cravin‘ a bit of sweet.”

  Another unwanted, inappropriate, inexplicable wave of pleasure washed through her. Botheration, this was what happened when one did not get one’s proper rest. She’d make it a point to retire early this evening and sleep late tomorrow.

  Adopting her most prim expression, she said, “He was doing nothing of the kind. His expressions are easy to misinterpret due to his thick spectacles.” When Albert appeared about to argue the point further, she quickly added, “I have some news.”

  She quickly told Albert and Charlotte about the search for the missing stone, Lady Sarah’s marriage, and her plan to find Lord Greybourne another wife. “We shall discuss plans to meet that goal at dinner this evening.” Out of the corner of her eye she spied the pile of letters resting on the table. Putting on h
er bravest face, she smiled at both Albert and Charlotte. “I’m certain everything is going to be just fine.”

  But she could see in their worried expressions that she’d failed to convince them.

  Yet how could she hope to do so when she herself was far from convinced?

  Six

  Philip paced in front of the fireplace in the library, and stared once again at the mantel clock.

  “You seem nervous,” Andrew remarked in an amused drawl.

  “Not nervous. Filled with anticipation. I haven’t seen Catherine in ten years.” He watched Andrew tug his midnight-blue jacket into place. “Speaking of nervous, that’s the dozenth time you’ve straightened your attire.”

  “Wouldn’t want your sister to think you’ve befriended a disreputable ne’er-do-well.”

  “Ah. In that case you’d best leave before she arrives.” Ceasing his restless pacing, he stared into the flames dancing in the fireplace, childhood memories washing over him. “She always looked like an angel, but good God, she was a mischievous devil. Always sending the butler off on some false errand so we could slide down the curving banister at Ravensly Manor, or convincing me to join her on late night raids of the kitchens to filch biscuits.”

  Yes, one year his junior, Catherine had been everything he was not as a child—fun-loving and playful. She taught him how to laugh and smile, how to take time for fun, coaxing him from his shyness, and accepted him exactly as he was—awkward, clumsy, diffident, serious, bespectacled, and pudgy.

  “You’ve spoken of her so often over the years, I feel as if I know her,” Andrew said. “You were fortunate to have each other.”

  “She was my best friend,” he said simply. “When I left England, leaving her was the most difficult part. But she’d been recently married, and was expecting a child, and I’d been assured of her happiness.” His jaw clenched. “But as you know, her letters indicate that her cordial relationship with her husband changed drastically when she presented him with a less-than-physically-perfect heir.”