Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord

by Sarah MacLean

  How she adored that dimple. She must tell him so.

  Densmore rocked back on his heels. “Well,” he said. Then: “Well! This works out splendidly!”

  Nick squeezed Isabel’s hand again. “I certainly think so.”

  “No, St. John. I mean—you can handle the Wastrearl’s things now! I never wanted the ruddy responsibility anyway.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Can’t stand the stuff.”

  “We could not tell,” Isabel deadpanned, drawing a grin from her husband.

  Densmore shook his head, not entirely listening. “Capital!” He clapped Nick on the shoulder. “Say I send my man around tomorrow to discuss the particulars? How does that sound? Rather fantastic, I’d say!” He paused. “Bad luck about your father, Lady Nicholas. Er. My condolences.”

  And without waiting for a response, Densmore was gone, leaving Nick and Isabel to watch in surprise as he disappeared into the crowd.

  She turned to Nick, amazed at the way the mysterious guardian, whom she had so feared, had simply wandered off. "It seems I have inherited the challenges of Townsend Park.”

  Isabel grinned at his mock disappointment. “How will you ever survive?”

  “It is difficult to imagine.” He lifted her hand, brushing his lips across her gloved knuckles.

  “Nonsense. You adore us.”

  His gaze softened on her, and she caught her breath at the emotion there in the depths of his lovely blue eyes. “Indeed. I do.”

  He was so close. She could just reach up and kiss him …

  No. That would not be at all appropriate.

  How long before they could leave this silly ball?

  Understanding flashed in Nick’s eyes. He leaned closer. “Soon,” he whispered, the word soft and wicked and filled with promise. “For now, would you like to dance, beauty?”

  She could not keep the blush of pleasure from spreading across her cheeks. “Yes, please.”

  He swept her into the crowd of dancers, waltzing across the grounds. After long moments of swaying and swirling to the music, he noticed the secret smile on her face and asked, “What are you thinking?”

  “I am thinking about the second reason that I wanted to return to the ball.”

  He raised one brow. “Which was?”

  “To show all these ladies who read Pearls and Pelisses that this particular lord has been well and truly landed.”

  His bark of laughter was entirely too loud, the way he pulled her to him entirely too close, drawing the attention of the couples around them.

  They would be the talk of the ton for months after tonight.

  And it would only grow worse when they had all discovered that Isabel was the daughter of the Wastrearl … and that she was supposed to be in mourning.

  But as she laughed and danced in the strong arms of this man who loved her … she simply could not bring herself to care. And when he leaned down and whispered quietly in her ear…

  Well, there were worse things in the world than the scandal caused by love.

  Epilogue

  * * *

  Lesson Number Ten

  It is most important, Dear Reader, for you to learn this final lesson.

  Once your lord has been well and truly landed, it will be your duty to ensure that the nests of his life are properly and perfectly feathered, for singlehood is not for men of earnestness and respectable purpose. Indeed, it is marriage and children and the pleasures that come with both that are evidence of a life well lived.

  And our lords—these pillars of men carefully selected and showcased for your benefit in these pages—will require brides able to love, to honor, and to cherish in all the ways they deserve.

  Pearls and Pelisses

  June 1823

  It was a beautiful wedding.”

  “Indeed, it was.” Nick placed a soft kiss at the spot where Isabel’s neck and shoulder met as he undid the long string of buttons on her gown, sending the garment pooling at her feet as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, one hand drifting up her body to capture a breast in his hand. “Not as beautiful as you were, however.”

  She laughed at the words, leaning into him with a sigh, allowing him the freedom to explore her. “Of course it was. Lara was glowing. And Rock … I’ve never seen him so happy.”

  Nick paused, considering the words before he set his lips to her neck once more. “Mmmm …” He took her earlobe between his teeth, nibbling on it until she shivered in his arms, squirming away with a laugh. He caught her to him, kissing her long and full before he lifted his head, concern in his gaze. “Are you sorry that we did not have a proper wedding?”

  It had been two months since Isabel had traveled to London to fetch Nick and they had attempted marriage for a second time. And it was bliss. They lived at Townsend Park, though Nick had proposed that they visit his country estate in the autumn—it was close to Eton and would give Isabel a chance to be nearer to James during his first semester at school.

  Before they had left London, Nick had assumed legal responsibility for the Park—much to the relief of the Viscount Densmore—so Minerva House was well taken care of and as protected as it could be. The women of the house flourished with the knowledge that their safety was well in hand with Nick, Rock, and the team of watchmen that had become a welcome part of the household. Even Georgiana had a modicum of contentment in the months following her brother’s devastating departure. The duke was keeping their secrets—for now, at least.

  Uncertainty about their future no longer plagued Isabel; she knew without a doubt that, no matter what the future held, Nick was as committed to the success of Minerva House as she was.

  Content, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him thoroughly. “I do not regret our wedding in the slightest. As long as you promise me that we shall have a proper marriage.”

  “A proper marriage it is,” he said, lifting her in his arms and carrying her to their bed. Once there, he slid one hand up the inside of her leg, bringing her silk chemise along with it. “How would you rate it so far? ”

  She pretended to think on the question, and he nipped at her shoulder in punishment. She laughed until his hand stroked up her thigh, playing at the soft skin there until the sound faded into a sigh. His gaze tracked her body and the chemise that clung to her curves, noting the absence of her stays. “I, for one, think it’s going very well,” he said. “I’m particularly happy that you’ve finally decided to see things my way and forgo corsets.”

  She smiled a small, quiet smile. “Not entirely because of your view of stays, Nick. I am going to have to go without them for a while. Several months, at least.”

  He paused as understanding dawned. “You mean—”

  She nodded.

  His hand slid higher, settling on the barely round swell of her belly. “A child,” he said, and the reverence in his voice was undeniable.

  She set her hand there as well, threading her fingers with his.

  “I was rather surprised myself,” she said, her tone dry. “It took Jane, Kate, and Gwen to convince me that it was true.”

  He chuckled. “As usual, the women of Minerva House know all before I do.”

  She joined him in private laughter. “Are you surprised?”

  “Not in the least.”

  He kissed her, ending the conversation, the caress deep and thorough, rendering them both breathless. She ran her hands up, over his chest and shoulders, tangling her fingers in his soft hair and sighing her pleasure into his mouth as his hand moved lower.

  “Nick,” she whispered, “I love you.”

  He smiled against her lips. “I know.”

  She laughed at the certainty in the arrogant words as he captured her mouth once more.

  And showed her just how much he loved her in return.

  By Sarah MacLean

  TEN WAYS TO BE ADORED WHEN LANDING A LORD

  NINE RULES TO BREAK WHEN ROMANCING A RAKE

  THE SEASON

 
Like Historical Romance?

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  THE DUKE’S NIGHT OF SIN

  by Kathryn Caskie

  Turn the page to take a peek!

  Available December 2010

  from Avon Books

  It has been said that idleness is the parent of mischief, which is very true; but mischief itself is merely an attempt to escape from the dreary vacuum of idleness.

  George Borrow

  Late August 1816

  Blackwood Hall, outside London

  The ancient hall was bustling with excited guests waiting for the presentation of the new Duke of Exeter. It was to be the bachelor’s grand debut in London Society since ascending to the title—which, of course, brought everyone with a daughter even close to marriageable age to seek an invitation to the glittering event.

  After all, a young, fit, unmarried man was all too quickly becoming a rare commodity in these turbulent war-torn times, but a duke … and a handsome one at that (or so it was rumored—for no member of the ton had actually reported seeing the man), well, he was a rare prize indeed.

  Even so, the novelty of the evening had already worn gossamer thin for Lady Siusan Sinclair. She was very likely the only miss in the hall who did not wish to be there at all. “I daresay, we’ve waited long enough, Priscilla. No man is worth waiting about for four long hours—especially in this crowd.”

  Her younger sister’s eyes went wide at Siusan’s sacrilegious words. “An unmarried duke is entirely worth the wait!”

  Siusan rolled her eyes as she dabbed her moist neck with her handkerchief.

  “And do not dare perspire,” Priscilla warned, critically studying the cerulean silk dress Siusan wore. “I only lent you the gown upon your solemn oath that you would not ruin it. That includes perspiring.” She snatched up Siusan’s wrist. “Come now, make use of your fan. Mine is keeping me sufficiently cool. A true lady does not perspire. Remember that.”

  “Aye, Priscilla, I know, however if we do not leave at once—”

  “I am certain you can manage to refrain from glowing for a few more minutes.” Priscilla narrowed her eyes at Siusan, then rose to her toes to survey the ballroom. “The duke will appear at any moment, I have no doubt. I shouldn’t need to remind you of our predicament? His Grace is unmarried and from the country, some dreary old place in Devonshire. I am sure he has never even heard of the Sinclairs, and that fact works in our favor. Our chances of snaring his ring are as good as any other noble miss’s.”

  Siusan stood on the tips of her toes as well and glanced about before returning her heels to the floor, pulling Priscilla down along with her. She moved her mouth close to her younger sister’s ear, for as the daughter of a duke herself, Siusan was nothing if not well trained. Like her brothers and sisters, she simply did not always choose to adhere to the rules of propriety in the strictest sense. “Keeping us all waiting for his glorious presence, bah. I daresay, the duke is clearly very rude. Perhaps you are right, Priscilla. He may fit in with the Seven Deadly Sins nicely.”

  “Hush. Do not refer to our family so vilely. That others do does not make it acceptable.” Priscilla glanced around them to be sure Siusan’s assertion was not overheard. Convinced that it was not, she growled into Siusan’s ear. “And besides, my future husband is not rude.”

  “Your husband, dear? Did you not just claim that our chance for winning his ring were just as favorable as anyone else’s?”

  “Aye, but I meant that my chances are equal. Not yours. Do you not recall that I voiced my claim on the duke the moment we stepped down from the carriage? ”

  “Good Lord, are you still six years old?” Her sister’s reliance on an old game might have been diverting at another time, but not tonight. “The wretched duke still hasn’t had the courtesy to grace those waiting for him with his esteemed noble presence. Besides which, Priscilla, you cannot claim the duke unless you see him first. That is the primary rule of the game.”

  Priscilla suddenly looked very determined. “Then I shall ensure that I do see him first.” She started off through the crowd, leaving Siusan to scurrying to catch up. Within a minute, Priscilla had climbed a step and positioned herself on the far edge of the musicians’ dais.

  “Priscilla, you are being a great goose. Come down. Please, let us find our brothers and away.”

  Priscilla’s gaze swept the ballroom as she replied. “I have an elevated view of the ballroom from here, and I will signal you posthaste the moment the duke appears.” She turned her eyes back upon Siusan. “That way you will know he has arrived … and that I saw him first.”

  Her sister was being ridiculous. Siusan swiped her cut-work fan before her face, hoping to coax the humid air into cooling her face. On another night, the prospect of meeting a strikingly handsome unmarried duke might have been sufficient incentive for Siusan to cram herself into a rented coach with her brothers and sister and ride eight dusty miles outside of Town.

  But not tonight … of all painful nights.

  All she wanted tonight was to be alone with her memories. But solitude wasn’t a luxury she could afford. She and her wayward siblings, widely known within Society as the Seven Deadly Sins, had only accepted tonight’s invitation for one simple reason—they were willing to do anything to earn back their father’s approval. Not because they were truly ashamed of their wild and wicked ways, for indeed they were not.

  Their motivation did not run quite so clear and deep. It was because the money their father, the Duke of Sinclair, provided them was only just enough to meet their most basic of needs, and even those funds were quickly dwindling. Their father’s man of affairs had made it startlingly clear that no further pouches of coin were to make their way into the Sinclair brothers’ and sisters’ hands until they changed their wild ways and earned the respect the Sinclair name deserved. They all knew that time was fast running out.

  And, well, there was an unmarried duke to be had. What quicker way for her or her sister to restore respectability than to marry a duke?

  She glanced up at Priscilla, who was earnestly sweeping the dance floor with her gaze.

  Well, her sister could have him. Tonight, Siusan just didn’t care—about dukes, money, even her father’s respect. With a sniff, Siusan raised her chin and surreptitiously dabbed a lace handkerchief to an errant tear budding in her eye.

  Tonight marked one year. A full heart-breaking year without Simon. And despite her brother Grant’s good intentions, no amount of whisky en route to the gala could lessen the aching heaviness in her heart this night. The spirits only made her head spin.

  Gads, she wanted nothing more than to leave this place and to be alone. The moist heat emanating from the sweating hordes of ladies in pale silk gowns and gentlemen in dark coats thickened the air, adding to her irritation.

  It was hard enough for Siusan to breathe in her overtight corset, but the stays were a necessary evil to fit into Priscilla’s cerulean gown. Simon had always favored her in blue, and this gown in particular.

  The backs of her eyes began to sting anew. Lud, the crush of perspiring bodies was unbearable! What benefit would the beautiful silk gown be to either of the Sinclair sisters if it became sodden with perspiration and ruined?

  Nay, she had to remove herself from the crowd, if she could just slip outside into the unseasonably cool air for just a few moments, maybe she would be able to rein in her grief and mask herself with the composure expected of a Sinclair.

  She made her way through the ballroom into a grand entry hall. The vaulted ceilings were higher there, but three small windows were no match for the body heat of hundreds below.

  Och, where was the door? Like the other Sinclairs, Siusan was extraordinarily tall, and by standing on her toes, she barely managed to see over the shifting sea of guests to a darkened passage just ahead to her left. She made for it, but the crush of humanity was too great. She could not move through the crowd. And then she saw him. A tall officer with gleaming red hair … and God above, could she be mi
staken, or was he wearing the uniform of the Royal Scots Greys? It was eerie how much he resembled Simon.

  Her heart thrummed in her chest. Simon? Of course, it could not be … and yet—she had to get closer. She tried to follow him through the crowd. Aye, his tunic was scarlet with blue garter facings with gold trim with a gold-and-blue-striped sash around the waist. Simon’s regimental dress uniform. The one he’d been wearing when he asked her father for her hand.

  Gritting her teeth, she focused on the shifting sea of people.

  “Sir. I say, sir!” she called out to him. A quartet of people parted to let Siusan through. “Please, wait for me. I see you.” She pushed forward, squeezing her way down the hall. “Please do excuse me. He is just there. Thank you. Thank you ever so much.” She edged her hip sideways through the next gathering, but she was losing sight of him. She raised her hand into the air. “Please wait. Just another moment.”

  But after a minute, he had disappeared. She had crossed the entire grand hall, but he was gone. Siusan started back, still scanning the crowd for any glimpse of the officer. Of course it was not Simon, but rather her mind playing tricks on her eyes, filling in Simon’s features for those she hadn’t seen clearly enough. Her eyes were stinging. Logically, she knew this, but still she kept searching. She had to see his face fully to tamp out this foolish fantasy that somehow Simon was here and had not died from his wounds.

  Stop this folly, Siusan! Simon died, she reminded herself. You saw him die.

  She spun around, unable to give up her search. Mayhap he knew her Simon, could tell more about what happened at Waterloo. After Simon returned from the battle, his mind was oft dull with laudanum. The words he managed to speak were sharp and cruel, likely coaxed between his lips from pain.

  Suddenly, she spied a hallway she hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps he went down the passage. It was possible.

  The temperature of the dimly lit passage was somewhat cooler, but her head was whirling from the whisky and the heat of her rush through the grand hall. What she truly required was an open window and some time alone to calm herself. To evict this all-too-vivid memory of Simon from her head.