JORDAN Nicole (6 page)

She had no doubt now that Arden was a marvelous lover. A pity she didn’t dare risk examining his expertise more closely for herself.

Chapter Two

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Some noblemen are so swelled with their own consequence that they expect the opposite sex to fall swooning at their feet.

—Roslyn Loring to Fanny Irwin

Chiswick, June 1817

It was a perfect day for a wedding—the morning sky bright with hope and promise. Yet Drew Moncrief, Duke of Arden, could summon little enthusiasm for the occasion as he waited with his two closest friends before the church entrance.

Primarily because he believed the groom was making an irrevocable mistake.

Lounging against a pillar on the church portico, Drew watched as Marcus, the new Earl of Danvers, restlessly paced the drive below in anticipation of the bridal party’s arrival.

“Devil take it, Marcus, will you calm down, man?” Heath Griffin, the Marquess of Claybourne drawled from his own similar position on the portico. “Your nerves are seriously wearing on mine.”

“He’s suffering from a case of bachelor terrors,” Drew murmured with sardonic amusement. “I told you he would succumb.”

Marcus cast the two of them a dismissive glance. “It isn’t fear, it’s impatience.” But to satisfy his friends, he climbed the short flight of steps to rejoin them on the portico. “I want an end to this waiting so I can make Arabella my wife. This last month has been interminable.”

Marcus and Miss Arabella Loring, the eldest of his three wards, had been officially betrothed a month ago, but now the moment finally was at hand. The village church was filled to overflowing with guests and flowers. The vicar was standing by to conduct the ceremony. And Marcus looked the part of the noble bridegroom—blue superfine coat, gold embroidered waistcoat, white lace cravat, and white satin breeches.

Drew, who was dressed similarly for the occasion, let a sad smile curve his mouth as he shook his head. “I never expected to see you so hopelessly besotted, my friend.”

“Your time will come someday,” Marcus predicted in a sage tone.

Drew flicked an imaginary speck of lint off the lace of his cuff, his half smile turning to one of pure cynicism. “Oh, I will eventually do my duty and wed to carry on the ancestral line, but I won’t ever lose my head over a woman as you have obviously done.”

“I don’t know,” Heath interjected. “I think it would be intriguing to find a woman who could make me lose my head.”

His blithe tone, however, suggested that he wasn’t entirely serious. While Heath loved the fair sex in general, he was convinced he would never encounter the woman who could cause him to willingly relinquish his cherished freedom and settle down in staid matrimony.

Drew was even more determined to retain his bachelorhood, as Marcus knew very well.

“Before meeting Arabella, Drew, I was nearly as cynical as you,” Marcus remarked amiably. “I fully understand your reticence to marry. You see all eligible females as the enemy.”

“Theyare the enemy. I have yet to meet the eligible female who doesn’t view me as prey.”

“Arabella’s sisters won’t. You will find them refreshingly indifferent to your rank and consequence.”

Drew’s gaze narrowed on Marcus. “You aren’t possibly thinking of playing matchmaker, are you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, old sport,” Marcus said jovially. “Even if Arabella’s middle sister does have the qualifications to make an admirable duchess.”

Drew uttered a mild curse at the deliberately provoking jibe, while Heath laughed out loud.

His eyes glinting with amusement, Marcus ended his baiting. “Never fear, Drew. I know nothing I could say would persuade you to give love a chance. But if you are supremely fortunate, you will discover the joys for yourself.”

It most certainly wouldn’t be with Marcus’s wards, Drew rejoined silently. He was determined to steer clear of the two remaining Loring sisters.

Just then they finally heard the sound of carriage wheels announcing the bride’s arrival. Shortly, three vehicles swept up the drive. Drew recognized Arabella Loring in the first one, but not the two young ladies who accompanied her.

Beside Drew, Heath straightened, his gaze focused on the beauties sitting with Miss Loring in the open barouche. “Those are Arabella’s sisters?” he asked Marcus.

“Yes. The dark-haired one is the youngest spitfire, Lilian. And the blonde is the lovely Roslyn.”

Drew’s eyes suddenly narrowed as he caught sight of the golden-haired Roslyn. There was something vaguely familiar about her…the graceful shoulders, the elegant bearing, the slender, delicate figure with the high, ripe breasts. And her face…He had glimpsed those perfect, fine-boned features in the moonlight not so very long ago.

Drew slowly straightened from where he was leaning against the column, his stomach muscles clenching in recognition.What in blazes?

At his irrepressible start of surprise, Marcus smiled with knowing amusement. That, however, was the last consideration he gave his friends for some time. As soon as the cavalcade rumbled to a halt before the front entrance, Marcus bounded down the steps and went to meet his bride and her sisters.

He assisted first Miss Roslyn and then Miss Lilian from the barouche, then offered his hand to Arabella. Accepting it, she stepped down into the circle of his waiting arms, her expression radiant with love as she gazed back at him.

But while Marcus only had eyes for his bride, Drew couldn’t take his gaze off the fair-haired Roslyn. He would never forget that exquisitely memorable face, even though he’d been afforded only a fleeting glimpse of it in the moonlight.

She was the same woman. The mysterious beauty who had turned down his offer the night of the Cyprians’ ball.

Hell and the devil!

She kept her eyes carefully averted from him as she stood to one side, waiting for the rest of the bridal party to alight from the other carriages. But when Drew slowly descended the church steps, she stole a glimpse at him. The faint blush that stained her cheeks would have confirmed his suspicions, yet he didn’t need that telltale sign to know he wasn’t mistaken.

Miss Roslyn Loring indeed was his mystery woman.

She was currently garbed in an Empire-waisted gown of rose-hued silk, not a provocative shepherdess’s costume. But her distinctive loveliness couldn’t be disguised by a wig or a mask. And even if he hadn’t seen her entire face that night, he would recognize that luscious mouth anywhere. He had kissed that delicious mouth, tasted those ripe breasts, felt that slender, arousing body pressed against his….

His loins stirring in remembrance, Drew slowly advanced upon Roslyn, while annoyance and anger warred with surprise inside him. The elusive Cyprian who had left him intrigued and enchanted that night was not only a genteel lady, butthe ward of his best friend .

What the devil had she been doing at a notorious ball for lightskirts? Was she merely kicking up a lark or searching for more sinful pleasures?

Whatever her purpose for attending, it could have spelled disaster for him. He damned well would have compromised her if they’d simply been discovered alone together in such a place. And if he had succeeded in actually seducing her as he’d wanted…It didn’t bear thinking on.

Drew clenched his jaw. At least her identity explained why she had run from him the moment she saw him—because she didn’t want him to recognize her later. At his approach now, Roslyn pressed her lips together stoically, apparently resigned to formally meeting him.

He was saved from having to request an introduction when Marcus stepped forward to present the bridal party: Arabella’s two sisters, her mother and stepfather, and some of her close friends and neighbors, including the patroness of the Freemantle Academy for Young Ladies where all the Loring sisters taught.

Drew was interested in only one person, however. He stopped before Roslyn, deliberately holding her gaze as he took her gloved hand to offer her a bow.

At the contact, tension, hot and rapid as summer lightning, arced between them. Giving him a startled look, she withdrew her hand quickly, while Drew cursed under his breath. His damned loins had tightened in response to merely touching her. Utterly inappropriate, given her status, but the instantaneous spark of desire he’d felt for her that moonlit night was still deplorably potent.

He kept his own expression cool when he said, “You look familiar, Miss Roslyn. Have we met before?”

Her chin lifted slightly at his mocking query, yet she didn’t reply directly. “I believe I would remember meeting you, your grace.”

Her voice held the same honeyed warmth he recalled, but Drew fought the allure, just as he tried to ignore her startling beauty. In the morning sunlight, Roslyn looked fresh and lovely as a dew-speckled rose. Of course, the last time he’d seen her, she had looked deliciously wanton.

When her gaze dropped to his mouth, he knew she was recalling precisely what had happened between them that night, as he was.

Her eyes were blue, he noted—a warm sky blue—while her face was a classically shaped oval.

“I’m certain we must have crossed paths before,” he mused.

“Surely you are mistaken.”

At her prevarication, his patience faded. Lightly grasping her elbow, he urged Roslyn aside a few paces, so as not to be overheard by her relatives and friends. “Does Danvers approve of your dangerous escapade?”

The flush returning to color her cheeks, she conceded the futility of denying their meeting any longer by giving a small sigh. “Lord Danvers doesn’t know about my escapade…and I don’t intend to tell him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t wish to distract him when he and my sister are celebrating their nuptials.”

Drew favored her with a piercing look that had been known to make most mortals quake. “I expect an explanation, sweeting.”

Roslyn arched a slender eyebrow. “Do you indeed?” When he remained sternly silent, she responded pleasantly, “My reasons are my own, your grace, and none of your affair.”

“Perhaps so, but when the ward of one of my closest friends is offering herself for sale, I think he has a right to know about it.”

Roslyn’s blue eyes flashed at him. “I am not in that particular trade, I assure you.”

“You will understand if I take leave to doubt you.”

“You may doubt all you like, but my conduct still is not your concern.”

“But it is definitely your guardian’s concern. And I collect I have an obligation to tell him about your subterfuge.”

“Oh?” Her gaze was a challenge. “Are you in the habit of bearing tales then, your grace?”

“Are you in the habit of kissing perfect strangers?”

That took her aback. “Youkissedme, you should recall.”

“But you allowed it.”

“I couldn’t very well protest without giving myself away—” Roslyn stopped suddenly and took a deep breath, then managed a disarming smile. “I don’t intend to spoil my sister’s wedding, and I won’t allow you to do so, either. Perhaps you would condescend to continue your interrogation at some more convenient time?”

Drew felt a surge of annoyance tinged with amusement at being so summarily dismissed. “You may count on it, Miss Loring. We shall resume our discussion after the wedding service.”

Her smile never faltered. “I fear I will be extremely busy afterward. We have six hundred guests attending the wedding breakfast, and I am responsible for seeing that everything runs smoothly. Now, pray excuse me, your grace. The ceremony will be starting shortly.”

Surprised to discover that he was enjoying sparring with her, Drew was reluctant to let her go. “Allow me to escort you to your seat.”

“I can manage on my own, thank you.”

“One might think you are eager to avoid me,” he said dryly, repeating the words he had used when she had tried to escape him on the balcony.

Her answering smile was just as wry, although more charming. “One might indeed. It is perfectly understandable why you are so full of your own consequence, your grace, but you shouldn’t expect every woman to fall at your feet. I certainly won’t.”

Leaving him standing there staring after her, Roslyn turned to accompany her sister Lilian into the church. Drew eventually followed them up the front steps and along the center aisle to the front pews, which held the only remaining empty seats.

To his surprise, he recognized Fanny Irwin among the honored guests on the bride’s side. He hadn’t expected to see a famous courtesan sharing the family pew.

The sisters embraced Fanny warmly and then settled beside her. Drew took his own place on the right side of the aisle, next to Marcus’s younger sister, Eleanor, and her elderly aunt, Viscountess Beldon.

When Eleanor caught Drew watching the opposite aisle, she leaned toward him to whisper over the hushed murmurs of the crowd, “You remember when we first met Arabella, she told us that Fanny was their longtime friend? Well, Fanny remained loyal to them during all the years of scandal, and they aren’t going to snub her simply because she is no longer received in polite circles.”

“There is a vast difference,” Drew remarked in an under voice, “between supporting a friend and courting notoriety.”

“I beg your pardon?” Eleanor asked.

“Never mind, love.” He didn’t intend to discuss the last time he had seen Fanny Irwin. But it seemed curious that Marcus would allow her intimate connection with his wards to continue.

Drew knew all about the Loring family scandals, which had undeservedly made the sisters social pariahs. He also knew that Marcus had done his best to improve his wards’ standing in society, but those efforts would only be undermined if Roslyn’s brazen antics became known.

She was half turned away from him now, and Drew found his eyes fixed on her slender back, a variety of emotions warring within—curiosity, pique, disapproval. He was intrigued and perturbed at the same time.

“Roslyn is quite beautiful, is she not?” Eleanor whispered. “She would be considered an Incomparable if not for the disgrace her family suffered.”

She was indeed beautiful, Drew had to admit. Her hair was pale gold, the color of fine champagne. And with her tall, willowy figure and exquisite features, she was as lovely and delicate as gilded crystal.