JORDAN Nicole (7 page)

Eleanor evidently took his silence as agreement. “You cannot tell simply by looking at her, but Roslyn is the most clever and studious of the three sisters.”

“Studious?” Drew replied with skepticism.

“Yes, indeed. She even knows Latin. She has read nearly every tome in her late uncle’s library, and Marcus has begun sending her books from his own library in London. Her delicacy gives one a false impression. Lily, on the other hand, is quite the hoyden. She is the passionate one in the family.”

Heath joined them just then, in time to overhear Eleanor’s last remarks. Bending closer, he murmured with amusement, “Marcus was right, Drew. Miss Roslyn looks suited to the role of duchess.”

“Stubble it, you old bleater,” Drew murmured.

Despite their attractions, he wanted nothing to do with marriageable young ladies of the Loring sisters’ ilk. For much of his life he’d been hounded and harassed by avaricious mamas and daughters who had only one goal in mind—the taming and matrimonial capture of a wealthy duke. The thought of being shackled for life to that sort of covetous, grasping female made him shudder.

Roslyn Loring might not be so material-minded, but he most certainly didn’t want to find himself strangled in the parson’s noose with her as his wife, which likely would have happened had he made love to her that night.

Drew was vastly relieved by his near escape from potential disaster. Because of his mistaken assumption regarding her identity, he might have been honorably compelled to offer for her hand in marriage.

Indeed, if Roslyn hadn’t been so set on escaping him, he might have thought she’d purposely contrived to entice him out onto that balcony. It wouldn’t be the first time a scheming husband-hunter had plotted to entrap him by luring him into a compromising situation.

But whatever her reasons for attending the Cyprians’ ball, he intended to discover them. If his friend’s ward was courting trouble and risking scandal, or worse, actual danger, Marcus needed to know about it.

His thoughts were interrupted as the bride and groom took their places before the altar. A hush fell over the crowd, and a moment later, the vicar began the service.

“Dearly beloved…”

Drew sat back in his seat, girding himself to endure the proceedings. He didnot like weddings. In fact he loathed them, for they signified the entrapment of a man in marriage. And this particular wedding was especially regrettable, since Marcus was shackling himself to a young lady he had known for a ludicrously short period of time. Marcus had been a devout bachelor before meeting Arabella and completely losing his head over her, swept up in an infatuation.

Drew shook his head. He cared deeply for his friend and hoped he wouldn’t be bitterly disappointed in love, but suspected it was inevitable.

As the vicar prosed on, he found his gaze straying across the aisle to the lovely Roslyn. She sat tall and straight, watching the ceremony with solemn interest.

Eventually his thoughts drifted back to the night they met. He remembered her scent, soft and tempting. He remembered the feel of her in his arms, her sweet, tentative response when he kissed her the first time.

Perhaps she truly was as inexperienced as she’d claimed. If so, that explained why she kissed so innocently.

She’d responded fervently to their second kiss, though, and to his more erotic ministrations afterward. He was an expert at reading his lover’s responses, and he could tell she wasn’t feigning passion.

He’d responded with an unanticipated fervency of his own, Drew acknowledged. He rarely was that swiftly, that intensely, attracted to any woman. In truth, he couldn’t remember ever feeling such a sudden fierce spark of desire as he had that night. The urge to sweep Roslyn up in his arms and carry her to the nearby chaise longue had been overwhelming. He’d wanted to make love to her for hours, to arouse her to pleasure and to experience his own, to prove to her they could have a supremely enjoyable liaison while it lasted.

Thank God he had taken it no further.

But how damned ironic that the first woman he’d been interested in for months was off limits. Roslyn Loring was completely untouchable. No honorable gentleman would pursue her without marriage in mind. And he had no intention of winding up here in this church with her.

She had remained in his thoughts for days afterward, however. Hell, she was still captivating his thoughts. He couldn’t forget her lush nakedness, her sweet, ripe breasts. Couldn’t forget how her dusky nipples had felt in his mouth, how they tasted….

The ceremony was thankfully brief. A short while later, Marcus was given permission to kiss his bride, which he did with obvious tenderness.

Beside Drew, Eleanor sighed and wiped a tear from her eye.

Seeing her action, Heath leaned over to tease her. “For someone who has jilted two suitors, Nell, you are strangely romantic.”

“Simply becauseI don’t wish to wed doesn’t mean Marcus shouldn’t. He and Arabella are made for each other.”

Drew refrained from scoffing, but barely.

Eleanor saw his expression and eyed him curiously. “You don’t believe they are in love, do you?”

“I believe Marcusthinks he loves her, which is not the same thing at all.”

Heath’s mouth curved. “Such a cynic.”

Drew smiled. “Just so. But I’ve never seen a union that was formed so precipitously last beyond the first flush of infatuation.”

“Neither have I,” Eleanor said wistfully, “but I know they must exist. All the poets say so.”

She rose then and went to join her brother, where she gave him a long and heartfelt embrace. Heath and Drew followed but contented themselves with shaking hands with Marcus.

For once, Drew kept his cynical thoughts to himself. Through much of their boyhood and all of their adulthood, the three of them had been inseparable, having attended Eton and Oxford together and then come into their vast fortunes and illustrious titles the same year. Like Roslyn, Drew didn’t want to spoil the momentous day for Marcus, even if he was troubled by his friend’s reckless rush into matrimony.

Nearby, the Loring sisters were engaged in an emotional embrace of their own, their tears and smiles a clear indication of their fondness for one another.

Shortly, however, the vicar intervened and urged the newly wedded couple to the rear of the church to sign the documents officially making them man and wife.

Meanwhile, the guests spilled out of the front entrance, most heading for their carriages. The company would repair immediately to Danvers Hall for the wedding breakfast—although breakfast was a misnomer, since the festivities would last all afternoon and evening, culminating with a grand ball.

Marcus had warned that the guest list would be huge, for he wanted much of the ton to take part, to pave the way for his bride to be received in the highest circles. Marrying an earl would go a long way toward restoring Arabella’s tainted reputation, and by association, her sisters’, but Marcus was set on having her fully accepted as his countess.

Drew wasnot looking forward to the wedding celebrations any more than the wedding. Heath had escorted Eleanor and her aunt, Lady Beldon, to the church and would return them to London this evening once the ball ended, but Drew had brought his own carriage so he could leave early if he wished to.

Yet now he had to deal with Miss Roslyn Loring.

He glanced over the crowd as he descended the front steps, searching for Roslyn. He wanted to get her alone for a private word, but it didn’t appear as if that would happen anytime soon, since she stood with Arabella, who was surrounded by well-wishers, including their once-estranged mother.

After fleeing to the Continent, the scandalous Lady Loring had eventually married her French lover and was now simply Mrs. Henri Vachel. Rather admirably, Marcus had recently arranged for the sisters to be reunited with their mother, and for the moment at least, her disgrace was apparently forgiven.

While Arabella spoke to her, Roslyn was engaged in animated conversation with Fanny Irwin, as well as a fellow teacher at the academy, Miss Blanchard, and the academy’s matronly patroness, Lady Freemantle.

Standing beside Roslyn also was a dark-haired gentleman whom Drew recognized as the Earl of Haviland. When he saw her laughing up at Haviland, Drew’s eyes narrowed.

Eleanor joined him just then and saw where his gaze was fixed. “Are you acquainted with Lord Haviland?” Eleanor asked.

“We have met briefly at various clubs.”

“I should like to meet him. He is said to be a very intriguing man. Supposedly he was a brilliant spy for Wellington and was repudiated by his family for such ungentlemanly behavior. But he was compelled to return home last year when he inherited the title. His country villa is adjacent to Danvers Hall.”

Which explained why Roslyn was on such good terms with him, Drew thought. They were neighbors.

Or perhapsmore than neighbors, if her laughing demeanor was any indication.

At the sight of her gazing up so admiringly at Haviland, Drew felt an odd little kick to his stomach. Yet he promptly dismissed the sensation.

He was merely feeling impatience, nothing more. He wanted this interminable day over with. And before it ended, he wanted to question Roslyn Loring about why she had attended an infamous Cyprians’ ball without her guardian’s knowledge or approval.

To Roslyn’s relief, the wedding breakfast and ball proved a splendid success. She was chiefly responsible for overseeing the lavish celebrations, a daunting challenge for the sheer size alone. An army of servants had prepared frantically for days, ensuring that Danvers Hall sparkled and the grounds gleamed.

The enormous throng of guests appeared to be enjoying themselves, if their laughter and gaiety was any indication. The crowds had spent the afternoon feasting at banquet tables beneath colorful tents, playing various games on the lawns, boating on the River Thames behind the manor, and strolling in the terraced gardens.

In the past half hour, the merry company had removed indoors to the ballroom and parlors to partake of dancing and cards. Roslyn had watched with delight as Marcus led out Arabella for the opening quadrille, but when the orchestra struck up the first waltz, she settled gratefully in a chair in the far corner of the ballroom. After the frenetic activity of the past few weeks, she was glad for the respite.

She was gladder still to have avoided the Duke of Arden thus far. Thankfully, her hostess duties had kept her occupied and afforded them no opportunity for private conversation. She didn’t want to be alone with Arden so he could grill her about her attendance at the Cyprians’ ball a fortnight ago.

She’d felt his eyes fastened upon her more than once during the course of the afternoon. Those vibrant green eyes were cool and critical, and Roslyn had done her best to ignore him. Yet he clearly comprehended her tactics. Moments ago when he’d spied her across the ballroom floor, he had offered her a smile filled with lazy charm, but his keen gaze promised an eventual accounting.

Roslyn was remembering that unnerving look when Fanny settled beside her. “You appear spent, my dear.”

Roslyn smiled. “I am indeed a little weary, but any discomfort I feel is utterly worthwhile. I have never seen Arabella so happy.”

“I know.” Fanny gazed wistfully toward the ballroom floor where Arabella was waltzing with her new husband. “I’m thankful that you and your sisters allowed me to take part in the celebrations.”

“You didn’t expect anything less, did you?”

“No.” A trill of Fanny’s musical laughter followed. “You all place such high value on loyalty and friendship that you are willing to flout society for my sake. But I only hope your defiance doesn’t prove too detrimental to your own matrimonial prospects.”

Roslyn shrugged. “Frankly, I don’t want any husband who cannot value loyalty and friendship as I do. And Lily doesn’t wish to wed at all, so the issue of your jeopardizing our matrimonial prospects is immaterial.”

The two women shared a moment of amiable accord before Fanny spoke again. “You aren’t dancing?”

Roslyn’s smile turned to a wry grimace. “My feet hurt too much in these new slippers. Marcus insisted on funding completely new wardrobes for us all, and I had no time to break them in.”

“I noticed you haven’t spoken to the duke since the church service.”

The observation elicited a rueful sigh from Roslyn. She’d given Fanny an abbreviated recount of what had happened the night of the Cyprians’ ball, although leaving out the fact that she’d shared more than a kiss with the duke. “No, we haven’t spoken, but I must eventually, I suppose. Arden has demanded an explanation and threatened to tell Marcus if I don’t comply. He thinks I have betrayed his friend’s trust, which isn’t quite true, since when I attended the ball with you, Marcus had already granted us our legal independence from his guardianship and I was no longer technically his ward.”

“Why don’t you simply tell Arden the truth? Your motives were not so devious, after all.”

Roslyn laughed outright. “I doubt he would understand my desire to make Lord Haviland fall in love with me. And the less I have to do with the Duke of Arden the better.”

Her lips pursing in amusement, Fanny waved a hand airily down the sidelines. “Clearly not everyone feels the same as you do.”

Following her gaze, Roslyn saw Arden in conversation with a half dozen of the other wedding guests. Not surprisingly he was the center of attention—and not merely because he was a scion of the nobility. His magnetic, commanding presence drew the eye. That, along with a breathtaking virility, made every member of the female sex take notice.

“The ladies are obviously eager to shower him with attention,” Roslyn agreed.

“Not just the ladies,” Fanny countered. “The young bucks in London all try to mimic his sporting exploits. And he is well respected for his political views by the Whigs and many of the Tories as well. Arden takes his seat in the House of Lords quite seriously.”

She raised an eyebrow. That the duke was a sportsman was obvious, to judge by his well-muscled shoulders and limbs, but that he would be interested in governing the country did indeed surprise her.