"Who is she, then? Someone I know?"
Nathan almost smiled. "Oh, I'll wager you've heard of her."
The hopeful look increased. "Her name?"
"Lady Ariel D'Archer."
The duke's expression turned into one of horror. "The gypsy witch?"
Nathan lifted a brow. "I take it you don't approve of my choice."
An emphatic shake of the head confirmed the duke's next words. "She is unsuitable. Best you settle upon someone else. I assure you, despite your face, there are many women who will have you."
Nathan took a nonchalant sip of his drink to cover his temper. So his uncle had noticed women's reactions. It was a moment before he said, "But I like this woman, uncle. She would make an excellent breeder. Wide hips. Large breasts."
That the man didn't even flinch at his sarcasm disgusted Nathan no end. Were the British so shallow that they actually considered such things when selecting a future bride?
Apparently so. Disgusting lot.
"Nathan, I know you've been in England only a short time, but trust me, my boy, you'll want to pick someone else."
"Why?"
His uncle looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Have you not heard the story?"
"No." And he hadn't. His sources had only told him that she'd been ruined. He hadn't needed to know more than that.
"Then let me tell you." The duke got up, poured himself a drink, then sat down again. He waited a few moments, like a great storyteller about to embark on a favorite tale. "Most people seem to think the girl's problems began with her mother. She was a gypsy, rumored to have seduced the young earl into marriage."
Now that he had heard. His contacts had also told him that the usually cold and emotionless earl had been desperately in love with his gypsy wife, so much so that when she'd died in childbirth, he'd refused to wed again. Thus Ariel was an only child.
"The dowager countess was vehemently against the marriage. She told the earl if he married the girl, she would disown him."
His uncle waited for him to comment, and when he didn't, continued with, "Two years after their marriage the new countess produced a daughter, Lady Ariel. Unfortunately, she died three days after giving birth.
"Most speculate 'twas the lack of a mother which made the girl grow up reckless. I suspect it has more to do with the father giving her free run of the estate. Rumor has it he barely gave the girl the time of day once his wife died. Lady D'Archer grew up wild and reckless. No one was surprised when she was found at an inn with Lord Archibald Worth. Rumor has it Archie told the girl he intended to marry her, but everyone knew that he meant to marry someone else. That he didn't come up to scratch surprised no one. What did surprise people was that the earl didn't force the marriage or at the very least arrange for some other man to wed her ladyship. Chances are he tried but failed to marry her off."
"So she's an outcast?"
The duke nodded. "Indeed she is. Truth be told, I'd forgotten about the girl's existence. She's been living in the country."
"Where she should have stayed?"
If his uncle heard the edge to Nathan's voice, he didn't reveal it. "Aye. Society has many freedoms, but it has rules, too. A ruined young lady remains an outcast. Forever. I'm surprised she would dare to venture out again. It just proves that blood tells."
Nathan didn't say a thing. He was too concerned that he might have ruined his chance of befriending her because of their kiss. Damnation, but he was a fool. A fool swayed by a pretty face and enticing eyes.
But it wasn't until the next morning that he realized he needn't have worried. A note was delivered, one so brief as to make no sense to anyone but him.
If the offer is still upon the table, meet me at the Ranelagh rotunda, today, three o'clock.
Nathan felt a smile tug at his face.
So the little bird wanted to disturb the coop? Good. Very good.
With any luck, he would have what he needed by month's end.
3
Ariel felt as nervous as a worm in a hen house when she arrived at the Ranelagh pleasure gardens. Wiping her hands on her peach-colored dress, she then made sure the tan hat she wore sat securely upon her head. She'd worn the wide-brimmed confection more as a way to shield her face from prying eyes than for the sake of fashion, although with its large black bow it did look rather stylish. Then again, why she worried about fashion when she was about to confront a man who'd had the audacity to kiss her was beyond her. As she descended from her hired hack, she wondered what the devil she was doing here.
Confronting a man you thought about all night, answered a voice.
No, no, that was not it, she reassured herself. What drove her to meet him was that despite her vow, she'd found herself near tears after recalling the way people had treated her last eve. That was the reason why she was here. Even though she knew it would be a dangerous undertaking, she wanted to get back some of her own.
Call her petty. Call her immoral. She wanted to reclaim her place in society. That such a thing had never been done before worried her not at all. She refused to let society banish her. Ever again.
And so she'd sent for Mr. Trevain, telling herself that no harm would come of at least listening to the man's plans.
If he had a plan.
And that thought brought another surge of uncertainty, for what if indeed his attentions to her were of the nefarious kind? Would he want to seduce her for her money? Or was she letting Archie's betrayal affect her judgment of other men? Could Mr. Trevain's interest truly be innocent? If so, why did he kiss her? Was it truly to prove a point?
Somehow she doubted it. Her instincts were buzzing like an angry gnat. Something didn't quite fit. And that, too, piqued her curiosity. Who was he really? She sighed, wishing she knew.
The day was warm, despite being partly cloudy, a brisk wind blowing holes in the clouds. Shadows drifted along the ground, easing what little sunshine leaked through. Moisture scented the air, most likely from the canals carved into the parkland around her. Tall trees and low-lying shrubs dotted either side of the pathway. On a day like today, however, it was the smell that caught her attention. She closed her eyes and inhaled. Flowers. Fresh grass. Trees. She opened her eyes. Couples passed her by: ladies twirling their parasols, gentlemen doffing their hats. Ducking her head, she headed off. The only time she looked up was when she rounded a bend in the path and spied the rotunda directly ahead.
And there he stood.
She knew him, though he stood at a distance. The tall wooden structure dwarfed him, yet he still seemed larger than life. From such a distance he looked completely normal. In fact, had she not known who he was, she would have guessed him a lord, although technically he did not hold the title. Still, that he was of noble blood was apparent in his way of dress. He wore a light beige waistcoat topped by a dark gray frock coat whose tails hung near the back of his shiny black boots. Off-white nankeen breeches hugged his masculine legs, and truly, he did have very masculine legs. Firm thigh muscles curved down to firm calves. She blushed, realized she stared at his legs like a beggar would a gold guinea and forced herself to move on.
He straightened as she approached. There was no hat or wig on his head, so his black hair glinted like ravens' wings as he bowed, his long queue swishing over the left shoulder. "Lady Ariel D'Archer."
"Mr. Trevain," she greeted in return, stopping in front of him. He didn't smile, she suspected because he knew his facial flaw was more visible by daylight. Sympathy prompted a smile of her own. Gracious, but he was still handsome. Even with the scar. She was glad for the fashionable attire she wore. The tight-waisted day gown was decorated with lace near the neckline. She was glad for that, too, for she could see his gaze dip down, narrow appreciatively, then move up again to her lips. Reminding herself that they were in public and that he could hardly force himself upon her again, she stood her ground.
"I see you made it."
"Yes, Mr. Trevain, though a part of me is wondering what the devil I'm doing here."
He seemed surprised by her honesty, then amused, his gray eyes glinting wickedly. "Well, I must say I'm glad the other part of you prevailed."
She wished she had a parasol, something to fidget with as she stood before him or perhaps to beat him with if he made an advance. Instead she told herself to remain still and to quit being foolish. She must look at ease, perhaps try to appear as if she met strange men, alone, every day. Well, perhaps she didn't want him to think that of her.
"You've done the sensible thing," he added. "Truly, I'm proud of you."
She lifted a brow at him. "Whether or not meeting you is sensible remains to be seen."
He bowed slightly, the right side of his face tilting up in a smile. A habit of his, she realized, or perhaps the result of his scar. She wasn't sure. "I assure you it is."
She looked around her, pretending an interest in their surroundings, although the hair prickled at the back of her neck. What had he said that alerted her? Was it just the man himself? His silver eyes looked striking in the sunlight. His physique, too, intimidated her. Large, brawny shoulders, shoulders that looked to have seen a hard day's work. His hands also bore the marks of labor. A white scar crossed one knuckle, another his index finger. She just bet they would feel wonderful against her smooth skin—
Ariel! she immediately chastised herself. You should not have such thoughts. Especially about a man who might have ulterior motives in befriending her.
"Shall we walk?" he asked.
She forced her attention up, chastising herself for getting lost in his splendid form. Gracious, but she found him handsome.
"If you wish." And she did wish, for they would attract less attention if they kept on the move. Plus there was the fact that it gave her an excuse to look at their surroundings instead of him.
He offered her his arm. She eyed it for a second.
Now, Ariel, don't be a ninny. Do take the man's arm.
And yet. And yet. She was almost afraid to. She swallowed, placing her hand upon his forearm, prepared, yet still starting at the way it felt to touch him: forbidden yet exciting. Her blood pounded.
He gave her the full brightness of his lopsided smile. Her swallow turned into a gulp. Heavens, she'd never seen teeth so white. And so perfect. Truly, he must have not had a single sweet in his entire life.
"See, nothing to fear."
The realization that he'd noticed her hesitation sent color through her cheeks. She tilted her chin up. "I don't know what you're talking about."
His grin seemed to say, "Liar."
She ignored it. "Mr. Trevain, we came here to discuss your offer of help. Therefore I would like to begin discussing the subject, if you do not mind."
Apparently he didn't mind for he said, "Very well, what did you want to know?"
"For one, I would like to know why you want to help me." She chanced a glance up at him. He had bent to see beneath her hat, his eyes roving over her face in a fashion that made her distinctly nervous. She looked away, tilting the brim to shield her face.
"I told you last night why it is I wish to help."
She stopped, turned to face him, placing her hands on her hips for added effect. "And I say poppycock."
He lifted his black brow.
"There is another reason. I wish to know that reason now."
For a second, just a second, she wondered at the expression she saw flit through his eyes. Surprise? But it fled so fast it looked like it was never there. The dark lids narrowed, his pupils fixing upon her own eyes.
"Very well. I see you have found me out."
Her pulse leaped. She waited, breath held, for him to be truthful with her.
"My uncle is pushing me into marriage." He waved his free hand, the one with the ring on it. "Produce an heir and all that rot. I don't wish to disappoint him, but I need to make it clear I shall not be bullied about. By claiming to be besotted with you, I shall kill two birds with one stone. One, my uncle will realize that he cannot control me, for he's already warned me away from you. And, two, hopefully, my scandalous association with you will scare away some of the matrons so diligently forcing their daughters upon me. Quite tedious, you know."
So he would use her to scare away the matchmaking mamas. Why the realization should hurt her so she had no idea. She should have suspected something like this. Far be it from Mr. Trevain to think her any less scandalous than the rest of society.
"Do you not think it will work?"
Ariel didn't answer. She couldn't answer.
Sadness caught her in its grip so suddenly she had to inhale to keep herself in control. Obviously her secret hope of coming to London to find a man who could love her for herself had been a foolish one. If a man like Mr. Trevain saw her as scandalous what must the rest of the ton think of her?
She looked away, turning to stare blindly at the canal that flowed by their path. A duck floated upon the surface, the ring around its neck catching the sunlight and turning a vibrant white. But the image blurred. She realized then that she had a tear in her eye.
But, no, she would not cry. She'd shed enough tears over society's treatment of her.
Taking a deep breath, she turned to face Mr. Trevain. "Very well. I see your point. Truth be told, 'tis a good plan." She felt more tears burn, quickly turning away again lest he see them. "I can see how my sullied reputation would scare away matchmaking mamas. Why, you might even want to reconsider, for you chance doing your reputation irreparable harm if you come too near me. I am, after all, soiled goods. Or didn't you know that just the sight of me can turn virginal daughters into frightful hussies?"
A hand upon her shoulder startled her. He turned her. The hand lifted her chin. Her breath caught. People strolled by, but she didn't care. Obviously there was nothing left for her to do that would shock people.
His face was kind, intent, the look in his eyes earnest. "Don't let them do this to you, Ariel."
She didn't move. Truly, she felt as still as a lamb in a wolf's mouth. "Don't let them do what?" she said huskily, ignoring his use of her Christian name.
"Don't let them wound you. I assure you, your countrymen aren't worth crying over."
He held her gaze, Ariel realizing that another tear wobbled on her lashes. He wiped it away. The contact of his work-roughened finger against her soft skin made her tremble, made her wish for. . .
What?
More of his touch? Yes. That was it.
The thought panicked her. She drew away.
A look of consternation entered his eyes, almost as if he, too, were startled by result of their touch and their words. For endless seconds neither of them spoke.
Finally Ariel could stand it no more. "What do you propose to have me do?"
He kept staring at her, though Ariel noted now his eyes had grown cold. "I want you to pose as my fiancée."
The words jolted her so much she immediately cried, "Your what?"
He smiled, though the smile didn't reach his eyes. "My fiancée. That way my uncle will be less vocal in his attempts to get me away from you, for as I understand it, once a British gentleman asks a woman to wed, only the woman can cry off. That puts you in the seat of power. Also it will keep away those matchmaking mamas, as you call them."
"I see," she murmured. Again silence dropped around them like a cold blanket. Ariel considered his suggestion. It was a sound idea. Not only would it rub society's nose in her presence, it let society know that she cared not a whit for its disdain.
"Well?" he asked. "What do you think?"
She looked up at him, telling herself what she was about to say might be the biggest mistake of her life. But she didn't care. Suddenly she just didn't care. Truly, she had absolutely nothing to lose by agreeing to such a scheme.
"Very well," she said at last. "I agree."
She wondered at the sudden flare of emotion in his eyes. There was triumph there, certainly, but also something else, something that made her shiver and feel suddenly ill at ease, especially when his lips tilted up
crookedly. For the first time since meeting him, she found herself thinking he looked devilish. Truly devilish.
Pray God, she found herself thinking, 'twas merely an illusion.
4
"Ariel, you cannot be serious!"
Ariel stared at the disapproving face of her cousin Phoebe, wondering if she should have told her dear friend of her plan. Then again, it was hardly as if she had any choice.
"To pretend to be someone's fiancée is beyond ridiculous. Why, it's positively scandalous."
Ariel rolled her eyes then shook her head. "As if I need worry about scandalizing anyone."
Phoebe, the skirts of the pretty green dress she wore scrunched in clenched hands, gave her a look one would associate with a woman who watched another woman set her hair alight. "Yes, but this is beyond the pale, Ariel. Why, if word gets out that your engagement is nothing but a fraud, you'll be. . ." Pale pink lips opened and closed as Phoebe searched for a word to use.
"Ruined?" Ariel supplied.
Her shoulders hunched as she settled back in her chair. Late afternoon light from the window to her left highlighted her black hair as she shook her upswept curls. They wore day dresses, neither of them having any plans to go out that evening, much to Ariel's disappointment. Ariel looked forward to the expressions on people's faces when she returned to society again. She withheld her grin with effort.
"Well, yes, more so than you already are."
"Phoebe, I doubt a person can be ruined to different levels. It's like being with child—either you are or you aren't—there's no in between. Ruined is ruined. Frankly, I have nothing to lose."
"It is madness," Phoebe argued. "Utter madness. Yes, your reputation is somewhat tarnished—"
Enchanted by Your Kisses Page 4
