To Bed a Beaty

the disgraced Loring sisters had come to live at Danvers Hall with their step-uncle. In fact, she had been more of a mother to them than their real mother.

The summer previous to their arrival, Winifred had been widowed, a misfortune that had left her heartbroken-which was rather odd considering that hers had been an arranged marriage where she had wed far above her station. Her father, a wealthy industrialist who’d made a vast fortune with his manufacturing and mining enterprises, had purchased a baronet for her in hopes of elevating his daughter to the gentry.

Seventeen years later, Sir Rupert Freemantle had unexpectedly suffered heart failure, yet Winifred still wore the willow for him. She was dressed in the height of fashion now, but her gown of lavender crepe was the color of half-mourning. And she rarely was seen without a certain silver-enameled brooch pinned over her ample bosom in memory of her late husband, for inside was a miniature portrait of Sir Rupert. To anyone’s knowledge, Winifred had never considered remarrying, even though she was barely middle-aged now, no more than forty.

She was fingering her brooch absently when she reached Roslyn. “There you are, my dear,” Winifred exclaimed jovially. “Why are you hiding yourself away like a wallflower? You should be dancing.” Without waiting for a reply, Winifred gestured at the nobleman beside her. “Allow me to present the Duke of Arden. His grace will make you an ideal partner, so I have brought him to you.”

Trying to hide a wince of embarrassment, Roslyn offered Arden a polite curtsy, then murmured in an exasperated undertone, “Winifred, I am certain his grace can find his own dance partners.”

“But none as beautiful or charming as you, dear. The duke will be well pleased to become better acquainted with you.”

Since the music had just ended, her ladyship’s voice carried over half the ballroom. Roslyn felt color flood her cheeks at her friend’s obvious attempts at matchmaking. Lily was right; it was indeed mortifying.

She stole a glance at the duke. His expression was enigmatic, so she couldn’t tell if he was feeling the same vexation that she was at being cajoled to dance with her.

Indeed, he was all politeness when he bowed and said, “Will you do me the honor of dancing with me, Miss Roslyn?”

Roslyn managed a strained smile. “You are all kindness, your grace. But I was just on my way to the kitchens to confer with our housekeeper about the supper buffet. I hope you will understand if I beg to be excused.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” he replied, a gleam in his green eyes that said he knew very well why she didn’t wish to be alone with him.

Winifred looked unhappy, but Arden merely shrugged his elegant shoulders. “By all means, don’t let me keep you from your duties.”

“Thank you, your grace.”

Curtsying again, Roslyn turned away and tried not to hurry from the ballroom as she’d done the night of the Cyprians’ ball, yet she could feel his penetrating gaze boring into her back all the while.

Chapter Three

I find it vexing that the duke condemns me for being a “designing female” even when I have no designs on him.

– Roslyn to Fanny

Drew’s eyes narrowed as he watched Roslyn Loring walk away from him. He was not accustomed to being dismissed, as he had been each time they met.

His pique must have been obvious, for Lady Freemantle gave him a troubled look. “’Tis right sorry I am, your grace. Roslyn truly is a delightful girl. She is just quite busy this evening, seeing to all the countless details required in putting on a gala like this. She is an excellent hostess, Roslyn is.”

Drew wiped his annoyance from his expression and offered her ladyship a polite smile. “I understand perfectly, my lady.”

“I will be happy to find you another partner-”

“Pray, don’t trouble yourself,” he said quickly. “I prefer to find my own dance partners.”

“As you wish, your grace,” the dame said with a strained smile before taking her leave.

Drew was under no illusions, however, that Lady Freemantle had abandoned her attempts at matchmaking. Her presumption would have irked him had he not desired to have Roslyn to himself for a few moments.

He could almost have laughed at her uninventive excuse to avoid speaking to him alone. Not that he disbelieved her about needing to see to the supper preparations. He’d watched Roslyn all afternoon as she mingled with the crowd, quietly and efficiently overseeing the wedding breakfast and the ball that followed. She was charming and gracious to the innumerable guests, anticipating their every need.

She was just as charming to the army of servants while marshaling her forces like a female general. The staff seemed eager to do her bidding, and as a result, the wedding celebrations had come off without any apparent hitches.

As if to prove his point, a footman materialized at Drew’s elbow to offer him a glass of champagne. Drew accepted it and sipped, admiring the quality as he absently scanned the dancers waltzing around the ballroom floor.

Roslyn Loring was no doubt as excellent a hostess as Lady Freemantle avowed, he reflected. In that respect, she reminded him of his mother, the widowed Duchess of Arden.

At the thought of his illustrious mother, Drew grimaced. It was utterly unfair to compare the two women. Like the duchess, Roslyn was every inch the lady, elegant to the bone, yet she likely had more warmth in her little finger than his coldhearted mother did in her entire body.

Just then the music ended. With a sigh Drew set down his glass on a side table and stepped onto the ballroom floor in search of an elderly matron to charm. He had promised Marcus he would do his duty and dance with all the older ladies here, particularly the influential leaders of society, to help persuade them to support the new Countess of Danvers.

Sometime this evening, he would seek a dance with the bride herself and try to mend his fences with her. He and Arabella had not begun their acquaintance on the best of terms, since he’d been certain Marcus was making a grave mistake in marrying her.

But for the sake of their long friendship, Drew was prepared to grin and bear the choice Marcus had made- and hope it wouldn’t end in sorrow and resentment when the first flush of love wore off.

An hour later, he also managed to secure a dance with Fanny Irwin. When he quizzed her about the Cyprians’ ball, however, Fanny suggested that he ask Roslyn directly about her attendance.

Then Fanny hesitated. “If I may be so bold, your grace…Perhaps it might be best if you leave her alone. She is an innocent compared to you, not in your league in the least.”

Drew’s eyes narrowed on the beautiful courtesan. Telling a man he couldn’t have something was certain to provoke just the opposite reaction, and Fanny well knew it, despite her ingenuous, wide-eyed look.

“I might say the same of you, Fanny, darling,” Drew responded. “It hardly reflects well on you, to be leading an innocent young lady astray.”

Fanny smiled at that. “I assure you, I did not do the leading. Roslyn knows her own mind, your grace.”

At her wry tone, Drew found himself searching the crowd again for the subject of their discussion, just as he’d done all day. Truthfully, he couldn’t understand his fascination with Roslyn. She was not his preferred style. He usually liked more curves in a woman, more earthiness. Her delicate beauty belonged more to a gilded figurine, except that he knew firsthand that she was warm, enticing flesh and blood. She had certainly enticed him that night, in part because of her elusiveness.

Suddenly he spied her dancing with Lord Haviland. She was gazing up at the earl, smiling softly, and the sight made Drew’s gut clench unexpectedly.

She’d never given him that lovely smile, and he found himself craving it. Entirely absurd, since he had no interest in pursuing her himself. No, he was merely irritated that she had accepted Haviland’s offer to dance after so pointedly refusing his own.

His jaw tightened imperceptibly-but Fanny was a perceptive woman, in the business of understanding men.