Flirting With Fortune (6 page)

“What?” the twins asked in unison, diverting their attention to her.

“It’s not him.”

Carolyn’s face fell. “What? How can you be sure? All I can see is a wavy dark figure next to a wavy dark carriage. I’d be hard-pressed to tell you if the carriage is hooked to horses or elephants.”

Drat her dratted luck. “It’s in the way he moves.” She blew out an annoyed breath, turning away from the window and stalking back to the couch. Colin had a certain fluidity in the way he carried himself and a confidence that wasn’t conceited. Nothing showy, simply sure.

The man below was a peacock. Even in the rain, he sauntered toward the door, smugness wrapped around him like a cloak.

“I swear, Bea, you have gone daft.” Carolyn peeked outside once more before shaking her head. “There is no way to tell from two floors up who he is or isn’t.”

“Care to make a wager on that?” Beatrice’s voice was more sarcastic than she intended, but she suspected she knew exactly who was outside: Mr. Godfrey.

Jocelyn raised a pale brow, then turned her attention to her twin. “No, you wouldn’t, Caro. She’s got that look about her when she knows something the rest of us are too slow to catch on to.”

Why did he not simply give up the hunt? She didn’t want to be stuck with him now, not when Colin could come at any moment. Beatrice turned to her sisters suddenly, her eyes beseeching. “Oh please,
please
come with me when Mama calls me to the drawing room. I do not want to suffer that man alone, and I know Mama wouldn’t turn him away.” Why should she? Beatrice had never addressed her concerns about Godfrey with her mother. She had never thought it necessary—her cold shoulder with the man was practically frozen.

Carolyn regarded her with her wide, brilliant blue eyes. “Good heavens, don’t tell me you, of all people, are scared of a man. If that’s the case, then where’s the hope for the rest of us less stalwart females?”

“Oh, shush—being
afraid of
and being
repelled by
are two very different things. Now please, be sisterly and support me in my time of need.”

Jocelyn snorted. “Now look who’s being dramatic.”

“Think of it this way—you are always looking for all the gossip about the gentlemen of the
ton
. Well,” she said, putting her hands palm up, “here’s your chance.”

At least now she had their attention. The soft tap of approaching footsteps had her on her feet. “He’s the handsome third son of the Viscount Ashworth.” She leaned in closer and lowered her voice, desperate to pique their interest. “I believe he has a secret gambling problem, mounting debts, and he is on the hunt for a wife wealthy enough to set him up for life. Gossip doesn’t get any better than this.”

The footsteps paused at the same moment someone scratched on the door.

“Well?” she whispered, looking back and forth between them. Surely they wouldn’t abandon her. Neither one of them was giving her any tells, their faces both impressively blank as they exchanged looks. Honestly, communicating without any outward signs would be
so
useful.

Jocelyn grinned and craned her neck toward the door. “Enter!”

A maid popped her head in and curtsied briefly. “Begging your pardon, my ladies. Lady Beatrice, Lady Granville wishes for you to join her in the drawing room to greet Mr. Godfrey.”

“Thank you, Emily. I’ll be right down.”

The girl bobbed another quick curtsy and started to close the door.

“Emily,” Jocelyn called, halting the maid in her tracks, “please let them know to bring enough tea for five.” She waited until Emily withdrew to turn to Beatrice, hands on hips. “Before you thank me, just remember that you owe us.”

Even so, Beatrice blew out a relieved breath. Holding her hands out to her sisters, she smiled. “Whatever you say, my dears, just so long as you don’t leave my side.”

W
ell, of course—Granville House would be the largest house on the block.

Colin shook his head, sending raindrops flying from the brim of his hat. As if he needed a reminder that he had no business calling on someone like Lady Beatrice. But he was here now—practically at her invitation—and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand around in the pouring rain and dither on the subject.

He dashed the last few yards and was lifting his hand toward the knocker when the door whooshed open. An austere, balding butler offered him a remarkably blank look. “Yes?”

Taken off guard, Colin fumbled inside his jacket for his calling card. “Good afternoon,” he said, locating the card at last and handing it over. “I’m Sir Colin Tate and—”

“Very good, sir,” the man said, interrupting him. Then he stepped back to allow Colin entrance. “If you will wait here, I will let her ladyship know you have arrived.”

Well, that went much more easily than anticipated. Had Beatrice warned the butler that Colin would make an appearance? She must have, because none of the other butlers today had made things nearly so simple. As the man headed up the great marble staircase, a footman stepped forward to help him out of his dripping-wet overcoat and take his hat.

Colin nodded his thanks before stomping his feet a few times to shake off the excess moisture from his boots. Duly relieved of as much rainwater as he could manage, he glanced around the entry hall, taking in the cavernous space. And here he had thought his aunt’s house grand. Opulence extended in every direction, from the black-and-white marble floors to the velvet-covered walls, and of course, the mural on the ceiling—all the hallmarks of a family with exceedingly good taste and a budget to match.

The butler reappeared, descending the stairs with measured steps. “If you’ll follow me, please.”

By the time they stepped onto the landing, the soft sound of feminine voices reached Colin’s ears. Her sisters, perhaps? The low tones of a male voice interjected, and Colin slowed, taking stock of the situation. Was it Beatrice’s brother? Her father? He didn’t know if he was quite ready to meet either of them.

The butler paused outside of the door and murmured, “Mr. William Godfrey has called upon the family as well.”

Colin’s jaw tightened. He really did not want to make small talk with one of Beatrice’s beaux, for God’s sake. Especially half-drowned and feeling like a damn fraud for having come in the first place. But with no other choice, he followed behind the butler as the man opened the door and announced, “Sir Colin Tate.”

Five pairs of eyes turned in his direction, but there was only one gaze he had any interest in. Framed on either side by a matching blond sister, Beatrice smiled at him from her place on the sofa. “Sir Colin, I’m so very glad you decided to join us today.”

She set down her teacup and came to her feet as he stepped toward the conversation area. She was exceedingly lovely in her simple green-and-white morning gown, her hair loosely arranged atop her head. Though the dim day offered little in the way of flattering lighting, she looked sweet and fresh and almost . . . relieved? The light must be playing tricks on him. “Lady Beatrice, it is a pleasure to see you once more. And Lady Granville, too, of course.”

Her mother smiled and nodded from her place in front of the tea service. “May I offer you some tea, Sir Colin?”

“Yes, thank you. Just the thing to take the chill from the day. No sugar or milk, please.”

Beatrice grinned as his gaze naturally fell back to her. “Allow me to introduce you to my sisters Lady Jocelyn”—the blond head on the right bobbed—“and Lady Carolyn”—the one on the left followed suit. “They will both be making their debuts in the spring.”

If he’d met them in the street, he never would have known that the twins were younger than Beatrice. Their direct gazes, surprisingly voluptuous figures, and broad smiles were no doubt going to keep Lady Granville on her toes next Season. “Lovely to meet you both.”

As strange as it was to think, the pair of them were almost too pretty. He much preferred Beatrice’s loveliness, where her sweet but imperfect features made her eminently more approachable. Her slender figure, her wide-set eyes and slightly pointed chin, the way she covered her mouth when she smiled—all of these were endearing to him. His father sought perfection; Colin preferred character.

She glanced toward the gentleman on the couch, keeping her lips together in something slightly more friendly than a grimace. “Have you met Mr. Godfrey?”

“Oh, we haven’t
formally
met,” Godfrey answered before Colin could respond. “But I witnessed your induction into society last night. Quite a to-do.”

There was no mistaking the thinly veiled disgust in the other man’s eyes, even as his voice was all that was pleasant and cordial. Colin dipped his head in a shallow greeting. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”

Lady Granville smiled as she handed him a delicate gold-rimmed teacup filled with fragrantly steaming tea. “Mr. Godfrey is the son of the Viscount Ashworth and was just telling us about his latest trip to their country estate.”

“Yes, for the harvest. Father wishes for me to become more involved in the running of the estate, but I don’t see the need when we have a perfectly good estate manager.” His lips turned up in a sort of condescending amusement as he eyed Colin from the tips of his damp hair to the bottom of his rain-spotted boots. “Men such as yourself may not mind the elements, but I am relieved to be back in the bosom of the city.”

Ah, so Godfrey was an ass. Now that he had a better handle on the man, Colin took a calm sip of his tea before responding. “A bit of rain was no match for the pleasure of enjoying Lady Granville’s and her daughters’ company.”

Beatrice’s eyes flashed with gratification as she reseated herself between her sisters. He couldn’t say what made him think it, but he was almost positive her reaction was to his subtle put-down and not the pretty compliment to her and her family.

“Yes, of course,” Godfrey returned, his eyes narrowing the slightest amount. “I simply prefer to use civilized conveyance when the weather is so dreadfully inclement. Wouldn’t want to sully my hostess’s fine furniture with damp clothing, after all.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Mr. Godfrey.” Lady Granville offered them both a steely, determined smile. “We’re in England, after all. If our furniture couldn’t hold up to a few drops of rain, it’d be positively unpatriotic.”

Colin chuckled. “Well said, my lady. Before I left Scotland, I thought we had the corner on dreadful weather.”

“I’ve heard Scotland has the corner on all manner of dreadful things,” Godfrey remarked, leaning forward to set his empty teacup on the sofa table. “You must be so relieved to have an aunt here to take you in.”

Right—more of a bastard than an ass. Colin opened his mouth to retort, but Jocelyn cut him off.

“I always thought Scotland was romantic. If Romeo and Juliet would have had a Gretna Green to run off to, that play would have had a
much
happier ending.”

Lady Granville nearly choked on her tea as Beatrice widened her eyes at her sister. Setting down her cup, Lady Granville offered a forced chuckle. “Jocelyn,
we
know you are only teasing when you say such a thing, but our guests may not. Please,” she said, turning back to offer Colin and Godfrey apologetic smiles, “pay her comment no mind.”

Godfrey gave the girl a little sideways look before smiling at Beatrice. “Yes, of course.”

Colin rather liked the girl—she reminded him of his own sister. “No mind paid. Although, if I had, I would be inclined to say that Lady Jocelyn has a point.”

•   •   •

He’d defended her sister.

Beatrice pressed her lips together, stifling the silly grin that threatened to emerge. He’d managed to handle Mr. Godfrey’s subtle rudeness quite well since the moment he arrived, and now he’d championed Jocelyn. She tossed a displeased look in Godfrey’s direction. The man should have taken his leave when Colin arrived. He’d already been here a quarter hour, so it wasn’t as though Colin’s visit was cutting anything short.

Sitting forward slightly, Beatrice turned the whole of her attention to the dark Scotsman—or should she say half Scotsman? “I’d love to hear more about Scotland, Sir Colin. None of us has ever been, but the paintings I’ve seen are quite majestic.”

His charcoal eyes warmed as he smiled at her, a lock of damp black hair falling across his forehead. “It’s rugged, and mountainous, and almost unbearable in its beauty. In the spring, when lilacs scent the air and heather blankets the fields, it is almost magical. My family’s estate is on the edge of a forest at the foot of a steep hill, and my gran swears she can hear the faerie wings on many a quiet night.”

Carolyn sighed. “It really does sound romantic. Not Gretna Green romantic, but inspiring-in-its-loveliness romantic.”

Beatrice saw her mother press her eyes closed for the space of a second. The twins would do well to purge the words “Gretna Green” from their vocabulary. “Yes, very inspiring, Sir Colin. Is your family still in Scotland?”

“Yes. My stepbrother and stepsister live there with our grandmother.”

“My, how they must miss you, especially so soon after your father’s passing,” Mr. Godfrey interjected, shaking his head. “I hope you won’t be gone from them long.”

The man’s jealousy—which was completely unfounded—was beginning to grate on Beatrice’s nerves. Did he think he was helping his case by acting the cad toward Colin? Yes, she realized there were some who looked down on him and his freshly created title, but that was rubbish, as far as she was concerned. If he treated Colin this way, how would he react to Jane and her background?

Colin, at least, seemed to take the statement in stride. “They are happy that I could be here for the memorial exhibit. It was too much of a journey for Gran, but I know she is comforted that I am here now.”

Mama tilted her head, sympathy clouding her eyes. “It really is lovely that you could be here for the exhibit. I know that many, especially our resident artist, Lady Beatrice, are eager to attend.”

Colin opened his mouth to respond, but Mr. Godfrey jumped in. “Perhaps you would allow me to escort you. I know how fond you are of the arts, Lady Beatrice.” He offered a calculated smile that probably softened most females, but only made her grind her teeth.

“I didn’t realize you were an artist, Lady Beatrice,” Colin said, taking her by surprise. He most certainly
did
know that she was a painter. She liked where he was going with this.

Blinking innocently, she tilted her head and smiled. “Why, yes! I am not only a painter myself, but a most fervent admirer of your father.”

His face revealed nothing, but his eyes betrayed his delight in her playing along. “Well, if that is the case, perhaps I can interest you in a private tour of the exhibit before it opens to the public.”

Rescuing her from Godfrey’s invitation
and
offering her the opportunity of a lifetime? If her mother wouldn’t faint on the spot, she could have kissed the man.

“Thank you, Sir Colin. I am honored to accept your generous invitation.”

•   •   •

“I’m afraid you may have permanently endeared yourself to my sisters.”

Colin gave her a brief grin before accepting his hat from a footman, who then retreated to his post beside the door. Based on his calls to the women on his list earlier, she shouldn’t have accompanied him on his way out, but it seemed that little stood between her and something she wanted. He rather liked that about her. And he was exceedingly glad for a moment of semiprivacy with her, however brief.

“Well, if she was going to defend Scotland, it was the least I could do. Patriotic duty, et cetera, et cetera.”

She tilted her head a bit, her bright blue gaze never leaving his. “You may discount your kindness, but I’m not going to let you get away without a proper thank-you.”

A
proper
thank-you? Her voice was quiet, her eyes focused solely on him, and for a fleeting moment, he had a vision of her rising on her toes and brushing her lips to his. He swallowed, his blood heating at the thought. “Think nothing of it.”

“I think
much
of it,” she insisted, holding out her hand to him. “And I thank you.”

He reached forward, gathering her slender fingers in his hand. There it was again—that tingle of awareness that slipped over his skin whenever he touched her, even through the fabric of their gloves.

He lifted her hand to his lips, inhaling her lilac scent along with the subtle hints of linseed oil. He paused just shy of his mouth and murmured, “You are most welcome, my lady.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, and she tightened her fingers for a moment, a gesture that no one but he would notice.

“I bid you good day, sir. I’m very much looking forward to our tour.”

Reluctantly releasing her, he stepped back and set his hat over his still-damp hair. “As am I, my lady.” With a slight bow, he turned and headed for the door, keeping his expression neutral for the servant’s sake.

As ill-advised as it might be, he already knew he would do anything in his power to ensure that the private tour at the gallery with Beatrice was exactly that: private.