Regency Betrayal: The Rake to Ruin Her / The Rake to Redeem Her. Julia Justiss
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‘I did,’ he said drily. Though my attention focused more on the neckline than the trimming. ‘So, there is no one here who wishes to coax her into matrimony?
‘I had high hopes of Lord Stantson. A very knowledgeable horseman, he’s a mature man with a calm demeanour I thought might appeal to her.’ At Max’s raised eyebrow, she said, ‘Many young ladies prefer to entrust their future to the steady hand of an older gentleman, rather than risk all with such dashing young rakes as some I might mention! Mr Henshaw has also been pursuing her, though I have to admit,’ his aunt concluded, ‘she has given neither man any encouragement.’
Henshaw! That was the man who’d been watching her in the paddock this morning, Max realised.
Aunt Grace sighed. ‘Lady Denby is quite determined to get her settled before her own daughter Eugenia makes her début next spring. The poor girl’s chances for making a good match will diminish drastically if she must share her Season with her stepsister, for Eugenia Whitman is nearly as wealthy as Miss Denby and far outshines her in youth, wit and beauty.’
Miss Denby was hardly an antidote, Max thought, indignant on her behalf before he recalled the great pains she’d been taking to ensure she created just the sort of negative impression his aunt was describing.
‘If she seems so unwilling and unsuitable, I wonder that her stepmother keeps pushing her to wed. Why not let her remain at Denby Lodge, with her horses?’
‘Well, she must marry some time,’ Mrs Ransleigh said. ‘What else is she to do? And she’s very, very rich.’
‘Which explains the gentlemen’s pursuit of someone who gives them no encouragement.’ Max had been feeling more hopeful, but some niggle of memory made him frown.
Having spent so much time away with the army, he hadn’t visited London very often the last few years, but he vaguely recalled from his clubs the tattle that Henshaw was always pursuing some heiress or other. ‘Is Henshaw a fortune hunter?’
Aunt Grace coloured. ‘I should never describe him in such uncomplimentary terms. Mr Henshaw comes from a very good family and is perfectly respectable. If he wishes to marry a wealthy girl, such a desire is hardly unusual.’
Definitely a fortune hunter, Max concluded. ‘Anyone else angling for the reluctant Miss Denby?’
His aunt fixed him with an assessing look. ‘Did the young lady catch your interest?’
‘Does she look like a lady who would attract me?’ Max asked, feeling somehow guilty for disparaging a woman he admired even as he imbued his voice with the right note of disdain.
Fortunately, his previous flirts had always been acknowledged beauties, so the hopeful light in his aunt’s eyes died. ‘No,’ she admitted.
‘I merely found her amusingly unconventional.’
Aunt Grace laughed ruefully. ‘She is certainly that! Poor Lady Denby! One can only sympathise with her difficulties in trying to get the girl married.’
Having discovered what he’d come for, he’d best take his leave, before Aunt Grace tried to spin some matrimonial web around him. ‘I’ll leave you to your dresser and return to my breakfast, which Cook is now preparing.’
‘Go enjoy your fish, then. I’m so glad you stopped by. I do hope you’ll stay long enough that we can have a good visit, after all the guests leave. Felicity and Jane are eager to have more from you than a few hurried words.’
‘I would like that.’
‘Enjoy your day, then, my dear.’
Max kissed her hand. ‘Enjoy your guests.’
After bowing himself out, Max walked towards the study he and Alastair had turned into their private parlour, running over in his mind what he’d learned from Aunt Grace about Miss Denby.
So none but Stantson and Henshaw had set their sights on the heiress. If Aunt Grace believed both to be gentlemen, he had nothing to worry about. He might enquire and see what Alastair knew about the men, just to be sure, but unless his cousin disclosed something to their discredit, he had no reason to involve himself any further in the matter of her future.
Though, as he’d assured his aunt, the lady was nothing at all like the women who usually attracted him, he had to admit to a feeling of regret at the idea that he’d seen the last of Miss Denby, the only unusual member of what was otherwise a stultifyingly conventional gathering of females.
Several days later, while Alastair occupied himself in the estate office, Max repaired to his bench in the conservatory to while away the afternoon with some reading.
No sun gilded the tropical plants today, but the morning’s rain had left a soft mist dewing the grass, greying the greens of the trees, shrubs and vines. Within the warm, heated expanse of the glasshouse, the soft swish of swaying palms and ferns and the sweet exotic scent of citrus and jasmine were infinitely soothing.
Alastair had informed him the previous evening that he’d heard the colonel of Max’s former regiment had just returned from Paris. He’d recommended that Max speak with him about a position, sound advice Max meant to follow. The calm and beauty surrounding him here further lifted his spirits, filling him with the sense that much was still possible, if he were patient and persistent enough.
He was absorbed in his book when, some time later, a lavender scent tickled his nose. At the same moment, a soft ‘Oh!’ of surprise brought his head up, just in time to see Miss Denby halt abruptly a few yards away down the pathway.
A warm wave of anticipation suffused him, even as she hastily backed away. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Ransleigh! I didn’t mean to disturb you!’
‘Then you didn’t come here to seek me out?’ he asked, his tone teasing.
‘Oh, no! I wouldn’t have intruded on your privacy, sir. Your cousin Miss Felicity, who has become great friends with my stepsister, Eugenia, told her you and Mr Alastair would be away all day.’
‘You truly are not pursuing me, then?’ He clapped a hand to his chest theatrically. ‘What a blow to my self-esteem.’
For an instant, her brow furrowed in concern, before her ear caught his ironic tone and she grinned. ‘I dare say your self-esteem can withstand the injury. But I told you I would not tease you and I meant it. I shall leave you to your book.’
It was only prudent that she leave at once … but he didn’t want her to, not just yet.
‘Since you’ve already interrupted my study, do stay for a moment, Miss Denby.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘For a chat that will become another of our little secrets?’
He grinned, pleased that she would joke with him. ‘Exactly.’ Come, sit.’
He motioned her to the bench … and found himself holding his breath, hoping she would come to him. Already his pulse had kicked up and all his senses sharpened, his body quickening at her nearness—which should have been warning enough that urging her to linger was not wise. He thrust the cautionary thought aside.
And then in a graceful swish of fabric, she sat down beside him. Max inhaled deeply as her faint lavender scent washed over him. It must be soap; he’d be astonished if she wore perfume. She was garbed against the misty chill in a cloak that covered her from head to toe, masking whatever hideous gown she’d selected along with, alas, that fine bosom. Even so, close up, he was able to drink in the fine texture of her face, the soft glow of her skin, the perfect shell of ear outlined by a mass of auburn-highlighted brown curls, tamed under her hat on this occasion. She tilted her face up to him and he lost himself in her extraordinary eyes, watching the golden centres shimmer within their dark-velvet depths.
Her lips, full and shapely, bore no trace of artificial gloss or colour. Would her mouth taste of wine, of apple, of mint?
Make conversation, he reminded himself, pulling