by Erica Ridley
This—whatever “this” was—appeared to be by design. Miss Middleton was not seated amongst the spinsters and chaperones, but plastered to the shadows far behind them. Even a gentleman who wandered this far expressly for the purpose of inviting a wilting rose to dance could be forgiven for failing to notice the spitfire doing her best to blend with the wall.
Cole turned before she noticed that he was onto her ruse. Finding her a suitor was not going to be as simple as calculating which gentleman of his acquaintance possessed a personality that best complemented Miss Middleton’s. That was no longer step one, but rather step fifteen.
His first act would apparently need to be peeling Thad’s ward from the wainscoting. And since he couldn’t be seen influencing the wager by paying special attention to her himself… Cole required reinforcements.
When in war, there was no better general to have on one’s side than Lady Felicity.
He caught her just as she was sidling toward the refreshment stand.
“A dozen lemon tarts,” he murmured as he blocked her path. “I’ll bake them personally.”
Her brown eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he protested as he steered her toward a more private corner. “There’s something I need you to do.”
She arched her brows. “I’m listening.”
He took a deep breath. “Do you know Diana Middleton?”
Felicity blinked. “No.”
“Have you heard her name before?”
She frowned in thought, then shook her head. “Why?”
A vision of long-lashed blue eyes and plump, kissable lips filled his head. Cole pushed it away. “I need her to find her true love.”
“Is it you?”
“It is not me,” he said quickly. “Right now it’s nobody, because nobody seems to know she exists.”
“Except for you?”
“And her guardian. Thaddeus Middleton.”
Felicity nodded slowly. “Thad is a good chap. He should bring his ward to one of these soirées.”
“She’s at one of these soirées.” Cole tilted the back of his head toward the opposite wall. “She’s at this soirée.”
Felicity’s brow creased. “What am I looking for? Blond ringlets? Brown chignon? The girl with a feather in her hair?”
“The one whose gown is made out of the same fabric as the wallpaper,” he answered grimly. “The one who looks like she might be part of the wallpaper.”
Almost a full minute passed before Felicity’s eyes widened. “I see… something?”
Cole nodded. “It’s a small favor. A tiny one. Introduce yourself, then introduce her to… everyone you know. Especially the gentlemen. I’ll take it from there.”
“This is a dare, isn’t it?” Felicity crossed her arms. “Who put you up to this? Was it Eastleigh? Why the deuce am I involved?”
“Don’t say ‘deuce,’” he scolded her. “Wait until you’ve some hapless fool wrapped about your finger, and then feel free to swear like a sailor.”
“Sailors don’t say ‘deuce,’” she informed him with a flutter of her lashes. “Sailors say ‘to the devil with you’ and ‘I’ll be damned if I will’ and ‘of all the bloody ballrooms in England, you had to stroll into my—’”
He grabbed his sister by the shoulders and spun her toward the spinsters and duennas. “I’ll owe you.”
Her expression turned crafty. “You’ll take me shopping?”
“You have unlimited access to my purse strings,” he reminded her through clenched teeth. “Why do you need my presence?”
“Because you hate it,” she replied sweetly.
“You tried to outfit me in vermilion stripes and puce muslin,” he reminded her. “I’ll never forgive you for that. You get lemon tarts or no deal.”
“I’m not doing this for you, but for the mystery of it.” Felicity narrowed her eyes toward Miss Middleton. “And for the lemon tarts.”
Chapter 5
“Dance with me.”
Diana glanced up to find her cousin Thaddeus sweeping toward her, one dark curl clinging to his temple after several consecutive sets upon the dance floor.
She shook her head. “I’m fine right here. Besides, I think the Everett twins are going to expire on the spot if you don’t add your name to their cards.”
He hesitated. “You’re certain you don’t wish to dance?”
“As certain as Adrien-Marie Legendre’s prime number theorem,” she assured him.
Thaddeus frowned. “Doesn’t a theory mean you’re not certain?”
“A hypothesis means you’re not certain, but hoping to find out,” she corrected. “Theories, however, are substantiated by evidence. And a theorem—” Diana broke off her recitation and shooed her cousin toward the orchestra. “Go and dance. If you truly wish to know the intricacies of theorems, I’ll provide an exhaustive explanation the next time I decimate you at the chess board. For now, Everett twins. Off with you. Shoo.”
With a final concerned look, Thaddeus bowed his acquiescence and loped off toward the dance floor.
Diana sagged against the wall in relief.
Although she had never taken him up on his kind offers, Thad never tired of inviting her to join him for a country dance or a minuet. The problem was not Thad, or even minuets. Diana enjoyed the freedom of dancing, and missed it very much.
Just like she missed rakish bonnets with bold peacock feathers and altering her frocks to ape the latest French fashions.
The problem was that she could not have such things and move beneath Society’s notice at the same time.
As much as she longed to be free to love the things she loved, and openly work on causes worth working toward, the world did not allow it. Especially not if one was a marriageable young miss who moved in the exalted circles of the ton.
A spinster, on the other hand, was not expected to simper at wealthy bachelors or giggle her way through every waltz. In another year or two, three at the most, Diana would achieve the status of Lost Cause and all the blessed freedom that came with it.
In the meantime, she had to make do with wallflower. Yet another of her endless disguises, this one allowed her to seemingly conform to Society’s expectations—attend balls, accept invitations—without actually taking part in any meaningful way.
If her behavior made Diana seem odd or antisocial or unwomanly, well, sometimes one must sacrifice one’s best pieces in order to win the game. Her only possession Society valued was her reputation. If it were up to Diana, she’d sacrifice that, too. Being “ruined” would make things far simpler, because then she wouldn’t have to live a lie in two worlds. She could leave High Society behind and concentrate on everyday people.
Well, if it wouldn’t reflect poorly on Thaddeus. He was a dreadful chess player and a delightful cousin. The only reason she bothered playing along at all was because he loved this world. Dancing, dinner parties, pleasure gardens. If escorting her along made him happy, she would not take that away from him.
She’d just watch from the shadows.
Her fingers itched to tug the tiny journal out of her reticule and jot a few notes. Careful observation was the fuel that powered her life. She broke her fast every dawn with a stack of the day’s papers, spent the morning on her feet performing firsthand investigations at wine merchants, reviewed and strategized every afternoon in preparation for the evening, in which she would scribble innovations and inefficiencies witnessed from the background of social gatherings.
Lately, however, all of her musings centered on the Duke of Colehaven. Try as she might, she could not get him out of her mind.
Her gaze once again picked him out from the crowd.
The very unremarkableness of his understated attire made the man himself stand out from all the other lords in black coats and white cravats. Colehaven had a presence the others did not. A way of parting the room just by entering it, of causing every face to tilt toward his like flowers in search of sunlight. Everyone seemed to bloom
as he passed by.
Diana resisted the urge to fluff her gown or twirl a limp tendril of hair into a curl. She had no intention to primp for him, of all people. Her only goal was to remain unnoticed until it was time to go home.
Yet, not for the first time, she felt Colehaven’s eyes upon her. Her pulse quickened. Why was he watching? After their disastrous introduction, he would not dare invite her to dance, would he? How would she reply, if he did?
The duke’s gaze slid away, as if he had not recognized her at all.
Diana’s shoulders slumped against the wall in equal parts relief and chagrin. Of course a devastatingly handsome duke in the middle of a gay ball had not smoked her out from amongst such a splendid crowd.
He was likely on the hunt for a duchess-worthy debutante. Or perhaps on the prowl for another rakish conquest. Diana didn’t care. She was watching him because she was bored, not because she had any wish to find herself in his arms.
“I’d rather be in the library,” came a voice to her left.
Diana turned her head sharply in surprise. After years of haunting the shadows of Society gatherings, this was one of the few times someone had approached her.
The young lady appeared to be around Diana’s age. An inch or two shorter, half a stone lighter, dark hair, brown eyes. A stunning evening gown of midnight blue gauze over an underdress of lavender satin. She was staring at Diana with unabashed interest.
Most likely, they had glimpsed each other on countless other occasions. Unfortunately, for as adept as Diana was at memorizing numbers and performing advanced calculations, she was hopeless at remembering faces.
To combat this lapse, she maintained detailed physical descriptions in her journal of everyone she had ever met. This was not the moment to pull it from her reticule and attempt to determine a match.
“I’d prefer a library, too,” she admitted instead, “but that’s the first place my guardian would look for me.”
The young lady wrinkled her nose in commiseration. “Mine, too.”
“You have a guardian?” Diana’s mind whirred. Less than one percent of unmarried Society ladies were sponsored wards without immediate family, which meant this woman was either—
“I have a brother,” the young lady replied, destroying that hope. “The worst sort of guardian to have. Especially when he’s a duke.”
Diana narrowed her eyes. “Colehaven?”
“Colehaven,” the young lady agreed with a long-suffering sigh.
Diana ground her teeth. No need to open a journal to discover this woman’s name. This was Lady Felicity, younger sister—and sole sibling—to the Duke of Colehaven. Who was proving more vexing by the second.
Her fingers curled into fists. “Did your brother send you over here?”
“Yes,” Lady Felicity replied without prevarication.
“For what purpose?” Diana demanded. “He cannot desire a formal introduction.”
“Not with him,” Lady Felicity agreed. “I’m to introduce you to everyone else, particularly the gentlemen.”
Diana gaped at her. “Why?”
“He didn’t say.” Lady Felicity lifted a shoulder. “But it appears he intends to matchmake you. Or have me do it, rather.”
Over Diana’s dead body. The back of her neck flushed with heat. She was not some pitiful project for an arrogant duke to take under his wing, and she definitely wasn’t going to allow him to upset her perfectly controlled “wallflower” guise.
Her hackles rose. To the devil with the duke, and he could take his sister with him. Diana had no use for anyone who believed he could march all over someone else’s life, and she certainly wasn’t going to submit to—
“From here, I can see at least half a dozen eligible bachelors I could introduce you to.” Lady Felicity’s brown eyes brightened. “Or we could go to the library instead.”
A snort of startled laughter escaped before Diana could contain it.
“You don’t intend to heed your brother’s bidding?”
“My life’s work primarily consists of thwarting him at every turn,” Lady Felicity replied with an impish grin. “I suppose I could introduce you to all the most ineligible bachelors, and count how many minutes he lasts before storming over to demand what the deuce I think I’m doing.”
Diana grinned. Such an image was almost tempting. Lady Felicity wasn’t what she’d expected after all. If Diana could afford to risk having friends, someone like Lady Felicity wouldn’t be a bad start.
Unfortunately, Diana had to nip this nonsense in the bud before her ability to move unnoticed in this crowd was ruined forever.
“The library,” she said decisively. It should be vacant enough for a quick conversation to go unremarked. “Can you bring your brother to me?”
“Oh, pooh.” Lady Felicity’s shoulders sank. “I was hoping we could hunt for the latest Radcliffe instead.”
“You hunt for the Radcliffe,” Diana suggested. “I’m going to let your brother know exactly what I think of his meddling.”
“On second thought,” Lady Felicity said, “I’d rather watch that.” She dipped into a perfect curtsy. “Lady Felicity Sutton, unexpectedly pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Miss Diana Middleton.” With a grin, Diana dipped a curtsy of her own. “Likewise.”
If she wondered how Lady Felicity intended to lure her brother to the library, the mystery did not last for long. The moment the two young ladies quit the wainscoting in favor of the ballroom exit, rather than the dance floor, Colehaven immediately abandoned his champagne in pursuit.
Diana and Lady Felicity had only just found the library when Colehaven burst in right behind them.
“Why aren’t you in the ballroom?” he demanded.
“Why are you in my business at all?” Diana countered, hands on her hips.
Lady Felicity disappeared among the stacks of books, but Diana rather suspected she was peeking from behind the credenzas.
“What’s so hard about meeting other people?”
“I didn’t enjoy meeting you,” Diana snapped, her heart racing. She hadn’t noticed how long his eyelashes were before. She couldn’t look away from those magnetic hazel eyes.
“I don’t enjoy being extorted,” he snarled. Or perhaps meant to snarl.
He didn’t look angry anymore. In fact, he wasn’t looking at her eyes at all. His gaze had dropped a few inches lower, where Diana’s teeth nibbled her lower lip.
She licked her lips in response.
He stepped closer.
“I blackmailed you,” she stammered, the words coming out far breathier than she intended, “into not marrying me.”
“Marriage is not what’s on my mind.” His voice was husky, his mouth suddenly nearer, as if he could not prevent his body from inching closer and closer to hers.
Somehow, her feet were doing the same. When the tip of her toe brushed against his, her shiver had nothing to do with the January weather and everything to do with the irresistible scoundrel before her.
“Queen to H5,” she whispered.
“A feint,” he murmured, the full intensity of his gaze meeting hers. “My pawn protects me.”
Her heart beat faster at the realization that he, too, could visualize a chessboard.
She shook her head. “You lost that pawn in your opening gambit.”
“Did I?” he asked softly, lifting his hand toward her face. “Then may the queen defend herself from this move.”
His thumb touched her cheek.
Diana held her breath.
A pile of books clattered to the floor.
She and Colehaven jumped apart, color flooding both of their faces.
“Sorry!” squeaked a voice on the other side of the closest credenza. “My elbow… I wasn’t watching. I mean, I was definitely watching, but not the shelves—”
“Felicity,” Colehaven growled, his deep voice rife with warning.
Diana tensed, her runaway pulse still fluttering madly. She’d forgotten all ab
out Lady Felicity. Apparently the duke had, too. There was no disguising the fact that she’d been shamelessly eavesdropping… or that Lady Felicity had flagrantly disregarded every one of her brother’s wishes. Her heart skipped in alarm. How would the duke react to such an obvious transgression?
Lady Felicity slunk out from betwixt the stacks with an angelic expression. “Yes, dear brother?”
Colehaven slashed a stern finger in her direction. “No lemon tarts. None for the rest of your life. Do you hear me?”
“Worth it,” Lady Felicity whispered to Diana as she sashayed out the library with her head held high.
Diana took an extra step backward. Clearly her body could not be trusted not to melt directly into the arms of the enemy.
“I don’t have time for… this,” she mumbled.
“You don’t have time for…” He flung his arms wide. “Do you think I’ve nothing else to do all day but root up suitors for determined wallflowers? I’ve the Royal Mint to mind—”
“I’m busy, too,” she interrupted hotly.
“—and the Consolidated Fund to consider—”
“Which would work better if monies could be appropriated for public works.”
“—and smoothing vendor discrepancies regarding the weight and size of their products—”
“If the extremely busy, super important featherwits of the House of Lords would spend as much time on logic as on their mistresses, perhaps England could standardize its units instead of juggling twenty-seven definitions of ‘bushel.’ Not to mention the peck, the jigger, the pottle, the firkin—”
“That’s how measurement works.” He arched a brow. “Next you’ll want to switch from yards to meters.”
“Napoleon ridiculed the notion too,” she informed him, “but he changed his tune when he realized its efficacy. If multiple countries saw the value after the Congress of Vienna, perhaps it would behoove England to consider—”
“It’s never going to happen.” His arms folded across his muscular chest. “If you knew how long I fought before we eked through an act meant to hinder the use of false measurements—”
