WHO WILL TAKE THIS MAN?

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  “Was there anything else you’d like added to the list, my lord?” she asked. “Perhaps something you find particularly abhorrent?”

  “Philip detests liars,” Andrew said. “And didn’t we run into our share of them with those corrupt artifact dealers. Liars and thieves, nearly every one of them. Thankfully Philip possesses an excellent eye for spotting a forgery.”

  Philip nodded slowly. “I cannot deny that I hate being lied to.”

  Miss Chilton-Grizedale made a notation on the vellum. “So noted,” she said in a voice that sounded somewhat strained, “although I believe it is safe to say that no one enjoys being told falsehoods.” She turned her attention to Catherine. “Since that appears to finish this list, would you like to begin making up the guest list now, Lady Bickley?”

  “Of course. That way I can send out the invitations early tomorrow.”

  While Catherine and Miss Chilton-Grizedale sat at the desk near the windows, their heads close together as they plotted out the guest list, Philip and Andrew settled themselves on the opposite side of the room, near the marble fireplace, and began a game of chess. As Philip concentrated on resettling his ruffled feathers, they played in silence for some time, before Andrew said, “Edward came to the museum today.”

  Guilt pricked Philip, and he raked his hand through his hair. “Damn, I’ve been so preoccupied with my own problems this evening, I completely forgot to ask about Edward. How were his spirits?” He didn’t add that he’d sent around a note to his solicitor late this afternoon instructing him to open an account in Edward’s name.

  “Subdued. He’s planning to come again tomorrow.”

  “Good. Focusing on something other than Mary will no doubt help him.”

  “I agree. Obviously he’s mourning his wife, but it’s difficult to tell exactly what he’s thinking. He’s not an easy man to read.” Feeling the weight of Andrew’s stare, Philip looked up from the chessboard and found his friend’s gaze resting pointedly on him. “Not like some people.”

  Philip raised his brows. “Meaning?”

  Andrew leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Meaning that you are easier to read than a book, my friend.”

  Philip stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The hell you don’t. I mean her.” He jerked his head toward the other side of the room. “That little exchange of words between you was quite telling. Not to mention the fact that you’ve been looking at her as if she’s an oasis and you’re dying of thirst.”

  Bloody hell. Had he truly been that obvious? And when the devil had Andrew turned into such an enthusiastic observer of human behavior?

  Andrew’s gaze flicked over to the two women in the corner, then he regarded Philip with an inscrutable expression. “Easy to see what the attraction is.”

  To his annoyance, everything inside Philip tensed. Forcing a light tone, he said, “She is pretty, yes.”

  “Actually, I don’t believe ‘pretty’ describes her at all. She is distinctive. Unusual. Striking. But not pretty.”

  “Indeed? I hadn’t particularly noticed.”

  “I see. Then I suppose you didn’t notice any of her other attributes, either.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as the darker blue ring that surrounds her aqua irises, making her eyes appear like bottomless pools. Or the way her pale skin turns a delicate peach when she’s animated about something, or how incredibly shiny all that dark hair is. How long do you suppose her hair is? I suspect it at least reaches her waist.” He heaved a long sigh. “There’s nothing like a curvaceous woman with long, long hair. But I suppose you didn’t notice the fact that she is quite the curvy piece, either.”

  Philip dropped all pretense of studying the chessboard. Unwanted, unwelcome jealousy pumped through him, along with a healthy dose of anger. “We’ve returned to civilization, Andrew. That is hardly a proper way to describe a lady.”

  The look Andrew shot him was one of pure innocence. “So there « some decorum buried in there. I meant no disrespect, of course. I was merely obliging your request to list her attributes—ones that I believe any man with eyes would instantly note, by the way. Except you, it seems. Interesting. Especially as you are normally most observant.”

  Oh, he’d observed. Observed everything about her, including her striking eyes, her complexion, her lovely hair, and the hints of her feminine form beneath her bronze-hued gown. It just irked that Andrew had also noted them.

  “Too bad she isn’t one of those willowy blondes you prefer,” Andrew mused, “Although I imagine it wouldn’t matter. From everything you’ve told me, I gather you’re expected to marry some ‘Lady’ something-or-other as opposed to a regular ‘Miss. ’”

  “Yes, that is what is expected,” Philip said. The words felt like desert sand upon his tongue.

  “Yet there have been many occasions when I’ve known you to do the exact opposite of what was expected, Philip.”

  Philip studied his friend for several seconds before replying. “That was in Egypt. Turkey. Greece. This is England. I returned here to do what is expected of me.”

  “To marry someone you barely know. You’re abandoning the life you love abroad, your explorations, giving up your freedom.”

  This was a familiar argument between himself and Andrew. “I’m honoring an agreement that granted me my freedom for the past ten years. And between the British Museum and the private museum you and I plan to co-found, I shall have more than enough to keep me busy.”

  “I suppose. But you’ve given up a great deal. It certainly seems that you should have the woman you want. I myself would never marry for less than love.”

  Philip couldn’t contain his bark of surprised laughter. “I find it difficult to envision you in the role of lovesick suitor, Andrew. I’ve seen you in the company of numerous women over the years, yet none seemed to have captured your heart.”

  “Perhaps because my heart was already otherwise engaged.”

  Philip stared, nonplussed. Although it was sometimes difficult to determine if Andrew was speaking in jest, those quietly spoken words held no trace of amusement. He’d known Andrew for five years, had lived in close quarters with him all that time, shared life-and-death experiences with him, yet this was the first mention of this unrequited love.

  “Is your heart otherwise engaged?”

  A fleeting expression of what looked like pain flashed in Andrew’s eyes. Then a rueful, sheepish grin pulled up one corner of his mouth. “Caught.”

  Unable to hide his surprise, Philip asked, “Is she American?”

  “No. I met her years ago. During my travels.”

  “And you fell in love with her?”

  “Yes. My fate was sealed the moment I laid eyes upon her.”

  “Well, then why didn’t you marry her?”

  “Unfortunately the lady was already married.”

  “I see.” Silence settled over them while Philip digested this new information about his friend. “Do you love her still?” he finally asked.

  Once again their eyes met, and Philip was struck by the bleak expression in Andrew’s dark eyes. “I will always love her.”

  “Did she... love you in return?”

  “No.” The word came out as a harsh whisper. “She was true to her husband, to her marriage vows. She did not know of my feelings. She did nothing to encourage them. I simply lost my heart to her.”

  Philip tried to suppress his pity and amazement. He’d never seen Andrew so serious, so undone. So sad. Reaching out, he squeezed Andrew’s shoulder in a gesture of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Andrew. I had no idea.”

  “I know. And I’m not certain why I told you, except...” He shook his head, then pressed his lips together, as if having a difficult time forming the words, uncharacteristic of the normally unreserved Andrew. “I know you’re a man of integrity, Philip. A man of your word. A man who must choose a wife. I suppose I’m just hoping that you will choose... carefully. And follow your heart. I w
as not able to do so, and it is a pain I would not wish upon anyone, most especially my closest friend. Perhaps your betrothed marrying another was fate. A sign that you were meant for another.”

  Before Philip could fashion a reply, Andrew’s expression changed, replacing his air of melancholy with his normal lopsided grin. He inclined his head toward the chessboard and moved his queen. “Checkmate.”

  Philip shook Andrew’s hand, then turned toward Catherine and Miss Chilton-Grizedale who had arisen and were crossing the room. “Have you finished with the guest list?”

  “Yes. The invitations will be sent out tomorrow. And we can hope that by the evening after next, you will have found someone who appeals to you. Miss Chilton-Grizedale and I have made up a list of candidates that is certain to please you.”

  A knot settled in his stomach. “Excellent. Now we can only hope that I am able to break the curse. For if not, it doesn’t matter how perfect a woman you find for me, I will not be able to marry her.”

  Silence fell over the group like a shroud of fog. Finally Miss Chilton-Grizedale said, in her practical, brisk way, “I believe our best course is to remain hopeful. Nothing breeds bad luck more than a pessimistic outlook.” Her gaze wandered to the mantel clock. “Good heavens, I had no idea it was so late. I really must be going.”

  “I must go as well,” Catherine said.

  They all walked to the foyer, where Bakari called for both Philip’s and Catherine’s carriages.

  After tying her bonnet beneath her chin, Catherine hugged Philip. “Thank you for a delightful evening. I’ve missed sharing meals with you.”

  “Thank you for your help. If there is anything I can do—”

  “You can continue searching for the missing piece of stone so that the wedding can take place.” Turning toward Andrew, she inclined her head. “A pleasure, Mr. Stanton.”

  Andrew bowed over her gloved hand. “The pleasure was mine, Lady Bickley.”

  Philip walked Catherine down the walkway to the waiting carriage. After seeing her safely inside, he returned to the foyer, where Miss Chilton-Grizedale and Andrew were sharing a laugh over something. An uncomfortable wave of jealousy washed through him. He forced a smile, then reached for his walking stick.

  Andrew noted his walking stick and asked, “Going somewhere, Philip?”

  “I am seeing Miss Chilton-Grizedale home.”

  Her cheeks flooded with color. “That is not at all necessary, my lord. I would not wish to indispose you.”

  “I insist. Whereas my sister lives just down the road and has two footmen in addition to her coachman to protect her, you live quite a distance from here, and there are all manner of criminals who lurk about at night.” He raised his brows. “You’ve harped on my lack of decorum, yet when I make a gentlemanly gesture, you argue.”

  She appeared to bristle. “Harp? I prefer to call it reminding.”

  “I’m certain you do.”

  “There’s no point in arguing with him, Miss Chilton-Grizedale,” Andrew broke in. “Philip can be quite stubborn. Indeed, I suggest that you add ‘capable of putting up with pigheadedness’ on your list of qualities in his future wife.”

  She laughed. Humph. He didn’t think Andrew’s comment was particularly humorous. Then an enchanting smile lit Miss Chilton-Grizedale’s face—a smile directed at Andrew—a fact which further tensed Philip’s muscles.

  “I’ll add it as soon as I return home.” She held out her hand to Andrew. “Good evening, Mr. Stanton.”

  Andrew raised her hand and bestowed a kiss upon Miss Chilton-Grizedale’s gloved fingers—a kiss that, even to Philip’s dim memory of all things decorous, lasted considerably longer than was strictly proper. “A delight, Miss Chilton-Grizedale. I’ve not been fortunate enough to spend the evening in such lovely company for a long time. I hope we meet again soon.” Turning toward Philip, he said, “I’ll see you in the morning.” With that he climbed the stairs, heading toward his bedchamber.

  Philip escorted Miss Chilton-Grizedale to his waiting carriage, then settled himself on the velvet squabs directly across from her.

  The instant the door clicked shut, Meredith questioned the wisdom of allowing Lord Greybourne to escort her home. Only hours earlier, this coach had seemed spacious. Now it felt as if the interior did not contain enough air to breathe. She had only to reach out her hand to touch him. Looking down, she noted that the bronze skirt of her gown brushed his breeches. It was difficult to see his features in the dim interior, but she felt the weight of his regard. The intimacy of this dark, close space sped up her heart in a way she found most disturbing. She closed her eyes, hoping to erase the image of him sitting just across from her, but there was no escaping the knowledge he was there. His masculine scent invaded her senses, that lovely aroma of freshly laundered clothing and sandalwood, mixed with a musky fragrance she couldn’t identify. He smelled like no other man, and she knew that even blind she could pick him out of a crowd of thousands.

  “I thank you for your assistance this evening,” he said, his deep voice rising out of the dark shadows.

  Opening her eyes, she forced a smile, hoping that the dim interior would keep him from noting just how forced it was. “You’re welcome; however, your sister deserves much of the credit. With my reputation in disfavor, the successful outcome of this dinner party would be dubious indeed. However, I am hopeful that we shall find you another bride as well suited to you as Lady Sarah was.”

  “Not to put too fine a point on it, Miss Chilton-Grizedale, but it is obvious that Lady Sarah and I were not well suited at all—at least she did not find me at all suitable. Or attractive in any way.”

  “Lady Sarah was clearly daft.” Dear God, she had not meant to speak that thought out loud. Forcing her hands to remain folded on her lap as opposed to clamping them over her runaway lips, she stammered, “S-socially, you were suited in every way.”

  “Ah, yes. I suppose we were. But when one’s heart is otherwise engaged, as Lady Sarah’s clearly was with Lord Weycroft, that muddies the waters.”

  Relieved that he did not pursue her comment, Meredith raised her chin. “Actually, it does not muddy the waters at all, my lord. Lady Sarah’s affection for the baron would have faded with time once you and she were wed. It is simply a matter of mind over heart. The heart is willful and capricious. It does not know what is best, and, if listened to, will more often than not lead one toward an unwise path. The mind, however, is methodical and precise. Practical and sensible. When the heart and mind are at odds, one should always listen to the mind.”

  “Such a pragmatic, unromantic statement from a woman whose occupation it is to arrange marriages.”

  “The successful arrangement of marriages has nothing to do with romance, my lord, as I’d think a man in your position would know. My understanding of that concept is what has enabled me to be successful in my matchmaking endeavors. The advantageous combining of estates, political aspirations, families, and titles is what is important. Couples can develop a fondness for each other over time.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “Then they should strive for civility, with each pursuing their own interests.”

  “My interests lie in studying antiquities. In learning about people and civilizations from other corners of the world. I plan to be very involved with displays at the British Museum, and it is my intention to found a museum of my own. For me to pursue those interests alone sounds very... isolated. Lonely. As was much of my work abroad. I would much prefer a partner with whom I could share all things.”

  His deep voice wrapped around her like a cloak, seducing her with its warmth. She moistened her dry lips, and noted that his gaze flickered briefly down to her mouth. “Are you saying that you wish for me to make a love match for you? Because you must remember that due to your father’s illness, our time is limited.”

  “According to Andrew, it does not take long to fall in love.”

  She raised her brows. “He is an expert in such matter
s?”

  “I don’t know that I would call him that, but he is in love with someone.”

  They passed under a gas lamp, and Meredith saw he regarded her with a speculative expression. “You look disappointed at that news, Miss Chilton-Grizedale.”

  “I am, Lord Greybourne.”

  “May I inquire why?”

  She raised her chin a notch. “I’d hoped to offer Mr. Stanton my services to find him a bride.”

  For the space of half a dozen heartbeats, the only sound was the squeak of the carriage making its way slowly down the street. Then, to her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. Whatever she’d expected his reaction to be, it certainly hadn’t been amusement.

  Annoyance flooded her, an emotion that actually pleased her. Good. Certainly I cannot find an annoying man attractive.

  “I fail to see what is so amusing, my lord. Although it may not seem so to you, I assure you that prior to the debacle caused by your curse, my services as a matchmaker were highly sought after. Last year alone I arranged seven successful unions. The most notable of those, Miss Lydia Weymouth and Sir Percy Carmenster, was what convinced your father to seek out my services on your behalf.”

  His laughter tapered off, and shaking his head, he said, “Forgive me. I was not laughing at you, dear lady. Indeed, I was laughing at myself. Laughing because your words made me happy.”

  Meredith frowned. Happy? What had she said that could have possibly made him happy? She cast her mind back, but before she could reach an answer, he said, “With Andrew’s affections already spoken for, I’d say that means that you’ll simply have to devote all your attention to me.”

  Unfortunately, Meredith did not think that devoting all her attention to Lord Greybourne would prove difficult.

  And that scared her to death.

  When Philip arrived back home, he was greeted by an empty foyer. “Hello?” he said, removing his hat.