His Perfect Lady

HIS PERFECT LADY

JENN LANGSTON

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York

HIS PERFECT LADY

Copyright©2014

JENN LANGSTON

Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN: 978-1-61935—
459-3

www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

To Emmly Jane and Kara O’Neal,

thank you for standing by me and helping me.

You two have been instrumental in shaping

the Perfect Series into what it is today.

Acknowledgements

To my wonderful fans, without you, I would not have been able to see all three books of the Perfect Series published. Thank you.

Chapter 1

Jonathan Alastair stared at the paper in the flickering glow of the fireplace. No matter how many times he read the few lines over the past days, he still could not believe it. He was Viscount Linwood. Nicholas Alastair, his father, had died in his sleep less than a fortnight ago.

After crumpling the paper in his hand, Jonathan finished his brandy. His father probably died on purpose. After tossing the letter into the fire, Jonathan took pleasure in seeing the flames consume it. The man was gone now and could never give him the only thing he ever wanted. According to his father, one mistake made was one too many.

“Are you coming back to bed? I’m not used to being left alone for so long.”

Jonathan turned and smiled at Rosetta’s pouty face. Although he had known bringing a woman home tonight wasn’t the best idea, he couldn’t help himself. As she stretched her slender naked body across his bed, he tried to muster his usual enthusiasm.

“I would, my dear, but your exceptional loving has worn me out. I must rest.”

“Perhaps you simply need some encouragement.” She rose then sauntered over to him and climbed into his lap, teasing him with her hands and lips. He knew she could feel his body’s reaction to her ministrations through the thin material of his trousers, but he had no desire to engage in pleasurable activities right now. Not with thoughts of his father glowering at him.

He let out an exaggerated groan. “Normally I would not hesitate to partake in your sweet offerings a second time, but I have an appointment scheduled much too early in the morning.”

“Cancel it,” Rosetta breathed against his skin.

“At this moment, I would like nothing more, but it’s much too late to do so.”

She sat back and put her hands on her hips as she studied his face. He set his expression as regretful as he could manage. With an unhappy sound, she shrugged then slid off of him.

“Well, I shall be available tomorrow if you are looking for some company,” she offered, running her hands down the sides of her body. “After that, I can make no promises.”

“Thank you for your generosity. You know I always enjoy your . . . stimulating conversation.”

She snorted, an unladylike sound, then turned to search for her clothes.

The crack of metal against wood brought Jonathan’s eyes to the door at the same time a feminine squeal sounded from his right.

Stanwick Alastair, his brother, stood in the doorway. His chest heaved from heavy breathing, and his face hardened as it rested on Jonathan.

“You,” Stanwick growled.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Kamins, the butler, peeked his head around Stanwick’s forbidding posture. “I tried to stop him.”

“That is quite all right, Kamins.” Jonathan slowly shook his head at his brother, hiding his shock at the sudden appearance of the sibling who never left Linwood. “Stanwick, I had thought your manners were better than this.”

“What would you like me to do, my lord? I can call for a footman to assist.”

“There is no need. Stanwick will go without trouble.” Jonathan grabbed his dressing gown from the chair and pulled it on as he stood and faced the men.

“I’m not leaving until I have said my piece.” Fury dripped from Stanwick’s words.

Jonathan had no idea what had upset his brother so much, but he obviously would not be deterred. Anger rose within him at Stanwick’s superior stance. He had no right to barge into
his
bedchamber and demand an immediate audience. Working to calm his reaction, Jonathan glanced around for Rosetta. She crouched behind his bed, clutching her gown at her chest. Judging from Stanwick’s lack of acknowledgement, he had not seen her.

The combination of his brother’s rage and his appearance in London added up to only one reason for his visit. Not wanting to discuss private matters in front of an audience, Jonathan nodded toward the bed.

“As you wish. However, you must wait until I have seen to my guest.”

At the mention of her, Rosetta dropped down until only the top of her blond head could be seen. Jonathan wanted to laugh.

Stanwick set his gaze on the floor and cleared his throat. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

After his brother retreated, Rosetta jumped up and rapidly put her clothes on.

“What was that about?”

“Just a warm welcome from my brother.” Jonathan shrugged as Rosetta’s eyes shot to him. “We are a close family.”

“He seemed angry.”

“Did he?” Jonathan kept his voice amused, although he didn’t appreciate her prying. He could see curiosity burning in her eyes, but he refused to explain.

She looked away from him as her cheeks turned bright red. “Will you call upon me tomorrow?”

“We shall see.”

With a nod, she hurried out of his bedchamber. Rosetta was a sweet girl and knew how to please a man, but he felt nothing else for her. Over the years, he had shared a bed with many different women, but none of them had the power to move him. He believed what he searched for didn’t exist. Or rather, only lived within one unattainable woman.

Hearing the door creak open, he wiped his thoughts from his face and put on a smile. Playing the part of irresponsible older brother would serve him better, though he hated the stigma.

“Are you going to talk to me or would you rather fight?” Stanwick demanded, slamming the door behind him.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Fighting is more interesting, but I believe I’m too tired for either. Considering you robbed me of my pleasant diversion, we should reserve this conversation for the morning.”

“I didn’t travel all the way to London to be put off any longer.” Stanwick pointed his finger at Jonathan with force. “You owe me.”

Seeing the disappointment in his brother’s eyes made him wish he no longer had to put up the façade of the dissolute man everyone believed him to be. Sighing heavily, Jonathan waved at a chair, indicating his brother should sit.

“All right. You have the floor.” Settling back on the sofa, Jonathan wished he had a brandy. Sometimes taking that extra second to drink while formulating your response made the difference between a brilliant remark and a mistake.

“Why didn’t you come home after Father’s death? You, once again, left me to deal with everything. Did you honestly hate him so much you couldn’t even come to see him buried?”

Jonathan swallowed down his sorrow, wishing even more for a brandy. He had gone back and forth many times, but had eventually decided not to return to Linwood. His father hadn’t wanted him there in life, so arriving for his death seemed like a disservice. How could he go pay his respects knowing his father’s spirit stood there cursing him?

If Nicholas Alastair had his way, Stanwick would have been his heir, and Jonathan would have never existed. Jonathan could not say he entirely disagreed with the man.

“I could not rearrange my schedule. I thought you would understand.” Jonathan shrugged.

Stanwick shot out of his chair and glared down at him. “Damn it, Jonathan. How could any of your trivial matters be more important than your father?”

“Did you honestly expect me to go?” Jonathan said, his voice tired and strained. “After everything that man put me through? He didn’t want me there. My absence was more of an honor for his memory than my presence would have been.”

His brother sat back down but he didn’t make eye contact with him. “I wish I could tell you that you’re wrong, but I see your point.”

“Glad to hear it,” Jonathan replied, although he didn’t feel that way. He, too, wished Stanwick could tell him their father truly loved him and would have wanted him in attendance.

Stanwick’s eyes shot to his, still full of anger. “However, you could have come for us, not for him. Brothers should support each other during difficult times.”

“You’re right. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have been there. I’m sorry.”

With his narrowed eyes and pinched lips, Stanwick appeared to struggle with the new information. Jonathan hoped his brother would forgive him. There had already been enough strife between them from their father to add this. After a long pause, Stanwick cleared his throat.

“Then I accept your apology.” Stanwick shifted his gaze uncomfortably. “I came here for another reason as well. I wanted to talk to you about Linwood.”

“You could have sent a letter containing all this,” Jonathan observed dryly.

“So you could ignore it? I don’t think so. Aunt Mildred agreed. She said—”

“Not Aunt Mildred.” Jonathan groaned. “Why did you consult her?”

Jonathan and his father’s sister had never seen anything in the same manner. He suspected the affliction to misunderstand him ran through his paternal blood as his father suffered from the same problem. However, Aunt Mildred always pushed everything further than his father. If she’d had her way all those years ago, Jonathan would have been disinherited.

“I had no choice. She moved into the manor the second Father died.”

“So you have come to flee from her? Good choice. Did you bring the boys with you?”

His other brothers, Darin and Lawrence, were much younger than he and Stanwick, so the older boys had taken active roles in the care of their younger siblings. When Jonathan moved to London, leaving them had been difficult, but he knew Stanwick would take care of everything. Jonathan relied on his brothers more than they knew. As he had no intention of marrying, it would fall to one of them to marry and produce heirs to carry on the Alastair line.

“No. They remain in her care. And I didn’t come here to run away from her. Well, not entirely.” Stanwick shot him a grin that reminded Jonathan of their carefree days together. The time before his brother had become corrupted by their father.

“Then what do you want from me?”

“Aunt Mildred sent me to collect you and take you back to Linwood.” He held up his hand when Jonathan opened his mouth to object. “There’s more. She wants you to bring a bride home as well.”

Jonathan jumped to his feet. “Absolutely not. I have never listened to her before, so what makes her think I would do so now? Did it escape her notice that I am now the head of the family?”

“Calm down. You have no reason to quarrel with me. I told her I would pass on the message, not carry it out. And while I’m here, I can’t think of a better person to show me a good time. I would not mind shopping for a bride myself.”

Surprise nearly made Jonathan choke on his words. Stanwick was barely past his twenty-fifth year. The boy needed a chance to live before his spirit became forever shackled to a soul-crushing wife. However, even more of a shock came from the fact Stanwick expected
him
to aid him in his unholy quest.

As a rule, Jonathan avoided all events designed to sacrifice men for the matchmaker’s pleasure. These parties were disgusting displays of chest-puffing, and he refused to show his face at such a proceeding. He made one yearly exception, but Lady Laramie’s ball wasn’t scheduled for another month.

Stanwick would have to find another unsuspecting sap to introduce him. Jonathan would not be caught dead playing a fool.

Mrs. Catherine Gates, wife to the late Solomon Gates, furiously wiped her ball gown in the withdrawing room of Lord Minor’s townhouse. The claret stain stubbornly remained, despite her ministrations. Suppressing the urge to scream and stomp her foot in anger, she took a deep breath and stared at her flaming red cheeks in the mirror.

Lady Evelyn Landon would pay for this; Catherine would see to it. Considering the young girl was in her first season and the daughter of a marquis, she should not be jealous of a twenty—four-year old, twice married woman, but for some unfathomable reason, she was. Lady Evelyn’s supposed accidental spill down Catherine’s gown only served to create an enemy of her.

“Is that claret?” Lady Minor asked, coming up from behind. “Dabbing at it like that will never do.”

“What can I do?” Catherine failed to keep the misery out of her tone, earning a sympathetic look from her host.

“I’m sorry, my dear. Your garment needs a good soaking.”

Catherine slowly nodded. Lady Evelyn would not have done it otherwise, leaving Catherine to spend the remainder of the night in a stained dress. She could appeal to Uncle Toban, but he would never agree to leave. Not only did he thoroughly enjoy these events, but he wanted her to find another husband.

Excusing herself from Lady Minor, she made her way down the corridor. Earlier, she’d heard a few gentlemen speaking of an impressive library located near the withdrawing room. Right now the seclusion sounded perfect. Halfway down the hall, she noticed light escaping from under a door. She slipped inside the room, grateful to see thousands of books lining the walls.

The enormous library astounded and comforted her. As she walked along the bookshelves, she ran her fingers over the spines of the books, taking in the familiar smells of leather and polish. She sighed in appreciation. Never had she seen so many volumes. Reading had always been one of her passions, much to her uncle’s dismay.

Selecting a poetry book she recognized, Catherine sat by the fire and opened it. Luke Addington, her first husband, used to read it to her during their courtship. Looking at the romantic prose now, while she searched for a man to replace him, seemed like an insult to his memory. Slamming the book closed, she put it beside her on the sofa.

Uncle Toban had introduced her to her first husband when she was eighteen years old. Luke had been instantly enamored with her. Their betrothal had been short, and their marriage even shorter.