At the Bride Hunt Ball Read online

  “Pray, what is it?”

  The color matched the velvet drapes hanging high above his bed to near perfection. This, of course, made him think of her lying in his bed, which made him imagine her minus the blasted gown, which made him think she’d be rather cold, lying there without any clothes and all, and this made him think of settling himself atop her to warm her up, which made him imagine sinking his—

  Damnation. He couldn’t very well tell her it was his bed dressings that were blue.

  During his hesitation, Tristan had joined them, Charlotte’s hand tucked into the crook of his arm. Madelyn instantly spotted it and her expression altered with a twinge of panic.

  “Perhaps the shade matches your eyes,” the baroness offered awkwardly.

  Gabriel turned and looked at the baroness crossly. The daft woman obviously imagined he gave them a riddle to solve.

  “No,” Madelyn answered, drawing his attention immediately. “They’re too luminous to be compared to the dark hue of my gown.” Her studying gaze bore into his for only a moment, and then she blinked away their connection and smiled tightly. She turned to Tristan and Charlotte.

  “Charlotte,” she called sweetly, “do come with me.” She held out her hand. “Let’s get some refreshment.”

  “Thank you, I do not want any presently,” Charlotte said with a meaningful side glance at Tristan.

  “But—”

  “Perhaps,” Gabriel interrupted, “you would allow me to accompany you?”

  “N—” Madelyn started to decline his offer, but a bump in the hip from her stepmother cut her short. She threw a brief glance at the baroness, who narrowed her eyes in a threatening manner. Madelyn nodded dolefully. “Yes, that would be grand.”

  He held out his bent arm. After a brief hesitation, she took it, her touch as gentle as a butterfly. In silence, they approached the side table laden with refreshments and various cakes and sweets.

  “Have you no musical talents to display this evening, Miss Haywood?” Gabriel asked, handing her a glass of punch.

  She shook her head, taking a sip. “None at all. I’ve always longed to learn, but I fear I have neither the patience nor the discipline.”

  “You can draw and cut remarkably detailed silhouettes. Rosalind showed me the ones you’ve done of the other guests. She said you completed them with remarkable speed and dexterity. They are quite remarkable.”

  Her brown eyes flashed with reserved pleasure and she blushed prettily. It had become apparent to him that she was unaccustomed to compliments and they made her uncomfortable. “Thank you,” she murmured, staring into her glass.

  Gabriel placed the tip of his index finger under her chin, gently tilting her head so he could look into her eyes. “Perhaps one day you might do one of me.”

  She nodded, rubbing her arm in a fashion he had first assumed was a nervous gesture, then realized her fingers smoothed over her skin as if something had irritated it.

  And then he remembered how the baroness had squeezed her there. Knowing it was forward to touch her again, but unable to stop himself, he trailed his finger over the fingertip-shaped marks above the crook of her elbow.

  She snatched her arm away, cupping her palm over the spot he’d touched.

  “Who did this?” Gabriel asked.

  “Ah…” she said, hesitating. “The archery lesson?”

  The woman was an abominable liar. Her statement sounded like a question.

  He frowned. “I abhor lying.”

  “It’s nothing, really.”

  And he truly believed she thought that. He gave a slow nod, a scowl sliding into place. Taking a step closer, he bent to whisper in her ear. “If you confided that someone, whoever it was, made those marks on your person, they would deserve nothing less then a sound thrashing. Or at the very least, their guardianship would be stripped and you would no longer suffer from their company.”

  “Yes, but then who would then have to suffer mine?”

  “I’d see to it myself.” He pulled back, searching her large eyes.

  Her cheeks turned pink and she looked about the room. A stab of regret jabbed him for wording his answer unflatteringly. But he wasn’t about to correct himself at the expense of sounding like a buffoon.

  “Tell me, and it shall be done,” he intoned.

  “Please, let us return to Charlotte,” she said softly.

  “Of course.”

  After she finished her drink, Gabriel guided her back to their small group, nodding at acquaintances as they crossed the room. Untwining their arms, she made to step between his brother and Charlotte, but he gently steered her across from them with the pressure of his hand at her lower back.

  “Has anyone seen Mrs. Greene?” Tristan broke in.

  The group turned in unison to the window seat where Charlotte’s mother had settled herself, snoring softly. Rosalind stood at her side, apparently noticing only just then that the woman she was conversing with had fallen asleep.

  “Right. Well, Charlotte had expressed an interest in my collection of botanical volumes,” Tristan stated.

  Gabriel didn’t miss Madelyn nearly jolt out of her stockings at his brother’s familiarity with her friend’s given name.

  “After we finish up here I thought I’d take her down to my private library…”

  “I—I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Madelyn blurted.

  “Rosalind would chaperone,” Gabriel intoned.

  “Take no offense, but it only took a bit of prodding for her to leave you and—” Madelyn pressed her lips together, masking a wince.

  Gabriel knew she had almost blurted out that the two of them had been alone. But were they really? He suspected Rosalind hadn’t actually left. Besides, Rosie knew Tristan couldn’t be trusted for one minute alone with a female. Charlotte would be safe enough.

  “Leave you and who where?” Priscilla asked with keen interest.

  Gabriel scowled at the woman. Her eyes shifted from sharp curiosity to indifference in a matter of a second. Pursing her lips, she reverted her gaze to some point across the room.

  “Wolverest. Tristan.”

  Gabriel turned at the sound of Adam Faramond’s voice. The Earl of Rothbury stood behind Madelyn—who looked like she’d just been spooked by a ghastly apparition. Her eyes were large and unblinking as she stared straight ahead. And from the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her breathing had increased twofold in a matter of seconds. She must still be fretting about the prospect of his brother showing Charlotte his private library, he thought. She’d do well to put her plan behind her now. Whomever Tristan wanted, he would make certain the opportunity was there.

  “Rothbury,” Gabriel returned with a nod. Truthfully, he was a little surprised the earl had shown after he had already declined the invitation. Tristan’s school chum abhorred ton functions, and if he was at one, it was because he was in pursuit of some unsuspecting female. Many a protective guardian steered their daughters or wards away from Rothbury. Gabriel had set him straight without hesitation when the insidious man had the audacity to set Rosalind in his sights not too long ago. Rothbury didn’t have a conscience, as far as he could tell. The man delighted in the art of seduction—whether it be a blushing debutante or his best friend’s wife.

  “I see you’ve changed your mind,” Gabriel said to him. Perhaps he came to discuss horseflesh with Tristan.

  Rothbury inclined his head, ignoring Gabriel, and instead focused his attention on Madelyn’s back.

  Gabriel thought to introduce Rothbury to the group, but stalled as the earl stepped around Madelyn. And from the spark of recognition in her eyes, Gabriel became aware that they knew one another already.

  “Miss Haywood.” Rothbury bent low. “I trust you are well?”

  Tentatively, she curtsied, her eyes flying from Rothbury to Gabriel. She masked it well, but he could see the uneasiness there.

  A series of chords on the pianoforte broke the questionable silence as Rosalind drew everyone’s atten
tion to the front of the room. Miss Beauchamp, armed with a violin, announced the Mozart concerto she would be playing, accompanied by Miss Ellis on the pianoforte.

  It was time for Gabriel to leave. As the guests took their seats, he excused himself and made for the door. Reaching it, he looked over his shoulder to find Tristan and Charlotte sitting side by side at the settee. He smiled. It would suit Miss Haywood well to realize sooner rather than later that one couldn’t control whom one fancied. Though he had just learned that lesson himself when she waltzed into his life.

  Hesitating, he watched Rothbury and Priscilla lead Madelyn toward another settee. As the trio took up their seat, placing Madelyn in the middle, he noticed she glanced about the room, hunting for someone. Then her searching gaze connected and locked into his.

  He blinked, dismissing the fear he thought he spied in those dark chocolate depths. She was over-reacting. Tristan certainly wouldn’t try ravishing her friend in a room full of spectators. And if at the conclusion of the music demonstrations, Tristan insisted that Charlotte see his books, Rosalind would be certain to chaperone. Turning, he left the room before the urge to spin on his heel and return to Madelyn overcame him.

  Gabriel didn’t give a damn if his guests considered him a rude lout for quitting the music room for the serenity of his library down the hall. After all, he thought he’d rather surprised them that he’d even attended in the first place.

  Staring into the fire in the grate, he shook his head slowly as he balanced his glass of brandy on his knee. This task of watching Miss Haywood was more perilous than he’d imagined. He had been wrong. He couldn’t disregard her any more than one could ignore the sun shining in one’s eyes. She had a light, an aura of quiet beauty, and he couldn’t keep from imagining he could capture it and make her his own. But he knew how volatile that action might prove, so he gritted his teeth and told himself to simply forget her already. She was just a woman, and an imperfect one at that.

  Throwing back his head, he took the last swallow from his glass, then eyed the thing crossly. “You’re certainly no help.”

  Fortunately, there wasn’t a reason to watch her any longer now that he knew what she was up to. Having figured her out, he could keep his distance, as he had originally planned. After he had Tristan well and truly hitched, he’d plan a trip to his hunting lodge in Scotland and Miss Haywood would pack up with the others and return to wherever it was they called home. Which was a good thing. A great thing. Distance between Miss Haywood and himself would surely keep his imagination in check, his hands to himself, and her clothes on. All he had to do now was make certain Charlotte had every opportunity to be with Tristan as the other girls did. Certainly, this slip of a girl couldn’t outmaneuver him. He proved it tonight when she tried keeping Charlotte by her side and away from his brother.

  He rose from his favorite wing-back chair and made for the crystal decanter on the side table, then cringed as the duet by Miss Beauchamp and Miss Ellis took a wrong turn and ended on a discordant note.

  A minute later a sigh emerged from the doorway, making Gabriel pause in pouring his drink. He looked over his shoulder to find Tristan leaning against the door frame.

  “Still planning on taking Charlotte to your library?”

  “If her mother ever stays awake long enough to chaperone us. I’m afraid Miss Haywood managed to coerce Miss Greene to insist upon it.”

  “Don’t be surprised if the little minx follows you, sketching your every move,” Gabriel muttered.

  Tristan shook his head. “I still don’t understand why you had to go and invite Rothbury,” he added gruffly.

  “Come now,” Gabriel said. “Did you expect to have them all to yourself all of the time? Rosie insisted we even out the numbers. Seems we can’t have a bunch of pouting women standing around waiting their turn to dance with you at the night of the ball. Besides, Rothbury’s not looking for a bride, last I heard. Drink?”

  He took Tristan’s grunt for yes, poured his brother a glass, and handed it to him as he returned to his seat. Closing his eyes, he sank back into his chair, choosing to forgo stroking Tristan’s ego by telling the young man he had nothing to worry about. Maybe a bit of jealousy would do him good. Perhaps it would spur his fickle brother into choosing a bride more quickly.

  Tristan gave his glass a swirl, then tossed the liquid down his throat. “I’m surprised, is all,” he said through a grimace. “Considering the fact he’s been panting after Miss Haywood since last Season. But I’m sort of glad he’s here. I did want to take a look at that Arabian beauty of his.”

  Gabriel sat up, nearly spilling his drink. “What did you say?”

  “Rothbury. Arabian.”

  “No. What of Miss Haywood?”

  “Ah.” Tristan nodded. “Wants to marry her, or bed her. I’m not sure. Supposedly, he proposed last spring, but she refused. Said he suspects she was only testing his sincerity. Playing hard to get.” He shrugged. “He’s not giving up, you know. Man’s as determined as a bull in heat. Hell’s teeth, what are you scowling at me for?”

  Gabriel blinked, easing back into his chair, every muscle pulled tight. So Rothbury wanted Madelyn. And it certainly wasn’t her dowry he was after. He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping the rumble of jealousy wouldn’t come, but it did. And it fairly roared in his ears. He flexed his fingers, hoping the movement would pacify the ache to throttle Rothbury with his bare hands.

  He knew he had to get away from here, away from her. “How does this make you feel?” he asked in attempt to control his unfounded jealousy by focusing on his brother’s emotional response.

  “That another wolf is in the mix, sniffing around?” He shrugged again. “I’m not sure. I can’t say I’d ever considered Miss Haywood before Rosie invited her to Wolverest. She’s a peach and all, but a diamond of the first water she is not,” he finished derisively.

  His brother’s comment provoked a twinge of protectiveness in Gabriel, but he managed to keep silent, choosing to ignore it.

  Tristan sighed. “I don’t know. Truth is, I haven’t made my decision. Not even close. I think I’m still hoping you’ll change your mind and pick one of them for yourself so I can continue being a lazy, reckless, debauching, wastrel of a second son.” He laughed. “Just surprised, is all. That you invited him knowing he was bent on pursuing the chit.”

  “I didn’t know,” Gabriel muttered.

  “I guess it doesn’t matter. Just don’t know if I can concentrate with Rothbury panting about, is all.” His brother shrugged, placing his glass on the side table. “I best return.” He grinned. “Charlotte’s to play a minuet.”

  Gabriel gave a slow, distracted nod. Without her spectacles? He hoped she had the piece memorized for it could be disastrous otherwise.

  “You know,” Tristan offered. “I could tell Rothbury he’s free to pursue Miss Haywood, that I have no intentions toward her.”

  “Somehow, little brother, I don’t think whether or not you wanted her for yourself would make a bloody difference to him.”

  Chapter 9

  The next afternoon, Madelyn was still recovering from the astonishment of seeing Lord Rothbury again.

  Walking down a dark corridor in silence with Charlotte, she tightened her Spanish blue shawl around her shoulders and tried to ignore the ache in her belly. The pair were on their way to a scheduled tour of Wolverest Castle, the guests assembling in the marble hall. It seemed miles away until she remembered that Lord Rothbury could very well be there. And then it felt as if Charlotte was running, dragging her along, when in actuality their pace had slowed.

  Last Season, Rothbury had pursued her with all the finesse of a deranged hunter. He had the habit of showing up wherever she went, which made her suspect he was bribing one of their servants for the information. And he simply wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Being an earl with over thirty thousand a year, Priscilla had practically begged Madelyn to allow him to court her. The plain and simple fact was that she had
no interest in the man. He had the reputation of a rake, the persistence of a skilled huntsman, and the impudence to offer her the position of being one of his mistresses when she refused his proposal.

  She had to admit he was handsome, with his tousled ash-blond locks, tall form, and easy smile. Only, there was something about his amber-colored eyes that reminded her of a lion. A pursuing, methodical, flesh-eating lion.

  And now he was here. She certainly hoped he moved on, though doubt weighed heavy on her shoulders.

  For all the nervous fluttering going on in her stomach, it was no match for the memory of Gabriel standing over her, kissing her in the ballroom. Coupled with this new and wondrous feeling was the nagging voice inside her head reminding her of how disappointed she felt when Gabriel quit the music room last evening. In the ballroom, he had been so kind, so gracious. He’d managed to stop her from worrying about the steps of the dance, and she’d felt graceful for the first time in her life. She rather thought something was blooming between them. Be it friendship, or something else she’d do well to dismiss. Because then he had changed.

  In the music room he was quiet, distant. When he kissed the air above her knuckles, she found herself longing for the heat of his touch. When his finger skimmed across the crook of her bent elbow, shivers fell in cascades from her shoulders to her knees. And when his hand pressed at the small of her back…she felt all her senses heighten, but when she turned to look at him, he’d appeared bored, as if his thoughts were far off, unreachable.

  How irrational she was turning out to be. She came to this castle with a plan: keep Tristan away from Charlotte, and keep Willowbrooke within her grasp by pretending that she was trying to win the duke. The former was a juggling act, though she felt she was succeeding somewhat in that end. But the latter needed some work: she fretted that if she spent any more time in Gabriel’s company in order to make Priscilla believe she was actually trying, she just might do the unthinkable and fall in love with the man.