“Neither. It was simply some poor souls that found themselves in hospital. How dare they have the nerve to become ill whilst there are parties to attend!”
Amelia rolled her eyes. “Enough about you, let’s talk about me,” Amelia primped her hair. “You are aware that James and his wife are in town for the Season? Well, there is a rumor that she is finally with child. Though James frequents the club so often I haven’t the faintest idea how she came about being enceinte in the first place.”
“Still playing cards then?” Ambrosia asked. James came from a long line of card players, none of whom had been very talented and were a bit of disservice to the game, really.
Amelia folded her arms in front of her chest. “Playing would imply that he’s actually winning some of the time. More correctly, James is still losing at cards.”
Ambrosia nodded, not surprised in the least. “Ah, I see. Well, it’s a good thing he has the ducal inheritance to squander then, isn’t it?”
Amelia didn’t answer straight away and the two girls walked in silence for a bit.
Ambrosia looked up toward the bright sky. The clouds were moving quickly, threatening to clear off the perpetual overcast that plagued London. “My mother received correspondence from your old friend, the Earl, this morning. She extended him an invitation to our ball, though I abhor the idea it becoming an exhibition like that of Lord and Lady Montgomery’s.”
“Lord Bristol,” Amelia exclaimed, clasping her hands to her chest.
“Yes, of course. Whomever else would I be referring to? There’s only one man that I’m aware of whom possesses the power to make any event revolve around him and his exploits.”
Amelia stopped walking. “Whatever are you going on about? Look, it’s Lord Bristol sitting right over there on that bench.”
Ambrosia followed the direction of Amelia’s gaze and saw the Earl a mere few feet away. He was indeed sitting on a bench and it appeared he was reading a book. At that very moment, the sun poked holes through the cloud cover to shine its light upon the park and all its inhabitants. The Earl closed his book and turned his face up, searching for sunlight, then allowing himself to bask in its warmth once he had found it. The scene was breathtaking, and for a brief moment Ambrosia was overcome.
“How beautiful,” she whispered. She had never used such a term to describe a man before. And even then, her description fell short. His particular beauty was surely the reason there were painters on earth. She was certain the clouds parted directly over his precise location just so the heavens could get a peak.
She quickly turned her face away. Ambrosia knew better than to stare directly at the sun for its dizzying and blinding affect. Presumably, the same rules applied to male splendor.
She looked uneasily at Amelia, convinced her inner dialogue was transcribed all over her face.
“Yes, beautiful day,” Amelia replied cheerfully, dim as ever. “I’m so glad I opted to come out today. Unseasonably warm and it looks as if the sun’s appearance might actually last the afternoon. What a lovely day this is starting to become!”
Duncan’s moment of solitude, enjoying the sun’s warmth, was interrupted by an intuitive feeling that he was no longer alone.
“Good day, Lord Bristol,” a voice called from the path.
Recognizing the voice of James’ sister, Amelia, he slowly opened his eyes.
Then he recognized her walking partner—Miss Ambrosia Tisdale. As he set his book on the bench and began to rise to greet the ladies, he took note of her appearance. She looked lovely in her pink striped walking dress and perfectly coiffed hair. But then again, he couldn’t imagine a woman like Miss Tisdale tolerating looking anything but . . . perfect.
“Good day, Lady Middlebury.” He bowed. “And good day to you, Miss Tisdale.” He bowed again, fixing his eyes on hers, never looking away.
Miss Tisdale curtsied politely and mumbled something about the weather being unseasonably warm.
Hardly the response he was looking for.
“Yes, it is truly a good day to be out of doors. Out of doors and amongst such beauty,” he added, gaze intently focused, narrowed on his target.
“Is there something wrong with your eyes?” Ambrosia asked, her voice firm.
Duncan gave her his best lopsided grin, a look he had perfected in order to evoke just the right amount of irresistible boyish charm. “Quite the contrary. I believe I am seeing things, people really, more clearly than I had before.”
Ambrosia narrowed her own gaze toward him. “You keep squinting. Does that commonly occur whilst you read? The same thing happened to my sister, Rose, and she had to start wearing spectacles. Perhaps you need spectacles, Lord Bristol? Or if it is not your failing eyesight it could be something a bit more grave. Possibly the start of some sort of eye ailment? You should hope for the spectacles, I have heard eye ailments may have quite serious effects and are said to be quite terribly uncomfortable.”
Duncan’s shoulders sank slightly.
He had agreed with James that the best, well, at least the quickest, way to accomplish his Uncle’s request would be to marry Miss Tisdale. James had insisted on orchestrating an elaborate plan, though Duncan believed the extra effort was unnecessary. He was, after all, quite confident in his abilities and didn’t see how the seduction of some rigid would-be spinster could prove any difficulty. He would simply stand by and be himself, and let her come to him.
After all, she had been willing enough in the Montgomery’s library.
Only she hadn’t come to him. Quite the opposite, really. In fact, if he were a vain type of man, he would go so far as to suspect the chit was purposefully avoiding him.
Kenning had made certain that Duncan received an invitation to every possible social gathering within a day’s travel of London. In turn, Duncan had gallantly made the effort to attend every musicale, every drum, every rout, and every dinner party that he received invitation to, only to find that Miss Tisdale was never in attendance. It was as if she had dropped out of society altogether.
And truth be told, it was particularly challenging to seduce a woman that you never actually saw.
To add insult to injury, he had learned that one of the betting books at White’s held a long running challenge regarding the engagement of Miss Tisdale. Apparently, faith was running low and the wagers rewarding her potential spinsterhood had increased dramatically. It would appear the task was far less feasible than he had initially believed.
And so, here he was. He had resorted to espionage, obtaining information from James’ sister that resulted in Duncan’s calculated positioning at Hyde so as to intercept the two ladies during their promenade.
Finally, the due diligence had paid off. The hunter had found its prey and his plan could at last be set in motion.
He had set an unfortunate precedent, having teased her mercilessly at every encounter. And there was the inconvenient truth of his reputation that he would need to overcome. But he still had quite a bit of charm, so despite the obvious barriers, the task of courting Miss Tisdale should have been easy enough. He was a celebrated rakehell, after all, and the seduction of some naïve chit was no match for his arsenal of well-honed skills.
Which is precisely why she should have blushed when he spoke of her beauty, not muttered some rubbish about the weather. And she should have giggled incessantly when he gave her his best smoldering look, not accuse him of being inflicted with some sort of infectious eye disease.
He could charm the chemise off a governess in less than an hour—Miss Tisdale should at least have the good manners to pretend to be affected.
All should haves and no action made Duncan an irritable man.
Fancying himself some sort of marriage mercenary, he adjusted his tactics and the compulsory small talk began. He asked after Amelia’s family, she in turn inquired after the well-being of his uncle, whose illness had recently become general knowledge throughout the Ton. All the while, he observed Ambrosia out of the corner of his eye, unwittingl
y cognizant of her evasiveness. She seemed to make every effort to avoid actually looking at him and never bothered to comment unless he actually questioned her directly. Even then, she gave a simple, one syllable response.
She was the epitome of civility. Cold civility.
But Duncan didn’t want civility. He knew underneath her gracious façade lay a streak of fierceness. And where there was intensity, there was passion. He wanted a reaction.
“Miss Tisdale, are you ill?”
She took a breath before looking at him. “I feel perfectly fine. Why do you ask?”
“You don’t seem to be acting yourself today.”
“May I inquire as to exactly just how I should be acting?” she asked curtly.
“Spirited.”
Amelia laughed and playfully smacked his arm with her fan. “Spirited? Miss Tisdale? Nothing could be further from the truth. Why, she’s the very picture of composure. Obviously, you do not know Miss Tisdale very well. Perhaps you have confused her with one of her sisters again.”
He nodded in agreement. “Perhaps. Though, I would like to clarify the issue further at Lady Tisdale’s ball. I would so like for us to become more familiar with one another. I feel we have a great deal in common.”
Ambrosia’s features seemed almost tranquil, not at all near the end he was working toward. “I can assure you, Lord Bristol, that we have little, if anything at all, in common. I doubt a ball would be of any help in proving otherwise.”
“Really, absolutely not one similarity,” Amelia added just for good measure.
Duncan thought for a moment. This meek girl was not the woman he had met before, which made him even more intent on provoking her. “Are you suggesting, then, that I come to call on you?”
The game was a bit like poking at a resting animal with a stick.
Ambrosia vehemently shook her head in disagreement, appalled by his insinuation. “That is certainly not in the least as to what I am suggesting.”
He smiled, genuinely entertained by her immediate response.
“But how else are we to learn more about each other if the ball is not the most appropriate place to do so?”
“There is little you need to learn about me, Lord Bristol.”
“Pish! I can think of any number of things. For example, do all your sisters have such lovely eyes?” Poke.
“Pardon me?” she stuttered, obviously taken aback by such boldness.
“Trouble hearing? Allow me to speak louder. I was referring to your eyes. They are the most lovely color of blue,” he bellowed, knowing good and well that she heard him just fine.
Ambrosia stood up a bit straighter, supported by what he assumed to be righteous indignation making her at least an inch taller. “I suppose I did hear you correctly the first time.”
“They’re the first thing I noticed about you. Could it be that all your sisters are so fortunate to have such stunning eyes?” Poke.
She glared at him. “There is nothing stunning whatsoever about my eyes. I have two of them as do all my sisters. Quite ordinary, really.”
“Your eyes are hardly what I would consider to be ordinary. They are such a deep blue—like the sea.”
Though at the moment, Duncan acknowledged that her stare resembled nothing of the sea. Rather, it was a bit like slate—hard and unyielding. But still, it wasn’t stone he was after. He knew first hand that behind closed doors Miss Tisdale was not stone. Ambrosia Tisdale was a bit more like clay—turning warm and pliable under his touch.
“So, it is settled. You promise to save a dance for me then?” Poke.
“I’ve done nothing of the sort!”
He arched an eyebrow. “Well, if you won’t save me a dance, then I will be forced to call on you at your home and discuss the matter further.”
There was the flush of color he had been hoping to see! It spread across her cheeks and traveled downward till it vanished below the high neckline of her gown. Duncan found himself curious as to just how low that blush dipped.
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “I will save you a dance. One dance.”
“I shall hold you to your word, Miss Tisdale,” he threatened playfully.
“I’m certain you will,” she replied . . . not nearly as playfully.
“I shall also save you a dance,” interjected Amelia. “I simply love dancing. Mama made certain that James and I were instructed by the finest tutors from the continent. A reel, perhaps?”
He reluctantly shifted his attention from the uncomfortable Miss Tisdale to the uninspiring Lady Middlebury. The rest of the conversation was inconsequential, but was over soon enough when Amelia noticed an acquaintance of hers making her way down the walking path. Ambrosia bid him an enjoyable rest of the day, as was the expected response, and followed her friend.
Duncan watched Ambrosia walk away, her pace slow and deliberate. He had hoped that somewhere underneath her calm exterior she was the tiniest bit affected. Had he caused her even the slightest stirrings as he now felt? Could she be warm with the sensual memory of their tongues intertwining during that first meeting in the library?
He silently willed her to look back, just once, to validate his efforts. Just one casual glance over her divinely slender shoulder.
But she never did.
Duncan watched her walk for as long as she was visible. She nodded politely to those she knew and occasionally stopped to engage in polite conversation. He watched her disappear into the distance until she was nothing but an outline dressed in pale pink.
A perfectly shaped pink outline.
If he was going to be married, then he could do far worse than Miss Tisdale. Suggesting he seduce her into a compromising position was tantamount to asking a thirsty man if he’d care for a glass of water. Since that first kiss, he had remembered exactly how firm her waist felt under his hands. His fingers burned where they had grazed the gentle slope of her ribcage under her breasts. And her breasts . . . well, he hadn’t had the opportunity to feel them, but that hadn’t stopped his imagination from remembering just how magnificent they were.
Duncan quickly commanded his treacherous mind back to the task at hand. He wasn’t seducing Miss Tisdale for sport or personal pleasure. It was a means to an end. It mattered little his personal attraction, for their marriage would be based on simple convenience and nothing more. After all, he knew he would never make a suitable husband. The best he could ever offer a woman was his discretion.
Discretion was something his parents were never able to accomplish, he mused ruefully.
Duncan began walking in the opposite direction, leaving his book upon the bench. It had been a prop, a suggestion from Kenning to make him appear more cerebral and therefore less rakish. But then he stopped and looked back, as if he’d forgotten something.
He hadn’t forgotten, rather he was remembering. Duncan inhaled deeply, catching the distinct scent of mint in the air, the bouquet that Miss Tisdale left trailing behind wherever she went.
Chapter 9
“You have a caller, Miss Tisdale,” the butler announced from the doorway of the drawing room.
“Who is it?” Tamsin asked earnestly.
Ambrosia continued her embroidery. “It is inconsequential as to whom it may be. It is Tuesday, after all, and we do not entertain callers at this hour on Tuesdays.” She finally put the hoop down and turned her attention to the butler. “If you would be so kind as to obtain our guest’s card, I shall return the call as I see fit.”
Ambrosia kept a schedule and only an act of God could keep her from it.
The butler brought a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. “I cannot do that, Miss Tisdale. Lady Tisdale has instructed that no gentleman callers be turned away.”
Or, the act of a relentless mother, it would seem.
“It’s a gentleman!” Tamsin said derisively, tossing her embroidery aside in a hopeless tangle of rainbows on the floor.
Ambrosia bit her lip. Her mother must be growing desperate.
She picked up her hoop and began untangling a strand of vermillion embroidery floss. “Of course, how foolish of me. I must have forgotten. You may show the gentleman in.”
The butler bowed and disappeared from the doorway.
“I thought you’d rejected all the men in London? Surely, none of those poor gentleman would return for a second refusal?” Tamsin shook her head, causing red curls to escape a poorly constructed bun at her nape. “Men! Not a lick of sense amongst the lot. You’d think once would be enough, but they just don’t give up, do they?”
Ambrosia sighed heavily. “I have not rejected every man. Granted, there may have been a significant number of men, but that’s no reason to resort to exaggeration. And you make it sound as if I’m cruel about it.”
“Hardly cruel,” Tamsin agreed. “Your refusals are some of the most polite I’ve ever heard. So polite I’m certain they thank you after you’ve broken their hearts and shattered their dreams.”
Ambrosia stretched her neck a bit, trying to loosen the growing tension. That same tension had a tendency to develop whenever Tamsin was near. “Kindly resume you’re needlework.”
“The Earl of Bristol,” the butler announced without any sort of vocal embellishment, as would be expected. Yet the response those words incited was comparable to that of announcing the Prince Regent himself.
Ambrosia drew a sharp breath and clutched her chest. Tamsin, not nearly as refined, gasped aloud.
How did he find her?
The answer was obvious—her mother had, after all, sent him an invitation to their ball. The more sensible question would be why was he here? He had teased her mercilessly in the park and her only defense was cold indifference. But he spoke to her so frankly, she found it impossible to resist sparring back. She had to hand it to him—the man knew how to get under her skin.
And if he was so adept at something like that, it made her question what else he’d be able to get under?
“Miss Tisdale,” Lord Bristol bowed upon entering the room. The man was dressed casually, sporting a navy coat instead of his typical black. His hair appeared to be slightly wet, remnants of a morning bath, and was tucked casually behind his ears. It was not the current style by any means, but somehow it suited him.
Compromising Miss Tisdale Page 6
