Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set

by Julie Ortolon

  After a few minutes, she glanced at the tall-case clock that sat against a wall. Ten twenty.

  Lord Ribblesdon droned on, describing his octagonal breakfast room, which apparently boasted an unusual chandelier. Next he waxed enthusiastic about a pond on his property that was filled with notable fish.

  Why did these dances have to go on so very long? An hour passed, and she glanced at the clock again.

  Ten twenty-five.

  Catching Griffin’s gaze across the hall, she gave him a tight smile. He shrugged and nodded, looking around for another candidate. She figured he’d been successful when he positioned himself at the edge of the dance floor to wait for her.

  “I need to sit,” she told him when the dance that would never end finally did. This time she headed for the small room where they’d set up refreshments and took a chair there. “Ahh,” she breathed as she dropped onto it.

  He snatched a few marzipan fruits and brought them to the table with two cups of punch. “What was wrong with him?” he asked, sitting beside her.

  “The same thing that’s wrong with every other man here tonight. They have nothing to say of significance.” She munched on a miniature apple, hoping the sweet almond paste confection would revive her. “They talk only about themselves. Or their property.”

  He devoured a piece of marzipan in two bites. “Their goal is to impress you. What else should they talk about?”

  “Why should they think I’ll be impressed by the number of acres they own or the new horse they just bought at Tattersall’s?” She drained the cup of tepid punch, telling herself it was refreshing. “I trust you wouldn’t introduce me to anyone of insufficient means or a man after nothing but my dowry. I don’t particularly care what these gentlemen own; I’d much rather know what they think.”

  “About what?”

  “Life. The state of the kingdom. Walter Scott’s latest book. Anything.”

  “Have you asked them?”

  “No,” she admitted to both her brother and herself. She hadn’t. She’d let the men lead both the dances and the conversations, but perhaps it would be best to take the latter into her own hands. “I’ll try that. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Ah,” he added, rising. “Here comes Lord Sandborough now.”

  The next dance was a waltz, and Lord Sandborough was a superb waltzer. If it felt a bit odd to be held by a strange man, at least he was a dashing one. He had golden hair and merry green eyes, and his evening clothes hung nicely on his well-proportioned frame.

  As they glided over the floor, she decided that, yes, she could imagine marrying this man. She considered giving him the look, but instead she cast about for a good question, finally remembering one she’d asked Tris. “Do you believe there is only one perfect person for each of us in this world?”

  “Indeed.” He smiled, displaying nice teeth. “And I’m certain my person is you.”

  He didn’t even know her! Suddenly he wasn’t so dashing. Stupidity—not to mention insincerity—had a way of tarnishing a person’s appearance.

  Griffin introduced her to five more men, one after the other, and she danced on her aching feet with all of them. Three of them claimed she was their perfect person. Lord Jamestone said yes, he believed there was only one perfect person for each of them in this world, but alas, his lady had died. Though he assured her he was willing to settle for second best, for some reason she couldn’t see herself in that role.

  The fifth man apparently couldn’t wrap his mind around the question. He simply declared that his mother had often assured him nobody was perfect. Alexandra assumed that was because he was very imperfect indeed.

  She couldn’t recall his name, but privately christened him Lord Sapskull.

  Though the long great hall could be accessed from the dining room on one end and a corridor leading to the guest chambers on the other, it also had its own impressive entrance in the middle, complete with a grand staircase from the quadrangle. As the dance with Lord Sapskull came to its blessed end, three late guests appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “Rachael!” Alexandra cried, hurrying to meet them. “And Claire and Elizabeth!” One by one, she wrapped Rachael and her sisters in welcoming hugs.

  Her own sisters appeared, too, and the hugs were repeated.

  “We’re sorry,” Rachael apologized. “I was certain we’d be your very first arrivals, but a carriage wheel broke on the way.”

  Though their estates adjoined, Cainewood Castle was at one end of Griffin’s property, and Rachael’s home was at the far end of Greystone. It took a good two hours to ride between them in a carriage, even one with all its wheels intact. “I understand,” Alexandra assured her. “You’ll stay the night, won’t you?”

  “Absolutely.” Rachael’s smile was impish. “We wouldn’t want to miss the breakfast. Seeing how everyone looks in the morning is much more amusing than the actual ball.”

  They all shared a laugh. “All of you look lovely,” Juliana said.

  Claire, the middle sister, grinned. “Since Noah wasn’t home to consult, we decided he would want us to have new dresses.” She twirled in hers, white lace over pale violet satin with a neckline every bit as low as Alexandra’s. Her unusual amethyst eyes danced, and she’d teased some of her curly raven hair into little ringlets that framed her face. At nineteen, Claire was already an accomplished flirt. “Do you like it?”

  “How about mine?” Elizabeth, a year younger, wore blue and green stripes. They went well with her green eyes and the sleek dark hair she’d swept up into her feathered headdress. She dipped into a deep curtsy worthy of royalty. “My lady.”

  Alexandra laughed as she took her hand to help her rise. “You’re more than ready for presentation at court.” Along with Alexandra’s sisters, Elizabeth would be coming out next year. “And you’re both stunning.”

  But neither of them could match their eldest sister. A dress of poppy-red muslin sprigged with gold clung to Rachael’s slim curves. Double rows of gold lace embellished the bodice and hem, and a broad band of gold lace circled the high waistline. Her hair was tucked into a headdress of gold and poppy satin, and the loose strands that framed her face weren’t curled like her sisters’, but left to fall in soft waves.

  “May I paint you in that dress?” Corinna asked reverently.

  “When Noah gets home, perhaps I’ll be able to find time to sit.”

  “By the lake, I think,” Corinna said, staring into the distance in that way she did when she was envisioning a painting.

  Glancing around, Alexandra smiled to herself when she spotted Griffin staring at Rachael. He swiftly turned away, making her laugh again.

  “What?” Rachael asked.

  “Nothing.” Alexandra knew she wouldn’t appreciate his interest. “I expect dozens of men are waiting to dance with you all, so let me take your reticules and put them in the ladies’ retiring room.”

  She took their three pretty little bags and started across the hall toward the small side room they’d designated for the ladies’ use. A succession of feminine gasps followed by the low hiss of whispered murmurings made her stop and look over her shoulder. Her gaze swept the great hall, searching for the cause of the commotion.

  At the far end of the room, Tris stood, his chin held high.

  Her first thought was that he’d look better in gray, to match his eyes. Her second thought was that he couldn’t possibly look any better.

  His tall, lean form was breathtaking decked out in clothes for the ball. The formal suit was rather dated—the dark blue tailcoat would always be classic, but his white knee breeches were five years out of fashion, as were the ruffled white cuffs that peeked from beneath the coat’s sleeves. Tris wouldn’t have brought evening apparel along with him, so the outfit had likely belonged to her father or her brother Charles. He must have asked a valet to scare it up. But since several other country gentlemen hadn’t bothered to update their wardrobes to the latest London offered, he didn’t really look out of
place.

  Yet if the reaction of their other guests was any indication, he didn’t belong here—and his clothing had nothing to do with it.

  It wasn’t that anyone confronted him. To the contrary, they all backed away, clearly snubbing him by keeping their distance. By the time she reached him—at the same moment as Griffin—he stood very much alone.

  “You’d best turn up your noses,” he drawled in a dry tone, “else your guests may conclude you think me worthy of more than the cut direct.”

  “You are worthy,” Alexandra returned hotly.

  Griffin was much more composed. “I thought you were determined not to attend.”

  Tris shrugged his elegantly clad shoulders. “I changed my mind. Quite obviously a dismal decision.” His steely gaze skimmed the disapproving crowd. “It seems they have long memories.”

  Alexandra seethed at the sight of so many women whispering behind their fans. “How can they ‘remember’ something that never happened?”

  “Regardless of the events leading up to it—or the lack thereof—the scandal happened, I can assure you.” Tris managed a cool smile, which Alexandra imagined was for the benefit of their other guests. “It was very real.”

  “It was very wrong.” She wasn’t sure which made her more angry: her rude guests or Tris’s nonchalant acceptance of their attitude. “Come dance with me. I wish to show them we’re not swayed by their misplaced disapproval.”

  The slight shake of Griffin’s head clashed with his plastered-on smile. “I don’t expect that would be wise.”

  Tris nodded in agreement. “I shall take my leave before the two of you—and your dear sisters, by association—are tainted by my tarnished reputation.” He swept them a proper bow. “Good evening.”

  The guests turned, almost as one, to watch him leave. Instead of escaping down the corridor to his room, he walked, head held high, across the great hall and out the grand entrance. Alexandra supposed he wanted everyone to think he’d left Cainewood, rather than guessing he was staying. But what would he do? Hide in the workshop all night?

  The noise level rose as the other guests gossiped in earnest now—behind Tris’s back. Alexandra looked to Griffin, gripping the three reticules so tightly her knuckles turned white. “They’re all going to think we sent him away.”

  “All things considered, that’s not such a bad thing.”

  “He’s the best man here tonight.”

  “You wound me,” Griffin said, clutching his chest as though she’d just put a knife through his heart.

  Normally that would make her smile, but she was too upset. “He’s your oldest friend. Where’s your sense of loyalty?”

  “Right here,” he said, pointing down at the planked floor. “In this very room, with you and your sisters and your futures. Sometimes,” he added between gritted teeth as he smiled at two guests approaching them, “we are forced to rank our loyalties, whether we like it or not.”

  “Lord Cainewood!” Lady St. Quentin, a rail-thin older woman who was a fixture at every country party, hurried closer. She had a pinched face, and her brows were too arched, making her look perpetually astonished. Her beady gaze swept curiously over both of them. “Could you believe the nerve of that man? You did the right thing sending him packing.”

  When Alexandra might have opened her mouth, Griffin shot her a look of warning. “Let us forget this unpleasantness, Lady St. Quentin. It’s over. And I see you’ve brought your son.”

  “I was hoping for the honor of a dance,” her son said in a quiet voice, almost as though he were making up for his mother’s loud one. Pale and long-faced, with a knife-edged nose and small eyes, he didn’t compare to Tris.

  But then, no one in the great hall compared to Tris. The more men Alexandra danced with, the more she realized that although they were all perfectly acceptable, none of them were ever going to measure up to the man who held her heart.

  Yet she had to keep an open mind, because anything more than friendship with Tris was impossible. If she wanted to be a wife and mother, she was going to have to settle, like Lord Jamestone, for second best. And if the thought of that made the marzipan congeal in her stomach, she was determined to ignore it. This was, after all, her family’s ball, their long-awaited reentry into society. It should be a happy occasion.

  She put a smile on her face and looked up at Lady St. Quentin’s son. She wouldn’t marry him—it was rumored the St. Quentin finances were poor, and in any case, the thought of Lady St. Quentin as a motherin-law was enough to make her quail. But she didn’t want the old prattlebox questioning her manners, either. The son seemed nice enough, if a bit of a milksop; certainly she could be polite.

  “I should be delighted to dance with you,” she told him with a wider, more determined smile. “Let me just dispose of these reticules, and I shall return posthaste.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  *

  WHEN THE ELEGANT SUPPER was all but finished and the majority of the guests had forsaken the dining room to resume dancing, Rachael moved to an empty chair beside Alexandra’s. “Are your feet thanking you for sitting?”

  Alexandra drained the final sip of the half glass of wine she’d allowed herself. “I’ve danced with so many men, my feet are numb now.”

  “How fortunate.”

  “How about yours?”

  “I’ve danced with my share of your guests, but you had a three-hour headstart. Mine still hurt.” Rachael reached to touch Alexandra’s cameo. “This is very pretty.”

  It wasn’t nearly as pretty as the diamond necklace that graced Rachael’s neck, Alexandra thought, or the glittering jewels that adorned the other ladies. But she’d wanted to wear it tonight. “Tris sent it to me from Jamaica.”

  “You used to wear it all the time, didn’t you? I remember it now.” Rachael’s smile was a little too understanding for Alexandra’s comfort. “Have your numb feet led you to a future husband?”

  “Not yet. Have your aching feet led you to anyone special?”

  “Alas, they haven’t.”

  “Alexandra!” Juliana hurried into the room, followed by Corinna. “Griffin is looking for you. Several more men have requested introductions.” She turned to Rachael. “Have you danced with Griffin yet?”

  “I’m not a whit interested in dancing with Griffin. But I will say he’s managed to bring together an impressive array of eligible men for your sister’s consideration.” Rachael’s eyes twinkled as they shifted to Alexandra. “You don’t mind sharing with the few other ladies here, I’m hoping?”

  Alexandra laughed. “No, I don’t mind. I need only one for myself.”

  And that one, she feared, was outside tinkering in a lumber room.

  “Griffin hasn’t found time to dance at all,” Corinna said.

  “That’s a pity.” Rachael leaned forward and pulled off her poppy red shoes. “My feet are killing me.”

  Juliana frowned. “You should go into the ladies’ retiring room to do that. A Lady of Distinction wouldn’t approve.”

  “A lady of what?” Rachael asked, rubbing one of her stockinged feet.

  “The author of The Mirror of the Graces. Griffin gave us all copies so we can learn manners that will win us husbands.”

  “I’ve never heard of that book.” Rachael switched to massage her other foot. “But if a man won’t take me the way I am, I expect I wouldn’t want him anyway.”

  “Rachael would spit on A Lady of Distinction,” Corinna informed her sister with some relish.

  Figuring she’d better go find Griffin, Alexandra groaned as she got to her feet.

  “Not numb anymore?” Holding her shoes in one hand, Rachael rose with an exaggerated wince. “I’d best see what Claire and Elizabeth are up to,” she said as they all moved toward the door. “I don’t think they ate three bites between them; they couldn’t wait to get back to the dancing.”

  Griffin spotted the four of them the minute they entered the great hall. “There you are,” he said, leading a handsom
e, dark man toward his oldest sister. “Alexandra, this is Lord Shipworth.”

  As Alexandra made the appropriate responses and went off with the prospective suitor, Rachael tried to sidestep away. Juliana caught her by the arm. “Rachael thinks it’s a pity you haven’t found any time to dance,” she told Griffin. “She wishes to rectify that situation.”

  “I don’t—” Rachael started before catching herself. Although the last thing she wanted was to dance with her cousin, refusing to his face would be dreadfully rude. “I don’t…want to put on my shoes.”

  “Then don’t,” Juliana said gaily, taking the red slippers from her limp fingers. “Just dance in your stockinged feet. You’ve never feared scandal before.”

  “I damn well have.”

  “Such language only proves my point. Ah, a waltz.” Grinning, she grabbed Rachael’s hand and put it right into Griffin’s. “Enjoy yourselves, will you?”

  “I’m not very good at this,” Griffin muttered as he guided Rachael onto the dance floor and took a few tentative steps. “I learned to waltz only this week.”

  He was certainly holding her awkwardly. And at arm’s length, as though he could hardly bear to touch her. But at least he wasn’t trodding on her stockinged toes. “You’re doing very well for a beginner,” she assured him. “Especially considering you didn’t want to dance with me.”

  The pink flush that crept up his neck clashed with his green eyes. “I never said that.”

  “Liar.” She laughed. “I’d wager you told Juliana you’re not a whit interested in dancing with me.”

  A crooked half smile curved his lips. “I said nothing about a whit.”

  “Well, I did. I told her I wasn’t a whit interested in dancing with you, but it seems she completely ignored us both.”

  “That was a brave confession.” The smile turned full-blown now, revealing creases in his cheeks that matched the slight dent in his chin. “I promise not to hold it against you.”

  “Do you expect I would care if you did?”

  “Not at all. That’s what I love about you. In a strictly platonic way, of course,” he rushed to add.