Stephanie Laurens Rogues' Reform Bundle (10 page)

“Have you seen Keane?” Lenore felt a peculiar thrill at having tempted the wolf and survived.

“Several times. He's an excellent actor provided the part has scope for his talents.”

A discussion of the various theatres and the style of plays produced ensued, followed by a ruthlessly pointed examination of that other source of
ton
-ish entertainment, the Prince Regent.

“A keen mind utterly wasted,” was Jason's scathing conclusion.

“Particularly given the opportunities he must have had.” Considering the facilities available to the Prince Regent. Lenore sighed. “Just being so close to all the bookshops would in itself be a boon to any scholar. I'd dearly love to have Hatchards within reach.”

Her pensive comment drew a searching glance from Jason. He had been patiently awaiting the right moment to introduce the topic of marriage, content to spend some time in idle chatter while she overcame her natural hesitancy. Stretching his long legs before him, he crossed his booted ankles, turning slightly so that he could keep her face in view. “Tell me, my dear, if you could design your own Utopia, what would you place within it?”

The unexpected question had Lenore turning to study his face, but she could see nothing beyond encouragement in his eyes. A strange recklessness had her in its grip; she felt no reticence in his presence and marvelled at the fact. It was a heady sort of freedom, knowing she was safe. Head on one side, she considered. “Gardens, certainly. Large gardens, like these.” With a wave of her hand, she indicated their surroundings. “So soothing to have a large garden to wander in. Tell me, Your Grace, do you wander your gardens frequently?”

Jason returned her smile. “I rarely need soothing. However,” he continued, “the gardens at the Abbey are similar to these, though not, I'm sorry to say, in such perfect state.”

“Your wife, no doubt, will remedy that.” Lenore shifted her gaze to the pool.

“So I sincerely hope,” Jason returned. “So, a garden and the staff to tend it. What else?”

“A house, of course. In the country.”

“Naturally. Sufficiently large and appropriately staffed. What of town?”

Lenore grimaced. “I admit that I'm curious to visit London, but the idea of living there does not entice.”

“Why not?”

“I hesitate to admit to such an unfashionable attitude but the thought of having to suffer society at large, as would be unavoidable should I take up residence in the capital, dissuades me from doing so.”

“I protest you do society a grave injustice, my dear. We're not all fribbles and fops.”

“But this is
my
Utopia, remember?”

“Just so. So what else takes your fancy?”

“Well,” Lenore temporised, caught up in this strange game, “I enjoy acting as hostess at large gatherings—not much use having a large house and well-trained staff if one does not use them, after all.”

“Very true,” Jason agreed.

“I also enjoy my work among the folk on the estate. However, if this be Utopia, then I would rather not be in charge of the steward and bailiff.”

Jason merely nodded, foreseeing no problem there. The reins of his numerous estates were firmly in his grasp; he needed no help on that front. Remembering her studies, he asked, “What of entertainment? What features most in that sphere?”

“My library. I couldn't live without my books.”

“The Abbey has an extensive library. My father was an invalid for some time and took delight in restocking it to the hilt.”

“Really?”

It was plain to the meanest intelligence that, of all the subjects they had touched upon, this was the one nearest her heart. Jason looked down into her green eyes and smiled. “There's a huge range of classics as well as many newer volumes.”

“Have you had it catalogued?”

“Unfortunately not. My father died before he was able to attend to the matter.”

The realisation that she would never see his library dimmed Lenore's excitement. “You should have it done,” she told him, looking forward once more.

When she remained silent, Jason prompted, “You haven't mentioned people in this Utopia of yours—a husband and children to make your house a home?”

The question shook Lenore. From any other man she would have imagined the query to stem from mere supposition. But Eversleigh knew her mind on that subject. “I see no reason to complicate my life with a husband, Your Grace.”

“You're an intelligent woman, Lenore. If a man were able to offer you all your heart desires, would you still not allow a husband into your life?”

Slowly, her heart thudding uncomfortably, Lenore turned to face him. A strange fear had seized her throat, making it difficult to breathe. “Why do you ask, Your Grace?” He was still sitting at his ease beside her, his large frame relaxed, one arm stretched along the back of the wrought iron seat. But the expression in his grey eyes, the unshakeable, implacable determination of a hunter, sent an unnerving combination of fear and yearning spiralling through her.

“I should have thought that was obvious, my dear.” Jason held her gaze. “You have, no doubt, heard rumours that I intended to wed?”

“I never listen to gossip, Your Grace,” Lenore said, frantic to deny the scarifying possibility that, moment by moment, gained greater substance.

Exasperation glowed briefly in Jason's eyes. “Just so that you may be assured on the subject, the rumours are correct.”

“Everyone's expecting you to marry a débutante—a diamond of the first water.” Lenore rushed the words out despite the breathlessness that assailed her. Her mind was reeling in sheer fright at the vision forming with dreadful clarity in her brain.

A supercilious expression infused Jason's features. “Do I strike you as the sort of man who would marry a witless widgeon?”

Lenore forced herself to look at him with some vestige of her customary composure. “No. But I expect not all diamonds of the first water are widgeons, Your Grace.” Pressing her hands tightly together in her lap, she desperately sought for a way to hijack the conversation. But her wits had seized, frozen into immobility by what she could see inexorably approaching.

Jason inclined his head. “That's as may be, but I've seen too much of overt beauty not to know its real value.” Deliberately, he let his gaze skim her figure as she sat rigidly erect, on the edge of the seat. His voice deepened. “As I said before, you have a very limited understanding of what excites a gentleman's interest, Lenore.”

He sensed rather than saw her quiver. Swiftly he moved from that topic. “You have told me what you desire from life, what you consider important. I'm willing and able to provide all that you've named, in return for your hand in marriage.”

“And all that that entails.” Inwardly aghast, her face registering blank dismay, Lenore pronounced the words as a sentence.

Jason frowned, his gaze fixed on her face. “It entails nothing beyond what you might expect. As we both know, you do not find my company insupportable.” He hesitated, then added more gently, “I believe we will deal very well together, Lenore.”

Giddiness seized Lenore. His version of her fate was clearly stated in the grey eyes so ruthlessly holding hers. Realisation of the danger she faced, and of how far she had already travelled down the road she had promised herself never to tread, swamped her. Her face drained of all colour. “No,” she said, and felt herself start to shake. “I cannot marry you, Your Grace.”

“Why?” Jason uttered the question quietly but compellingly. His eyes narrowed. “And why invite me here if not to discuss that very subject?”

Desperate, Lenore retorted, “I did not invite you here.”

The long look she received in reply shook her to the core.

Quietly, Jason said, “I suggest, my dear, you take a different tack.”

Dragging in a shaky breath, Lenore stated, “Your Grace, I'm greatly honoured that you should consider me as your bride. However, I'm convinced I am unsuited to marriage.”

“Why?”

The question had lost nothing of its force in being repeated. Lenore took refuge in remoteness. “That, I fear, is none of your business.”

“I'm afraid, my dear, that I disagree.” Jason heard his voice gaining in strength, in merciless incisiveness. “In the circumstances, I feel I deserve more than inclination as an excuse. We're both intelligent adults. Despite your aloofness from it, you understand our world as well as I.”

Temper, belatedly, came to Lenore's rescue, lending her the strength to defy him. How
dared
he insist she accede to a loveless marriage simply because it was the way of the world? Her green gaze hardened, gold glints appearing in the clear depths. Her lips firmed into a stubborn line. “Permit me to inform you, Your Grace, that you are undoubtedly the most conceited, arrogant,
overbearing
male it has ever been my misfortune to meet.” The combination of panic and fury was distinctly unsettling yet Lenore knew no other emotion would serve her now. Imperiously, she rose to her feet, drawing herself up, daring, even now, to meet his silver gaze. “I do not wish to marry. That, for most gentlemen, would be reason enough. Regardless of your thoughts upon the matter, I do not need to explain myself to you.”

Jason shifted, his shoulders coming away from the back of the seat, his ankles uncrossing.

Abruptly, Lenore's fury deserted her. Eyes wide, she dropped her defiant stance, taking a rapid step back, panic well to the fore. Her gaze was still locked with his. Nothing she saw in the silver-grey encouraged any belief that she had won her point. With a desperate effort, she dragged in enough breath to say, “If you'll excuse me, Your Grace, I've many important tasks to which I must attend.”

Snatching up her basket, she ignominiously fled.

Exasperated, his own eyes narrowed with annoyance, Jason let her go, scowling at the gap in the hedges through which she disappeared. He was, he hoped, too wise to press her now. She could have a few hours to think things through, to tame her wilful ways and acknowledge the appropriateness of his offer. If she didn't, he would do it for her.

To his eyes, the matter was plain. There was, he was now sure, no rational motive behind her wish to remain unwed. Instead, it appeared that his bride-to-be had been allowed to go her independent way for too long. Independence was all very well but in a woman, in their world, there were limits. She had reached them and now looked set on overstepping them. She needed a strong hand to guide her back to acceptable paths. And, as her father and brothers had proved too weak to carry out that charge, it clearly fell to him to accomplish the task.

Abruptly standing, his expression hard and unyielding, Jason stalked back towards the house.

If he was going to dance to society's tune, it would damned well be with Lenore Lester in his arms.

N
O ONE
, Lenore was determined, would know that anything was amiss. She entered the drawing-room that evening, a serene smile on her lips, her calm and gracious fa
de firmly in place. Beneath that mask, dread anticipation walked her nerves. A quick glance about the room confirmed the signal of her senses: Eversleigh was not there. A flicker of relief fed a hope that, perhaps, he had already taken his leave. Lenore squashed the thought. Eversleigh had not accepted her refusal. He would come at her again, nothing was more certain.

Laughing and chatting with the guests occupied no more than half her mind. The rest was a seething cauldron, feeding her tensions, tying her stomach in knots. In the end it was almost a relief to see him enter, just ahead of Smithers. His eyes scanned the room, fixing on her. Lenore stopped breathing. Calmly, he crossed the room, pausing by her side, elegantly offering his arm with a bland, “Miss Lester.”

With a cool nod, Lenore placed her hand on his sleeve, subduing by main force the tremor in her fingers. She kept her head high but her lids lowered, unwilling to risk his gaze. As they started for the door, she glanced briefly at his face. No expression lightened his harsh features; the granite planes of cheek and brow gave no hint of any emotion. Nevertheless, that single glance assured her that His Grace of Eversleigh was dangerously intent.

A shiver of apprehension ran through her. She suppressed it, steeling herself for the ordeal she was sure dinner would prove to be.

Beside her, Jason felt the tremor that ran through her. Consciously he tightened his grip on his temper, tried further than it had been in years by the woman gliding elegantly by his side. Despite her peculiar gowns, this evening's a creation in dun-coloured silk, she possessed the power to sway his senses simply by walking beside him. His inclination was to engage her in the most pointedly difficult conversation of her life. He resisted the temptation, knowing she was on edge. His forbearance, entirely out of character, amazed him but he shied away from examining his motives. Time enough for that once he had got her agreement to wed.

Throughout the first course, Lenore was both subdued and unusually nervous as she waited for the axe to fall. Eversleigh, seated on her right, was too large a figure to ignore. But when, in the general conversation, he allowed a comment on marriage to pass untouched, she risked a puzzled glance at him. His eyes met hers. His face was still impassive; Lenore inwardly quaked. Then he asked her a question. Hesitantly, aware of the ears about them, she forced herself to answer. Before she knew what was happening, they were having a conversation of sorts, he asking innocuous questions, she responding. The exchange was stilted, Lenore could not conquer her trepidation, but, to the company at large, all appeared normal.

Lenore led the way from the drawing-room, grateful for the respite even if it was temporary. Eversleigh, for whatever reason, had held off throughout dinner. She held no illusions that he would allow the entire evening to lapse without speaking to her again. Luckily, the consensus had called for a repeat of the dancing held earlier in the week. Thanks to Eversleigh, she would be too busy to spare more than a dance for him. And she had her own plans for surviving that ordeal.

The gentlemen wasted no time over their port. They joined the ladies just as the musicians started up. As Lenore had foreseen, she was promptly solicited for the first dance, this time by Lord Percy.

“Must congratulate you, Miss Lester,” his lordship stated, barely able to turn his chin past his collars and the folds of his enormous cravat. “This week's been a great success. A formidable success, yes, indeed!”

Lenore murmured an acknowledgement, her senses focused on Eversleigh. He had entered at the rear of the gentlemen, accompanying Harry. As Harry moved away to claim a partner, Eversleigh paused by the side of the room, scanning the dancers.

Abruptly, Lenore gave her attention to her partner, plastering a bright smile on her lips. “Did you enjoy the folly, my lord?”

“Oh, yes!” gushed Lord Percy. “Such dramatic views. Do you paint landscapes, Miss Lester? Very partial to a sensitive landscape, y'know.”

“I'm afraid watercolours are not my forte, my lord.”

“But you
sing
, Miss Lester. I was quite moved by your piece with Eversleigh t'other night. Utterly captivating, y'know. I was really much affected.”

Lord Percy moved on to describe other duets he had been privileged to hear. Lenore allowed him to ramble on, an attentive expression on her face, her mind elsewhere.

To her surprise, Jack claimed her for the next dance, a country reel which, Lenore recalled, he himself had taught her.

“Well, Lennie? How goes things, m'dear? Everything as calm and peaceful as I told you it would be?”

Lenore returned his smile. “I'll admit that there've been no real difficulties, but I would not go so far as to credit either Harry or you with having made any contribution to my peace.”

Jack waved his hand airily. “You mean Tuesday evening. A miscalculation, my dear. Eversleigh set me straight.”

“Eversleigh?”

“Mmm. Devilish knowing, is Eversleigh. Well, he was right.” A wave indicated the crowd about them. “Had better sport today than we've had all week.”

Understanding that the activity her brother was referring to had nothing to do with competitive games, Lenore was not clear on the connection to Eversleigh but decided to leave well enough alone. “Do you see much of Eversleigh in town?”

“Some.” Jack twirled her about. “Top of the trees, is His Grace. Spars with the Gentleman himself, is a darling of Manton's, an out-and-outer of the highest degree.”

“Oh?”

“Gracious, Lennie. You may hide in the country but you ain't blind, m'dear. You've been sitting next to the man for five days.”

“Well, yes,” Lenore admitted. “But such things are not entirely obvious, you know.” Nevertheless, her memory promptly conjured up the sensation of Eversleigh's arm about her when they had waltzed, of the strength of the muscles beneath his sleeve. She had noticed, certainly, but, used to the vigorous males of her family, she had found nothing remarkable in the fact. Eversleigh was simply slightly taller, his shoulders slightly broader, his chest slightly wider, his muscles slightly harder, his strength that much more compelling.

“But it's not just that, you know.” Jack seemed to have taken a notion to widen her knowledge. “Eversleigh's got something of a reputation—not just over women, although there's that, of course. Well—” Jack gestured as they turned with the music. “He's a past master there. But he's a lot more powerful than that. Has connections all over, involved in all sorts of schemes and he's as rich as Croesus to boot.” He paused to cast an affectionate glance her way. “He doesn't have to call on his sister to pay his debts.”

Lenore returned his smile. “Does he have a sister?”

Jack shook his head. “Nor brother either, not now. Ricky, his younger brother, was killed at Waterloo.” He shot her a glance. “Wouldn't mention it if I was you.”

“Of course not.”

“Anyway, that's the reason he has to marry. Wouldn't mention that to him, either.”

“I can assure you that marriage is the very last topic I would mention to His Grace.”

“Good. Mind you, it'll be like the passing of an era—Montgomery marrying. He's been a…well, an idol of sorts to us all.”

“He's not that much older than you.”

Jack shrugged. “A few years. But it's all that experience, you know.” He slanted her a rakish grin. “Dashed if I know how he's fitted it all in.”

Lenore let that pass as the dance separated them. When she joined hands with Jack again, he was deep in cogitation.

“All in train for Friday night, then? No problems looming on the horizon?”

The vision of Eversleigh, somewhere in the crowd about them, waiting to pounce, came forcibly to Lenore's mind. But any thoughts of seeking her brothers' or father's aid in dismissing Eversleigh had died with Jack's eulogy. Eversleigh was exactly the sort of gentleman her family would wish her to wed. And no one in all of Christendom would understand her refusal of his suit. He was wealthy, powerful and devastatingly handsome. They would think she had run mad.

“Everything's organised. The whole neighbourhood's accepted, so there'll be quite a crush.”

“Excellent.” Jack whirled her to a stop, bowing elegantly before her. He winked as he straightened, raising her from her curtsy. “And now I'll leave you to your own devices, m'dear. As the effective host, I'm much in demand.”

Laughing, Lenore waved him away but his words rang in her ears. Her own devices. She would have to deal with Eversleigh herself, quickly and decisively.

The opportunity to do so materialised almost instantly. The strains of a waltz drifted over the heads of the dancers. Lord Farningham appeared out of the crowd. Seeing the question in his eyes, Lenore inwardly sighed and smiled encouragingly. He had almost reached her when hard fingers curled possessively about her elbow.

“Our dance, I believe, Miss Lester.”

Lenore cast one glance up at Eversleigh's hard face and knew it would be pointless to argue. Besides, this meeting between them had to come. The relative privacy of a waltz, surrounded by other guests, was a safe venue. Summoning an apologetic smile, she held out her hand to Lord Farningham. “I had forgot. Perhaps the next waltz, my lord?”

“Yes, of course.” Blushing slightly, Lord Farningham bowed.

Without further speech, Eversleigh led her to the floor, drawing her into his arms as if she was already his. Determined to remain in control, Lenore ignored it, locking her mind against the sensations teasing her senses. “I'm glad to have this opportunity to speak with you, Your Grace, for there is something I wish to say.”

“Oh?” Jason looked down at her, his expression forbidding. “What is that?”

Fixing her gaze on the space beyond his right shoulder, Lenore shut her ears to his warning and produced her rehearsed speech. “I am, as I said, sincerely honoured by your proposal. I think, however, that you have not yet accepted my refusal. I wish to make plain to you that my decision in this matter is unalterable, irrevocable. In short, there is nothing you could say or do that would convince me to marry. I would like to point out that this aversion of mine is not personal in nature. I simply do not feel inclined to marriage and, as you must be aware, there is no reason at all for me to wed.”

“You are wrong, Miss Lester.”

The strength in those words shook Lenore. She blinked, then recovered to ask haughtily, “Which part of my reasoning is at fault, Your Grace?”

“
All
of it.”

The conviction in his tone brought Lenore's eyes to his. A will infinitely stronger than hers blazed in the grey depths.

“For a start,” Jason said, his accents clipped and definite, “you're not honoured by my proposal in the least, you're scared of it. You know damn well I've not accepted your refusal. There are more reasons than you know why we should wed. And as to there being nothing on this earth that could change your mind, don't tempt me, Miss Lester.”

The threat was clear but Lenore was past caring. With a toss of her head she transferred her gaze into space. “I've given you my answer with as much reason as I can, Your Grace. If you chose to ignore it, that is none of my affair. However, I'm sure you can understand that I do not wish to discuss the matter further.”

Lenore felt the arm about her tighten, drawing her closer to his hard frame. Valiantly, she disregarded the hammering of her heart, keeping her head high and her expression untroubled.

“I'm very much afraid, Miss Lester, that I'm not as easily persuaded as other men. You have had your say; now it's my turn.”

His hand was burning her back through the thick silk of her gown. But Lenore managed to infuse her features with an air of supreme indifference as she countered, her voice steady, her gaze tinged with boredom, “And
I'm
very much afraid, Your Grace, that if you mention the word ‘marriage', or any of its synonyms, I—shall—scream.” The last three words were delivered with emphasis; Lenore allowed her mask to momentarily slip to reinforce them with a glare. Then, smoothly, she looked away, confident he would not call her bluff in the crowded drawing-room.

A long silence followed her threat. When Jason broke it, his voice was even, perfectly controlled. “Very well, Miss Lester. I shall have to use other means to demonstrate your errors. However, do remember this was your idea.”

Apprehension flooded Lenore.

“Perhaps I should start with the fantasies I have of your hair, loose and flowing in waves about you? Of course, in my dreams, you wear nothing else. Your hair is like silk, is it not? I dream of running my fingers through it, draping it over your charms.”

Lenore's eyes flew wide. A blush rose to her cheeks. She did not dare look at him.