One Shot for a Gentleman
Ladies Always Shoot First
Book Three
Summer Hanford
A Scarsdale Publishing Half Hour Read
One Shot for a Gentleman Book Three Ladies Always Shoot First
Copyright © 2017 by Summer Hanford
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: R Jackson Designs
Cover Art: Period Images
SP
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Epilogue
Anything for a Lord
Chapter One
S omeone pounded on Nathan Mitchel’s chamber door. He cracked open his lids, and winced at the sunlight streaming into the airy room. He groaned. The hour was long before noon. Only one person would hammer on his door so early and with such vigor. His twin, Winston.
“Nathan, are you up?” Winston called.
“Certainly not. It can’t be half past ten,” he mumbled.
The door creaked open. Nathan snatched up a pillow and hurled it. It slammed into Winston’s face as he stuck his head inside. Nathan took some satisfaction in the muffled curse. When a kick sent the pillow flying, he wished the available weapon had been more substantial, like a boot.
Winston shut the door and faced Nathan, eyes serious under unruly blond curls. “I have a favor to ask.”
Nathan sighed. He drew himself upright and leaned against the headboard. “Is that another new suit?”
“What if it is?” Winston stood straighter. He turned to the floor length mirror near the window and adjusted his cuffs.
“You’ll bleed father dry.”
“Hardly.”
“I haven’t been to the tailor in ages. Give me the next one.”
“Who says I ordered more?”
Nathan snorted. Winston always ordered more. That’s why Nathan never need go to the tailor. “Father’s money should be put to the best use. I have the more striking build.”
“Don’t be absurd. Even our mother can’t tell us apart.”
That was true, but others could. Their mother was a bit on the flighty side. “Why have you woken me at this ungodly hour?” Nathan narrowed his blue eyes. “Why are you awake—and dressed?”
With a dramatic sigh, Winston flopped down in an armchair near the mirror. “I’m in love.”
Nathan stared. Winston had been disappearing often of late, but Nathan never thought to hear those words from his brother. He’d assumed some more reasonable cause, like horse racing.
“Steady on now. In love? Have you lost your wits?”
Winston shook his head. “I wish. That would be more bearable than each moment away from her.”
Good God, he had gone mad. “Away from whom? What paragon of womanhood has taken you off the market?”
“Miss Lydia.”
“That little blonde bit? The one who looks like a strong wind would carry her off? Snotty Parkin’s little cousin, in for the season from the countryside?” What would any man want with a scrawny bit of nothing like that?
“She’s an angel, and Parkin doesn’t care to be called Snotty.”
“Well, I don’t care to be woken before noon. We must all suffer.” Nathan sat up straighter. “Wait, isn’t she a Kirkland, Baron le Fount’s niece?” Le Fount was their father’s enemy in his business ventures, and the man they knew, but couldn’t prove, had tried to ransom their family members.
Winston nodded. “She is.”
“Father will have a fit. You can’t be in love with a girl related to le Fount.”
“The heart cannot be dictated to,” Winston said in officious tones. “Besides, they say family is all to that man. Perhaps the union will be an olive branch.”
Nathan shook his head. “I don’t care what sort of branch it is. I’m not getting involved.”
Winston leaned forward, expression beseeching. “I don’t need much. Only for you to pretend to be me and escort Mother this evening. She’s dead set on me and this dance. I don’t want to confess about Lydia until we’ve executed our plan. Once we do, even Father will insist I marry her, related to le Fount or not.”
“Marriage?” A word more shocking than love.
“That is what a man does with the woman he loves.” Winston’s expression was as serious as Nathan had ever seen it.
“You truly mean to marry this girl?” Nathan asked.
“I do.”
Nathan shook his head, surprised at the determination in his brother’s voice. Still, Winston in love didn’t mean Nathan must suffer. “That’s all very well, this love thing, but I took my turn escorting Mother yesterday. Three hours at the millinery.” Nathan shuddered. “Can’t your plan take place tomorrow?”
“There’s a full moon this evening.”
Fit for Bedlam. “Well, yes, a full moon. That explains it.” Nathan pointed to the door. “Out.”
“You don’t understand. Lydia said she’s always dreamed that when she’s asked for her hand, it will be in the garden, under a full moon. I won’t have another chance for ages.”
“I hardly call four weeks ages.”
“Come on, Nate, escort Mum to her soiree for me. You know Father only let us in from the countryside on the condition she never goes out alone.”
That was true. Since the ransom attempt, Father was perpetually worried about the safety of their family. In all good conscience, Nathan couldn’t let their mother go alone, as she was apt to do if Winston didn’t turn up, something that seemed all but guaranteed by his mad state.
“I don’t see why I have to go as you.”
Winston shrugged. “She asked me special. I don’t wish to disappoint her.”
Nathan could think of several replies to that, but arguing with Winston served only to keep him awake. “Fine, but I get one of your new suits. I must look the part. Now out.”
Winston stood. “Certainly. I’ve no more time for you as it is. I’ve a secret meeting with Lydia in the park.”
The besotted look on Winston’s face as he left was enough to make a man lose his breakfast. Fortunately, Nathan hadn’t eaten yet. He settled back into bed and returned to sleep.
Chapter Two
H ours later found Nathan in a carriage with his mother, who was wont to talk continuously as they rode. As dearly as he loved her, he’d long ago opted for the strategy of only half listening. Gaze out the window, he offered the occasional nod. That was enough to carry his side of the conversation.
“…going to love Miss Delilah Cartwell,” she said as they neared their destination. “I’m so pleased you finally agreed to meet her. You won’t be disappointed. Mattie says she’s perfection, and I’ve seen the girl. Quite elegant. Statuesque.”
Nathan’s head snapped around. “Miss Cartwell?”
“Yes. You haven’t forgotten, have you? That is why you had to come with me tonight. Mattie has her niece and nephew in from the country.” His mother clasped her hands before her, face alight with h
appiness.
Nathan sat, stunned, as her meaning clarified in his mind.
“Oh, how we’ve dreamed of this, Mattie and I, since we were girls,” she said. “Being family. It’s so sad Mattie had all sons, but she loves her niece dearly.” Mother leaned forward and patted him on the knee. “Now, you only have to dance with her, Winston, and I understand you never gave your word, but I’m sure you’ll be smitten.”
“Yes, well, we’ll see.” He was going to pummel Winston to within an inch of his life. Nathan wasn’t there to escort their mother. He was there to meet some country Miss. Not any country Miss, but niece to Lady Matilda Cartwell, their mother’s dearest friend.
They arrived, and Nathan seethed as he assisted his mother down from the carriage, then all through the receiving line. He regained his composure as they entered the vast ballroom. All he need do was dance with the girl, after all. Taking in the sea of inviting creatures, all primped and plumped for his perusal, he couldn’t imagine it would be that terrible an experience. He was still going to beat the snot out of Winston, though.
Lady Matilda hadn’t the luxury of leaving her post yet, but she’d directed them toward the punch table. Nathan molded his features into a fashionably bored expression and escorted his mother across the room. Curl-bedecked heads turned as they passed. Eyelashes batted. Fans covered whispered conversations. With wavy blond hair, six feet of stature and deep blue eyes, Nathan was accustomed to eliciting the most advantageous reactions from the fairer sex. He took it as his due.
Nathan assessed the array of beauties about the punch table as they neared. Any one of them would be tolerable for a set. At least, to look at. Some wore the vapid expression he’d learned to associate with the sort of mindless babbling that set a man’s teeth on edge.
“Miss Cartwell,” his mother called.
A young woman turned at the name. Nearly as tall as Nathan, her auburn locks glinted fiery red in the candlelight. Pressure on his arm kept him moving forward, for he would have halted at the sight of her.
Statuesque, his mother had said. A more apt word had never been chosen. Miss Cartwell’s long, lithe form was a sculptor’s dream. Her skin smooth and glowing like fine marble. They halted before her and her perfectly bowed lips turned up at the corner, bringing art to life. Her blue eyes warmed as she dipped a curtsy.
“Missus Mitchel, how lovely to see you again.”
Her voice was honey, low and sweet. She turned to him, expectant. Nathan nodded in greeting. He hoped he didn’t appear as dumbstruck as he felt.
“This is my son, Winston. I’m certain your aunt mentioned him,” his mother said.
“Mister Mitchel, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Her smile was for him now.
He couldn’t help but return it. “Miss Cartwell.”
Silence drew out. Nathan knew he was required to say more. No words would come. Had more perfect lips ever existed?
“Your mother tells me you enjoy riding,” Miss Cartwell said.
“Ah, yes.” Or eyes so perfect summer-sky blue?
His mother kicked him, the action hidden beneath the skirts of her dress.
He started. “Ah, would you care to dance, Miss Cartwell?”
“I would be honored, if you can contend with my poor skills. I’m afraid London steps are new to me. I come off a bit bumbling.”
“Impossible.”
“I assure you, it is very possible.”
Nathan couldn’t believe that. She’d only turned, yes, but her form held the grace and strength of the finest Friesian.
She cast a confused look at his mother.
Nathan realized he hadn’t kept up his side of the conversation once again. He wracked his brain, but the only thoughts that came to him applied to her attributes. Few would be appropriate to voice aloud.
“How do you find the weather, Mister Mitchel?” Miss Cartwell asked.
“Fine. Quite fine. Pleasant for riding.” He tugged at his cravat. It hadn’t seemed so tight when he tied it.
“Missus Mitchel,” a woman called.
Nathan hardly spared a glance as his mother turned away to greet the newcomer.
Miss Cartwell leaned nearer, offering a tantalizing view of her décolletage. “You mustn’t dance with me if you’d rather not, Mister Mitchel,” she whispered. “I’ve no desire to spoil your evening. This whole idea of us getting on is between your mother and my aunt.” Wryness and a touch of pain shone in her eyes. “I do understand any agreement on your part was before you saw me. I know I’m a great big clod of a country Miss.”
Nathan stared. A clod? She was a goddess. Sculpture come to life. “There is nothing more I wish in the entirety of the world than to dance with you, Miss Cartwell.” He kept his voice equally low, enjoying the feel of a shared secret.
Artless blue eyes searched his face. “Truly?”
“Very truly.”
“Miss Cartwell.” A gentleman stepped up beside her. “A set is about to begin, would you care—”
“She would not.” Nathan took Delilah Cartwell’s hand and placed it on his arm. He gave the offending gentleman a hard look. “She is claimed for this set.”
“Then, perhaps—”
Nathan led her away, leaving the man stuttering in their wake. “Cad,” he muttered.
“I beg your pardon?” she said, sounding a bit breathless.
He slowed to a less restive pace as they reached the other couples lining up for the set. “Cads. The lot of them.” He gestured about the room.
“Are they?” she asked.
“If they wish to dance with you, they are. I am dancing with you.”
“But you cannot dance with me all evening, and this is a dance, is it not?” Mischief lurked in her eyes. “I believe they call it that for a reason.”
Nathan raised his eyebrows. Was she teasing him? He contemplated the idea as the set began. The first dance was an old-fashioned reel, and Delilah’s grace belied her earlier assertion. She was correct in one thing, though. It was a dance, in a room filled with men, all looking for a partner. Looking at her.
The idea of relinquishing her to another sparked fury. What had she said about herself, a clod of a country Miss? Anger coiled inside him. Why would she think that unless some man had made her feel it? They were unworthy of her, the lot of them.
For she was unlike any previous partner. Taller and more elegant than other women, there was no one to look at but her. Nathan didn’t even notice the other participants in the set. Only Delilah, her powder blue gown whispering about her figure as she sailed across the floor.
The moment the set ended, the scoundrels circled. “Dance a second set with me,” Nathan asked, voice low.
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away as he led her to a place in line. Voices murmured. Looks were cast askance. He didn’t care.
He couldn’t tear his gaze from her, and it seemed the second set finished almost before it began. He wracked his brain for some way to prolong their time together. She exerted gentle pressure on his arm, indicating she wished to leave the dance floor. Reluctantly, Nathan complied. A determined-looking gentleman veered toward them. Not relinquishing the hand on his arm, Nathan angled away.
“Take a turn with me.” He led her in a wide arc around the dancers.
She cast him a contemplative look, but again made no protest.
“Are you enjoying London, Miss Cartwell?”
“I am, though I do love Kent this time of year.”
“Oh?” Why did her presence rob him of the art of conversation?
She smiled. “Yes. It’s quite fine. Pleasant for riding.”
Nathan chuckled, earning shocked looks from two older ladies they passed. “Do you enjoy riding?” he asked. She would be magnificent on a steed, moving in perfect concert with the animal’s grace.
“Very much. I should miss it terribly, but my dearest friend is in town with me, visiting her cousins, as well, so we go every morning. Unfashionably early, I’m afraid. I�
��ve grown quite familiar with the park.”
“How early is unfashionable?”
“Eight, generally. I’m afraid I really am quite the country Miss.”
Eight? Ghastly. “Perhaps I may join you.” Delilah was worth waking early for.
She smiled up at him and his world suddenly brightened. “I should like that,” she said.
A gentleman appeared in their path. Nathan was forced to stop. “Miss Cartwell, would you care to take the next set with me?” the man asked.
Nathan cursed his inattention, allowing the blighter to get close. “I am escorting Miss Cartwell onto the terrace. She’s feeling overset and requires air.” He added to that a glare that set the fop back a pace.
“Perhaps later, then,” the man muttered, and fled.
“You terrified the poor fellow,” she said, the amusement in her tone negating any reprimand.
“If one look from me sends him scuttling away, he’s not worthy of a set with you.”
They stepped out onto the terrace. Other couples and groups stood about, but there was room enough near the railing to speak without being overheard. They reached the open space. She halted. Nathan turned, struck anew by her beauty, luminous in the moonlight.
She looked up at him through long lashes. “It was a very fierce look you gave that gentleman.”
“Was it?” Gazing into her eyes, the world around him faded. Sound, sight, even scent narrowed to the two of them. He was half convinced no one would notice should he kiss her. He stepped closer.
“It was the sort of look that might make a lady feel, that is…” She dropped her gaze, searching the stone at their feet for words. “Make a lady feel as if a gentleman cares.”
“And if a gentleman does care?” Were those words his? They were mad, yet he wouldn’t hold them back.
“Then it seems very sudden.”
“Too sudden?” It would kill him if she said yes. Good God, he was as fit for Bedlam as Winston. His world had transformed the moment he set eyes on Delilah. There was no way to change it back. He’d no wish to.
“I suppose that would depend on how the lady feels,” she murmured.
One Shot for a Gentleman (Ladies Always Shoot First Book 3) Page 1
