JORDAN Nicole (4 page)

“No, I suppose not, since I gave mine away several years ago.” Fanny’s expression suddenly sobered a little. “It is just as well that you have no interest in Arden, Roslyn. He may be a magnificent lover, but he reportedly has no heart. And you only want a man who is capable of falling in love.”

“Yes, exactly.”

She intended to make a love match someday, and cynical, rakish dukes were not known for contracting matrimonial unions for any reason other than their duty and convenience.

Canting her head slightly, Roslyn peered beyond the column. “Blast it, he is still headed this way.” More urgently, she glanced behind her at the rear entrance doors. “I cannot stay here. There must be someplace I can take refuge until he quits the ball.”

“There is a gallery at the rear of the building with numerous alcoves where couples may be intimate, but they shouldn’t all be occupied yet, since the night is still relatively young. Why don’t you seclude yourself there for a time? Arden never remains long at these events. I will find you once he leaves.”

“An excellent idea,” Roslyn said, turning quickly.

“Don’t run,” Fanny advised. “That will only arouse his primal male urge to pursue fleeing prey.”

Forcing herself to pause, Roslyn threw an arch glance over her shoulder. “I have no intention of becoming any man’s prey. And if he should speak to you, Fanny, you cannot give me away.”

Her friend affected a mock wounded look. “I’ll have you know, I am the soul of discretion. In my profession, a guarded tongue is worth more than gold. Now go! He will forget all about you if he cannot find you. And if he persists, I will attempt to mislead him.”

“I wish you will send him to the devil,” Roslyn muttered as she moved away, vexed at having her plans for the evening spoiled by Arden’s unexpected presence. She was here to learn the secrets of attracting a gentleman’s ardor, and being forced to hide herself away would hardly help her attain her goal.

Keeping her head bent low to prevent her bonnet from being tracked, Roslyn skirted the crowd and slipped out the rear doors, only to find herself in a dim corridor. When her eyes adjusted, she made her way down the hall to an even dimmer gallery that apparently ran the width of the building. The yearly Cyprians’ ball was a public assembly, but for this occasion, all the rooms save the main ballroom had been poorly lit, the better for trysts and assignations.

As Fanny had advised, Roslyn found numerous empty alcoves stationed along either side of the gallery. Slipping into the last one on her left, she let the velvet draperies fall closed behind her, yet she could still see well enough in the moonlight flooding through the floor-length window at the rear of the alcove.

Too restless to sit, Roslyn disregarded the welcoming chaise longue and instead pushed open the window. The June night air was cool and damp compared to the stuffy, perfumed warmth of the ballroom, and with a sigh of resignation, she stepped out onto a narrow balcony, prepared to outwait the duke.

“Devil take him,” Roslyn muttered another recrimination at the vexing nobleman. “Why must he appear just when the ball was getting interesting?”

She’d had high hopes for the evening. Until now she had never mingled with a company of lightskirts, and she was fascinated by what she had seen and learned thus far.

Indeed, until recently, Roslyn had rarely mixed with any sort of society during the past four years. Instead, she’d lived quietly in the country—at Danvers Hall near Chiswick, some half dozen miles west of London—with her sisters and their curmudgeonly step-uncle and guardian, the Earl of Danvers, who had grudgingly taken them in after their parents mired them in shame and scandal.

Four years ago their mother had run off with her lover to the Continent. Then their libertine father had promptly gambled away the last of his fortune and been killed in a duel over his mistress, which had ruined any last-gasp chances the Loring sisters had of making good marriages.

They had endured with fortitude the disgrace and rejection and poverty that followed. They’d even found a way to earn their own livings so they would no longer be at the mercy of their miserly step-uncle for mere sustenance. With the support of a wealthy patroness, they had started a successful academy to teach the daughters of wealthy merchants and industrialists how to be proper ladies and compete in the lofty, disdainful world of the ton.

But the lack of matrimonial prospects had struck Roslyn the hardest. Of the three sisters, she was the one who still secretly dreamed of marrying for love and having children. Although her birth and breeding were impeccable, being penniless and tainted by her parents’ scandals severely limited her choices.

Even more detrimental were her looks. She was widely considered the most beautiful of the three sisters, to her immense regret. Her golden hair and fine-boned features along with her tall, slender build made her seem deceptively delicate. That appearance of fragility, combined with her family’s disgrace and the lack of a strong male protector, had left Roslyn vulnerable to the unwanted advances of disreputable rakes and roués, and she’d suffered more than one mortifying proposition that entailed sordid debauchery rather than respectable marriage.

Just remembering now made her shiver.

Clenching her jaw, Roslyn stepped closer to the balcony railing to gaze down at the nearly empty lane below. She would never settle for becoming some man’s mistress. Nor would she ever marry for any reason but true love.

Which is why you resolved to take control of your own fate and find a husband who could share that elusive ideal.

Before she could act on her resolve, however, her pitiful prospects had improved significantly. Several months ago, their elderly step-uncle passed away and the new Earl of Danvers, Marcus Pierce, assumed their guardianship. Loath to be saddled with three impoverished almost-spinsters, Marcus had declared his intention of finding husbands for them all—which had precipitated a spirited battle with the eldest, Arabella, over their independence and resulted in an unexpected love match between her and Marcus.

Roslyn was overjoyed for Arabella…and grateful for her own sake as well, since Marcus had generously granted his two youngest wards their legal and financial independence so they could choose their own futures.

Roslyn had known exactly what future she wanted, only she wasn’t quite sure how to achieve it. Thus, she’d called on the experience and expertise of her childhood friend, Fanny Irwin, a once genteel young lady who had left home at sixteen to become one of London’s most celebrated Cyprians.

When they first broached the subject last week, though, Fanny had responded with consternation. “Surely you are not planning to take up the life of a courtesan, Roslyn?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good, because I have no intention of corrupting you.”

Roslyn smiled. “I don’t wish to be corrupted, Fanny. I simply want to learn your secrets…specifically how to make a gentleman enamored of me.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because I hope to make a respectable marriage before long, but I want my husband to love me first. It seems clear that gentlemen commonly fall in love with their mistresses but rarely their wives, so I concluded I should study the experts to learn how a mistress arouses a man’s ardor.”

Fanny stared at her for the space of several heartbeats before breaking into laughter. “I forgot how scientifically minded you are, my dear.”

“I am that,” Roslyn agreed amiably. “But regrettably, I haven’t the faintest notion how to go about developing the skills necessary to engage a man’s heart. And you are the most successful of all the Cyprians I know.”

“I am the only Cyprian you know,” Fanny returned wryly.

“True, but I could probably find someone else willing to instruct me.”

She gave a grimace. “Arabella would have my head if I allowed you to go to someone else. Do you have a prospective target in mind for your husband?”

“Actually I do. The Earl of Haviland. Do you know him?”

Fanny pursed her lips. “I have made his acquaintance. Haviland recently came into the title, along with a significant fortune, did he not?”

“Yes, and his country villa marches with Danvers Hall.”

“Is he in the market for a bride?”

“Rumor claims so.”

“And you wish to be considered a candidate for his hand?”

Unable to control her blush, Roslyn nodded. “From what I’ve witnessed these past few months, I think Haviland could make a good husband for me. We have begun a friendship, and I believe he feels a certain…fondness toward me, which I hope can blossom into something much stronger. But I don’t have faith that I can win his heart fully on my own.”

Fanny’s expression grew thoughtful. “Aren’t you setting your sights rather high, Roslyn, hoping to make a love match with Haviland? There are other alternatives, you know. Despite your family’s history, you are the daughter of a baronet in addition to being one of the most exquisite beauties in the country. And even at two and twenty, you are hardly on the shelf. Now that Lord Danvers has settled such a generous sum on both you and Lily, you could likely choose from any number of suitors and contract a perfectly satisfactory marriage of convenience.”

“No,”Roslyn replied almost vehemently. “The last thing I want is to marry for convenience. You know what my parents’ convenient union was like.” Remembering, she couldn’t repress a shudder. She had loathed the pain her parents had delighted in causing each other. “I want true love in my marriage, Fanny. Nothing else will do.”

Fanny looked at her with amusement and admiration. “So let me see if I comprehend. You are harboring a secret passion for a neighboring earl, and you wish to learn how to make him fall in love with you?”

“Precisely,” Roslyn said. “And if anyone can instruct me on how to achieve it, it is you. Will you help me, Fanny?”

“Yes, I suppose so. If nothing else, it should prove highly diverting. Do your sisters know of this scheme you have hatched?”

“Not yet.”

She hadn’t confided in anyone but Fanny. Arabella would understand, of course, but at the moment she was immersed in wedding plans and reveling in the glow of first love. Roslyn wanted nothing to spoil her sister’s hard-won happiness.

Her younger sister Lilian was a different matter altogether, since Lily had sworn off love and marriage and fully expected Roslyn to do the same.

Roslyn hated to disappoint her sister, but it washer life at stake after all. And the outcome was too important to leave purely to chance. Thus, she’d sought out Fanny.

But now, to her dismay, her education had been rudely interrupted by the Duke of Arden’s unwanted arrival.

Muttering another mild imprecation under her breath, Roslyn reached up to press her fingers against her temple. Her head was beginning to throb under the weight of her wig and bonnet, and the suffocating mask was rubbing a raw spot on her left cheek.

At least she could mitigate some of her suffering by removing the offending bonnet and mask.

Roslyn untied the ribbons beneath her chin and slid the bonnet off, then loosened the strings of her mask and drew it down. As the cool night air fanned her face, she gave a sigh of relief…until a low, masculine voice spoke behind her:

“So this is where you are hiding yourself.”

Gasping in startlement, Roslyn whirled and promptly dropped her bonnet when she recognized the tall, imposing nobleman standing there. His broad, domino-clad shoulders filled the narrow embrasure, while his amber hair glinted more silver than gold in the moonlight.

Alarmed to see the duke, she fumbled to replace her mask, hoping he hadn’t been afforded a clear glimpse of her face. “How you startled me…” she exclaimed too breathlessly as she finished tying the strings.

“Forgive me. It was the least of my intentions—to discomfit a beautiful woman.”

Roslyn’s gaze narrowed through her mask. His tone was mild, languid even. If he was attempting to flatter her, he wasn’t making much effort. But perhaps he was merely playing an expected game, spouting compliments he thought she wished to hear.

There was nothing languid about the warm glance that raked over her figure, however. Instead his eyes showed pure male interest—and had the deplorable effect of making her pulse race.

“I am Arden.”

“I know who you are, your grace,” Roslyn said rather crossly. He was Andrew Moncrief, Duke of Arden, known as “Drew” to his intimates. And she had seldom been less pleased to see anyone in her life.

His eyebrow lifted at her tone. “Regrettably, I do not knowyou, my lovely Incognita. I would have sought an introduction, but you fled the moment you spied me. And Fanny suddenly made herself scarce before I could even discover your name.”

Having no valid defense, Roslyn remained mute. When the duke stepped forward and bent to retrieve her dropped bonnet from the balcony floor, she would have retreated except that the railing was at her back. Trapped, she was forced to endure his scrutiny. He stood watching her in speculation, holding the ribbons in his long fingers.

Roslyn stared back, unable to help herself. It was too dark to be certain, but she thought his eyes were green. A deep, vibrant green. And this close, his lean, aristocratic features were even more sensually compelling than at a distance. His nearness, as well, had a devastating effect on her composure.

He spoke before she could gain control of her whirling thoughts. “I congratulate you, sweeting. Your ploy worked.”

“My ploy?” she repeated, puzzled.

“You hoped I would pursue you here, and you succeeded. I was intrigued enough to follow you.”

He thought she had purposely lured him here to the alcove? “It was no ploy, your grace. I found the ballroom overly warm and came here for a respite.”

One corner of his mouth twisted sardonically. “How convenient that you chose a location so well equipped for an assignation,” he said, nodding at the chaise longue behind him. Before she could protest, he went on. “You must be new to London. I would certainly have remembered had I seen you before now.”

Roslyn hid her wince of dismay. She hoped his memory was not so keen when she encountered him at her sister’s wedding in a fortnight. “Yes, I am new to London. But I promise you, I did not lure you here for an assignation.”