The Heiress Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 3)

The next evening Sinjun felt like dancing in her bedchamber. Douglas was taking her and Alexandra to the Drury Lane Theatre to see Macbeth performed. Surely as a Scot and a Kinross, with scores of cousins named Mac Something, he would also be there. It was opening night. Surely, oh surely he would be there. But what if he accompanied another lady? What if he . . . She stopped herself. She had spent an hour on her appearance, and her maid, Doris, had merely nodded, smiling slyly. “You look beautiful, my lady,” she had said as she lovingly threaded a light blue velvet ribbon through Sinjun’s hair. “Just the same color as your eyes.”

She did look well enough, Sinjun supposed, as she studied herself one last time in the mirror. Her gown was a dark blue silk with a lighter blue overskirt. The sleeves were short and puffed out, and there was a matching pale blue velvet sash bound beneath her breasts. She looked tall and slender and fashionably pale. There was just a hint of cleavage, no more, because Douglas felt strongly about things like that. Yes, she looked just fine.

Sinjun didn’t see him until the intermission. The lobby of the Drury Lane Theatre was crowded with the glittering ton, who gossiped and laughed and whose jewels were worth enough to feed a dozen English villages for a year. The lobby was also very hot. Some unfortunate patrons were splattered with dripping wax from the hundreds of lit candles in the chandeliers overhead. Douglas took himself off to fetch champagne for Alex and Sinjun. A friend of Alex’s came up, and thus Sinjun was free to search in every corner of the vast room for her Scot, as she now thought of him. To her delight and speechless excitement and horror, she saw him standing not eight feet behind her, speaking to Lord Brassley, a friend of Ryder’s. Brass, as he was called, was a rake and kindhearted, a man who commendably kept his wife in more luxury than his mistresses.

Her heart speeded up. She turned completely to face him and began to walk forward. She bumped into a portly gentleman and automatically apologized. She simply kept walking toward him. She wasn’t more than three feet away when she heard him laugh, then say quite clearly to Lord Brassley, “Good Lord, Brass, what the devil am I to do? It’s damned painful—I’ve never in my life seen such a gaggle of disasters, all of them in little knots or herds, giggling and simpering and flapping and staring. It isn’t fair, no it isn’t. I must needs wed myself to an heiress or lose everything I own, thanks to my scoundrel of a father and brother, and all those females I’ve met who fit the groat requirements scare me to my toes.”

“Ah, my dear fellow, but there are other females who aren’t disasters,” said Lord Brassley, laughing. “Females you don’t have to marry, just enjoy. You simply amuse yourself with them. They will relax you, Colin, and you certainly could use some relaxation.” He slapped Colin Kinross on his shoulder. “As for the heiress, be patient, my boy, be patient!”

“Ha, patience! Every day that goes by brings me closer to the brink. As for those other females, hell, they would also want to spend all the groats I don’t have, and expect that in my undying gratitude I would shower them with endless baubles. No, I have no time for distractions, Brass. No, I must find myself an heiress and one that is reasonably toothsome.”

His voice was deep and soft and filled with humor and a goodly dose of sarcasm. Lord Brassley laughed, hailed a friend, and took himself off. Without further hesitation, Sinjun walked to him, stood there right in front of him until his beautiful dark blue eyes finally came to rest on her face and a black brow rose in question. She thrust out her hand and said quite clearly, “I’m an heiress.”

CHAPTER

2

COLIN KINROSS, SEVENTH earl of Ashburnham, stared at the young woman standing in front of him, her hand outstretched toward him, staring at him with utter sincerity and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a goodly dollop of excitement. He felt knocked off his pins, as Philip would say, and stalled for time to get his brain back in working order. “Forgive me. What did you say?”

Without hesitation, Sinjun said again, her voice strong and clear, “I’m an heiress. You said you needed to marry an heiress.”

He said slowly, his voice light and insincere, still stalling for mental reinforcements, “And you are reasonably toothsome.”

“I’m pleased you think so.”

He stared at her outstretched hand, still there, and automatically shook it. He should have raised her hand to his lips, but there that hand was, stuck out there like a man’s, and so he shook it. A strong hand, he thought, slender fingers, very white, competent. He released her hand.

“Congratulations,” he said, “on being an heiress. And on being toothsome. Ah, do forgive me, ma’am. I’m Ashburnham, you know.”

She simply smiled at him, her heart in her eyes. His voice was wonderful, deep and smiling, much more beguiling than either of her brothers’. They didn’t come close to this marvelous man. “Yes, I know. I’m Sinjun Sherbrooke.”

“An odd name you have, a man’s nickname.”

“I suppose. My brother Ryder christened me that when he tried to burn me at the stake when I was nine years old. My real name is Joan, and he wanted me to be Saint Joan but it became Sinjun for Saint John, and so . . . there it is.”

“I like Joan. I prefer it. It is feminine.” Colin ran his fingers through his hair, realizing that what he’d said was ridiculous and not at all to the point, whatever that was. “This has taken me aback, truly. I don’t know who you are, and you don’t know who I am. I really don’t understand why you’ve done this.”

Those light blue eyes shone up at him as guileless as a summer day as she said clearly, “I saw you at the Portmaine ball and then at the Ranleagh musicale. I’m an heiress. You need to marry an heiress. If you are not a troll—your character, of course—why then, perhaps you could see your way clear to marrying me.”

Colin Kinross, Ashburnham or simply Ash to his friends, could only stare at the girl who couldn’t seem to look away from his face. “This is quite the oddest thing that has ever happened to me,” he said, a baffling understatement. “Except for that time at Oxford when the don’s wife wanted me to make love to her with her husband teaching Latin in the other room to one of my friends. She even wanted the door cracked open so she could see her husband whilst she was making love to me.”

“Did you?”

“Did I what? Oh, make love to her?” He coughed, recalling himself. “I don’t remember,” he said, suddenly frowning, his voice austere. “Besides, it is an incident better forgotten.”

Sinjun sighed. “My brothers would have confided in me, but you don’t know me, so I can’t expect you to be more forthcoming yet. I know I’m not beautiful, but I am passable. I’m in my second Season without even a betrothed, or even a remotely attached gentleman to my name, but I am rich, and I’m a kind person.”

“I can’t accept all of your assessment.”

“Perhaps you have already found a lady to meet your groat requirements.”

He grinned at that. “Plain speaking, huh? No, I haven’t, as I suspect you already know, having overheard my whining plaints to Brass. Actually, you are quite the loveliest young lady I have met. You’re tall. I don’t have to get a painful crick in my neck speaking to you.”

“Yes, and I can’t help it. As to my loveliness, certainly my brothers think so, but you, my lord? This is my second Season, as I said, and I didn’t wish to have it, for there is so much sheer boredom about, but then I saw you.”

She stopped talking but didn’t stop staring at him. He was startled at the hunger in those quite lovely light blue eyes of hers. This was really beyond anything in his experience. He felt bowled over, off kilter, and really quite stupid. The vaunted control he was known for was gone. It was disconcerting.

“Come over here, out of the crush. Yes, that’s better. Listen, this is difficult. It is also a highly unusual situation. Perhaps I could call on you tomorrow? I see a young lady walking toward us, and she looks quite purposeful.”