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‘What do you think possesses a man to seek a mistress?’
‘Lack of contentment, I suppose,’ replied Sarah with a slight lift of her shoulder. ‘It appears much more common here than it does back home. Most of these ton marriages seem to be for convenience and not love. That may explain why there are so many indiscretions.’
Katrina’s gaze drifted back to Lord Phelps, who appeared to be introducing another older gentleman to his mistress. ‘I am grateful joining the ranks of the ton is not to be my fate. I would never want my future tied to a man who would likely have liaisons.’ She turned to Sarah and her spirits lifted. ‘Hopefully when I return home I will find an honourable man who will think me so captivating he will have no choice but to offer for my hand.’
‘Hopefully he will be handsome, as well as honourable,’ Sarah said with a grin.
Before Katrina was able to respond her father sat down in the vacant seat on her other side. ‘And how are the two of you enjoying the evening thus far?’
‘We have been admiring the sights,’ Katrina said as she smiled affectionately at him. ‘It appears a number of boxes are garnering quite a bit of attention, and it’s lovely not having stares and whispers pointed in our direction for once.’
But in a box across from where Katrina sat in comfortable conversation a man was staring—a very surprised man.
* * *
Julian narrowed his eyes and studied the woman in pale pink satin. He lifted his spyglass for a better view. She had rich golden hair, delicately curved shoulders, and her face moved with animation as she talked with the woman to her right. There was no mistaking it: this was the American he had spoken with on the de Lievens’ terrace the night before—the same one who had plagued his thoughts throughout the day.
The older gentleman sitting next to her smiled indulgently, and Julian had an unnatural urge to drag her away from her companions. What the hell was wrong with him?
‘I believe you have not heard a single word I’ve said for the last five minutes,’ Hart complained with annoyance as he flipped a guinea in the air and caught it.
‘Of course I have. You were discussing one of your latest liaisons.’
Hart let out a deep-throated laugh and leaned back in his chair, tipping it precariously. ‘Not unless her name was Royal Rebel. Which, come to think of it, would be an exceptional name for a princess I am intimately acquainted with... I was speaking of the race I attended this afternoon and the amount of blunt Royal Rebel brought to my pockets. Came from behind and all. It was quite exciting.’
Julian was unable to keep his gaze from returning to the American, even though he tried to focus on his friend.
‘What’s her name?’ Hart asked, flipping the guinea again.
‘Whose name?’
‘Whomever the lady is who has your attention—attention, I might add, that should be focused on me. It was sporting of you to invite me out this evening, but you really are an abominable host.’
Julian glanced at this friend. ‘What makes you think it is a lady who has my attention?’
‘Foolish of me. I suppose you are studying the folds of some gentleman’s intricately tied cravat?’ When Julian gave no reply, Hart shook his head. ‘You realise it will not take me long to determine who has captured your attention?’
Placing the coin in his pocket, Hart took his spyglass and openly scanned the boxes across the way. ‘There is the Montrose box—nothing new in there. Rothschild has some guests, but unless you are interested in much older women I think we can safely say your attention was not focused there. Then there is the box with the American delegation... Hmm...potential there. Next we have—’
‘You know that box?’ Julian closed his eyes, praying his friend hadn’t heard the inane question.
Hart laughed softly and arched a cocky brow. ‘So your thoughts were of a political nature?’
He didn’t have to look so smug.
‘Oh, very well, Julian. The gentleman and lady seated to our far left are Mr and Mrs Forrester, the American Minister and his wife. The other gentleman in the front row is Mr Peter Vandenberg, an American author who has recently arrived in London and will be one of the American representatives at the Anglo-American Conference. Surely you have heard of him? My understanding is that he has been welcomed all over the courts and drawing rooms of Europe and has lived for the past eight months in Paris. It’s interesting that President Monroe has entrusted him to successfully negotiate the treaty between our countries.’
A mischievous sparkle flashed in Hart’s blue eyes. ‘Sorry to say I am not acquainted with anyone else in the box. Are you disappointed?’
‘Dolt.’
‘I can make some enquiries if you like.’ Hart smirked and eyed Julian with open curiosity.
‘No need. I am simply enjoying the view.’
Julian wondered if Peter Vandenberg was the American woman’s husband. They were obviously well acquainted, considering the way she occasionally touched his arm when she spoke. He was too old for her, but Julian knew of many marriages arranged between young women and much older men. If he did not give proper attention to spending time with Lady Mary, his marriage might eventually resemble that one.
It hadn’t occurred to him when they spoke that she might be married. Crossing his arms tightly over his chest, Julian forced his jaw to unclench. Why should he care if she was married?
The orchestra struck up its opening chords and the red velvet curtains of the stage parted. The narrator stepped out, and Julian was grateful for the distraction. However, when the interval was announced it annoyed him that he noticed the exact moment when the American woman left her box.
Once the performance had ended Julian couldn’t help searching for her as he prepared to enter Hart’s carriage. He turned towards the people still exiting the theatre and scanned the crowd for a pale pink gown. Not far away, to his left, he saw her standing next to Vandenberg while the man spoke to a coachman.
As if some strange force of nature had tapped her on the shoulder, she turned his way. Their eyes met. Recognition mixed with pleasure lit her features and the commotion around them faded away.
She pulled her mantle closed, appearing to hold off a chill. There were a number of interesting ways he’d like keep her warm. Her head tilted slightly, as if she was trying to read his thoughts, and then her lips rose into that alluring warm smile.
There was movement by her side, and Julian’s gaze darted to the older gentleman next to her. When Vandenberg’s hand moved to her elbow Julian’s grip tightened around the gold handle of his walking stick. Meeting her eyes once more, Julian tipped his hat to her before climbing into Hart’s coach.
‘Where shall we go next?’ Hart enquired as he settled himself on the green velvet bench and adjusted the cuffs of his black coat. ‘Shall we try White’s for cards?’
‘Have your driver take me to Helena’s. I promised I would make an appearance at her card party this evening.’
‘I still do not understand this attraction you have to Helena. She, my friend, is the devil. Tell me she is nothing more than a passing fancy.’
‘I do not understand why you are so against my association with her.’
Hart leaned forward across the carriage. ‘She wants to improve her rank.’
‘As do most women of the ton.’
‘Tell me you are not thinking of marrying her.’
‘It hasn’t crossed my mind. You are mistaken about Helena. She has informed me that she has no wish to marry again.’
‘And you believe her?’
‘She has not given me a reason to doubt her.’
He and Helena shared a mutual physical attraction. She was the widow of the Earl of Wentworth and missed her marriage bed. She told him she enjoyed her independence. It was the perfect arrangement. Julian would never pay for sex. He wanted shared desire.
Hart opened his mouth to say something, but then turned and looked out of the window. ‘Mark my words: Helena is trouble. You’d best remember that.’
However, at that moment Julian was having a difficult time remembering anything about Helena at all. His thoughts kept returning to a warm smile and a pair of lovely eyes.
Chapter Four (#ulink_42f6ee2e-255d-53a5-927c-58e8cce8b834)
For days Julian couldn’t seem to rid himself of the pull the American woman had on him. Suddenly she seemed to be everywhere. Each time he saw her their eyes met briefly, but he refused to pursue an introduction. Any enquiries he made about her would lead to speculation. He did not need members of the ton thinking he was panting after some American, even if that was exactly what he was doing. She was too tempting—and all wrong for a man who needed to live up to the Lyonsdale title.
The crackling and popping of the fire broke the silence in the library, where Julian and his grandmother faced each other over a chessboard. Absently twirling a glass of his favourite brandy on the Pembroke table, Julian wondered if the American would be attending the Langley ball later that evening.
‘Your mother went to a musicale at the Morleys’ tonight. I assume you were invited as well? You had no desire to attend?’
‘I had already accepted another invitation,’ Julian said as he slid one of his black pawns along the board.
‘You do not like the girl?’
He gave a careless shrug. ‘I have not spent enough time with her to form any opinion of her character.’
‘You have danced with her recently.’
‘She is a rather quiet partner. Do not fret. I am aware of her family’s history and I know she is an appropriate choice.’
‘It matters not to me if she is the one you will choose. I will not be marrying her. She does show quite well, though. I wouldn’t think it a hardship to produce an heir with her.’
Julian jerked his head up. ‘This is hardly a topic you and I should be discussing.’
‘Why not? You’re a grown man. We have both been married. I doubt there is anything you could say that would shock me.’ She arched a challenging brow.
His stomach gave a queasy flip. ‘You are my grandmother.’
She took a sip of her sherry and waved her glass in the air. ‘Is that the best you can do?’
‘It was not meant to shock. Discussing my marriage bed with you is unsettling, to say the least.’
‘I am mentioning it because I know how important finding a suitable partner in bed can be for a happy marriage. Your grandfather and I had a happy marriage. Did you?’
Every muscle in his body turned to stone. She knew he hated discussing Emma. It was too painful.
He shifted his attention back to the board, trying to blink away the wretched image of his wife’s lifeless form lying on the bloody sheets of her bed. He’d been holding her hand when she had slipped away. Offering her comfort at the end had been the least he could do, since it had been his fault she would never see her twentieth year.
‘I had a satisfactory marriage,’ he bit out, moving a random chess piece.
His grandmother’s attention was back to analysing her next move. ‘You were never cruel to Emma, however, I always had a sense that you were indifferent to her presence.’
He forced his jaw to unclench. ‘And you think I was wrong in that?’
‘I suppose it depends on what you want in a marriage.’
He rarely lost his patience with his grandmother, but she knew as well as he that what he wanted in life for himself did not matter. His parents had chosen his bride for him when he’d been away at Cambridge. When he had returned home one Christmas he had been informed that he would be married to a girl he’d never met. It had made him ill, but he’d understood that his needs and desires did not come before his duty. What mattered above all else was the legacy he left to the Lyonsdale name. He had known that to be true then, just as he knew it to be true now.
‘I accepted my responsibility,’ he said, looking his grandmother in the eye and raising his chin.
‘Yes, you did—quite well, I might add. To my knowledge you never questioned your father’s decision.’
‘You know I could not cry off, even if I had wanted to. A man does not break an engagement. It is not done.’
She leaned in. ‘But would you have done so if you could?’
If he had, Emma would still be alive today.
He took a large swig of brandy. ‘I knew how important it was to have an exemplary woman share the Lyonsdale name. Father made an appropriate choice in Emma. There was no reason to protest.’
‘And yet even though you accepted their choice the spark in your eyes you had as a child went out when you made your vows, and it has not returned since. You need to find that spark again.’
She made it sound simple, but Julian knew that honouring the responsibility of his title meant he would be bound, yet again, to a marriage of convenience. The only sparks that mattered were the ones he could fire off in his speeches at Westminster.
‘Why am I certain you are about to tell me how I can regain what I have lost?’
His grandmother gave a slight shrug. ‘I was fortunate. I married your grandfather and we fell in love. Your father was not as fortunate. We were certain your mother would be a rose in his pocket, but she had thorns. Being married to her killed something precious inside him, and he became consumed with politics and Westminster.’ She leaned across the table and levelled him with a pointed stare. ‘There is more to life than that. It did him no good.’
His father had been the very model of what an English duke should be. Nine years had passed since he’d collapsed and died while delivering a speech to the House of Lords, and to this day people continued to tell Julian how much they had admired him. If only Julian could be half the man he had been.
‘I disagree. He helped this country achieve great things.’
‘And it cost him his life. No one will convince me that his heart did not give way because of the strain of his political career.’ She drained her glass of sherry. ‘We were wrong in preventing him from choosing his own bride, and he was wrong when he did the same to you. Life is too brief, Julian. Trust someone as old as I. Do not waste your life tied to someone you do not want.’
If only it were that easy. Out of an entire ballroom of girls the only one he had been drawn to wasn’t an appropriate choice—to say nothing of the fact that she was probably married to a man old enough to be her father. The point of taking a wife was to produce an heir. His father had told him many times that it wasn’t necessary to like the person you married. You just needed to tolerate them.
Thankfully his grandmother’s attention was back on the chessboard. ‘Oh, and Julian...? I seem to have misplaced my edition of A Traveler’s Tale by that American author—Vandenberg. Would you mind purchasing another one for me the next time you are near Hatchards?’
The Vandenberg name should not follow any conversation about marriage. He needed to concentrate on finishing this game of chess. Soon Hart would arrive, and they would be off to the Langley ball. However, tonight, he vowed, he would not search for the American at all.
* * *
Only the flutter of shuffling cards and the soft murmur of voices could be heard in the card room at Langley House. Footmen stood along walls that were hung with yellow silk damask, ready to refill crystal glasses at the mere lift of a hand. Purposely removed from the hubbub of the ballroom and the front public rooms, this drawing room was located near the end of a long hallway. Serious gambling was always done at the Langley ball, and serious gambling required concentration. It was the ideal place for a man who needed to keep his mind occupied. It didn’t even matter to Julian that he was losing miserably.
‘Perhaps a new table is in order?’ Hart suggested as he collected his winnings.
A new table would not change his luck, but Julian surveyed the other seven tables for open seats anyway. As his gaze skimmed past the doorway he caught sight of Helena, in a jonquil satin gown, its bodice cut to accentuate her womanly curves. With an air of confidence she scanned the room until her grey eyes landed on him.
The beginnings of a smile tipped the corners of her full mouth as she made her way to his side. ‘Do not tell me luck is against you tonight,’ she said in a silky voice.
‘It definitely is now,’ mumbled Hart, low enough for Julian to hear.
He shot Hart a look of reproach and turned to her. ‘I’ve had better luck,’ he replied congenially.
‘Have you been to the ballroom yet? The orchestra is exceptional.’
The American woman was probably in the ballroom—dancing with some braggart. ‘The ballroom does not interest me tonight. Perhaps I’ll try another table.’
She cocked her head to the side, exposing the pale skin of her neck. ‘Perhaps we could play together,’ she whispered.
‘Perhaps we could.’ He should have found the smooth skin of her neck enticing. He had before. However, looking at it now, he found his body surprisingly unaffected.
They were about to search for an open game when a footman approached him with a request for his presence at the Duke of Winterbourne’s table. He felt an unprecedented sense of relief in having to leave Helena’s side to join his friend.
Excusing himself, Julian followed the footman across the room.
