Every Time We Kiss

lways assumed someday in the far off future, he would fall in love and the woman wouldn’t care about his reputation. But now? There was every likelihood the woman he married would only do so in order to be the next Countess of Blackburn. And he doubted he’d ever fall in love with a woman whose only concern was herself. At the same time, he knew his time with Vanessa was done.

“If I don’t love her, then I might be tempted to take a mistress again,” he said only to appease her.

He looked up to see a catlike grin cross her face as she said, “Then I will pray you don’t fall in love.”

He smiled back at her. He knew there was little chance of falling for a woman who only wanted his title.

“Perhaps I might think of a few women you should court,” she said, absently twirling a lock of golden hair around her finger. “After all, I do know quite a few gentlemen with sisters.”

“Oh?”

She rolled her blue eyes and smiled coyly. “I didn’t mean I know them that way, Matthew. But I always have to keep my options open. There’s no telling when a girl might find herself on the street.”

“Like now, perhaps?”

“I’m hardly on the street. With the money you’ve generously given me over the past two years, I will be able to stay here for months.”

He rose and straightened his gray jacket. “Wish me well?”

Vanessa pouted but stood and wrapped her arms around him. Leaning in close, she kissed him fully on the mouth. For once, her overt passion had no impact on him. He was done with her. Slowly, she drew away.

“I won’t say good-bye, Matthew. You will return to me, begging me to take you back.”

“Good-bye, Vanessa,” he whispered.

“Come along,” Somerton said, half dragging Matthew into the candlelit ballroom with him.

“I wasn’t invited,” Matthew insisted.

“Neither was I. But it’s never stopped me.” Somerton paused and watched the crowd on the dance floor. He glanced over at Matthew and shook his head. “You have a leaf in your hair.”

“Well, if you hadn’t insisted we jump the fence, I wouldn’t have been snagged on that branch.” Matthew quickly drew his hands through his hair. The last time he’d sneaked into a ball he’d been seventeen. Now, thirteen years later, he was still acting like an immature adolescent.

“I really don’t think we should be here,” he tried again.

Somerton shot him a quelling look. “Men with reputations like ours don’t get invited. If you wish to go through with this mad idea of marriage, you must be in the company of women. Preferably women of your rank.”

“Very well.”

Matthew had spent the past week and a half attempting to secure invitations to parties, balls, even musicales. Anything that would bring him back into the ton. Unfortunately, nothing had worked well so far. With the Season not in full swing for months, he had to make do with the few parties held in London in the fall.

His first musicale ended in disaster as no one would even sit near him. He hadn’t needed to hear the women to know they were discussing his attendance behind their brightly colored fans.

“I’m off to the gaming room. Enjoy yourself, if that is possible,” Somerton said, then walked away.

Enjoy himself? Hardly. Matthew scanned the room for anyone he might know who could make introductions if needed. The large dance floor appeared washed in colored silk as couples glided past with the variety of dance steps. Crystal chandeliers reflected the flickering candlelight diffusing a warm glow throughout the room.

He’d missed the sights and sounds of Society.

As he continued to look around, he noticed people had detected his appearance. A few fingers pointed his way, heads nodded in his direction, and fans rose to cover gossiping lips.

“What are you doing here?”

Matthew turned to see Nicholas Tenbury, the Marquess of Ancroft and the future Duke of Belford, standing next to him. Matthew needed to impart a casual tone when all he felt was tension stringing his muscles taut.

“I heard this was a ball for the scoundrels of the ton.”

Ancroft laughed. “Well, when I throw a ball, no one knows for certain who will attend.”