To Seduce a Bride (Courtship Wars)

“That doesn’t sound very promising. Are you certain you don’t need my help in wooing Miss Loring? I was able to advise Drew on how to romance Roslyn.”

“For someone who has jilted two suitors, Nell, you make a odd matchmaker.”

Eleanor smiled impishly. “Indeed. But merely because I have resolved to remain single, doesn’t mean I cannot aid the course of true love.”

“Ah, yes. You are a hopeless romantic.”

“So I am. Which is precisely why I ended my betrothals-because neither of my fiances could love me the way I wished to be loved. But miraculously, Marcus and Drew found love, so I still hold out hope for myself, and for you as well.”

Heath had no ready reply for her. He’d never lost his heart, but the notion that Lily could inspire that particular malady had a definite appeal. If anyone could tempt him to fall in love, it would be Lily. He wondered if he could tempt her to love him in return…

“Perhaps,” he drawled in response to Nell’s observation, “you should concentrate on your own affairs of the heart and not worry so much about mine.”

Eleanor made a face at him. “I expected you to say that. But I still am rather stunned that you are considering donning marriage shackles.”

He was a little stunned as well, Heath reflected. He’d never wanted to be tied down to just one woman. Until recently he had been a dedicated bachelor, devoted to a life of freedom and adventure, resolutely determined never to be locked in a tedious, insipid, passionless union merely for the sake of carrying on his illustrious title. But since his courtship of Lily, he had come to the realization that he could be content with the chains of matrimony if she were his jailor.

“But I can comprehend,” Eleanor contin

ued, overriding his thoughts, “why you would be attracted to Miss Loring. And from what I know of her, I think she might make an ideal match for you. The two of you seem highly compatible.”

That was certainly true, Heath agreed. He’d never expected to find a wife who could be such a perfect match for him, as Lily would.

His own parents had been poorly matched, nearly opposites in character and outlooks on life. His mother had been gay and charming and full of laughter; his father staid and proper and dull to the point of grimness. A grimness that only compounded after Lady Claybourne’s death as the marquess retreated further into himself.

As a child, Heath had cherished his mother’s joie de vivre, although admittedly she had been concerned with her own pleasure above all else. Unlike Lily, who was concerned for everyone but herself.

Whether or not he could have a love match with Lily, however, he wanted her for his wife. Not just to bear him heirs, as he’d first planned. Not merely to alleviate his boredom or to grace his bed, either, although those were excellent reasons to wed her.

No, he wanted Lily for herself. Her liveliness, her intensity, her passion for life called to him. As did her fierceness, since it was tempered by warmth and softness and compassion. Lily stirred him like no other woman ever had.

Yet it would be unwise, he warned himself, to let his feelings for her grow any stronger when she had closed off her heart to any possibility of love. For the first time in his life he had met a woman whose defenses might be insurmountable.

Which frustrated the devil out of him, since he wanted his union with Lily to be much more than the cold marriage of convenience his parents had known.

He wanted more from his courtship of Lily, as well. He wanted to be able to venture out in public together, to ride with her in the park as he did with Eleanor, to attend plays and garden parties and enjoy all the other small intimacies that normal suitors were permitted. Most of all, he wanted to claim Lily for his own.

Yet that moment seemed a long way off.

Hell, perhaps his decision to stop overtly wooing Lily was a mistake. He had visibly slowed his pursuit of her to allow time for her feelings toward him to soften, reasoning that he could lower her resistance if she felt less pressured by his courtship. But his strategy might be having no effect at all.

Shaking off his frustration, Heath returned his attention to his charming companion. As close as he was to Eleanor, however, he didn’t want to discuss his relationship with Lily any longer.

“You stun me also, Nell,” he said to change the subject. “Since when would you rather amble along at this snail’s pace, chattering about matrimony instead of enjoying a good gallop?”

“You make an excellent point,” Eleanor replied, gathering her reins.

“Shall we race to the end of the lake?” he challenged.

“You are on!” Eleanor exclaimed, digging her heel into her horse’s side, leaving an amused Heath to eat her dust and make yet another comparison with his spirited Lily.

He called on Lily that afternoon to report on Eleanor’s progress: A meeting had been arranged for Peg with Madame Gautier the following morning. When summoned to the parlor to hear the news, Peg was overjoyed at the prospect of finding respectable employment at the modiste’s shop, and she thanked Heath profusely.

Betty’s response, however, was altogether different at first. The girl appeared nervous and intimidated when Heath questioned her about her wishes for her future, stammering out her replies. Yes, milord, a husband might be welcome at some point, and yes, she would be very happy to return to the country. But for now she only wanted safety for herself and the chance to bear her baby without fear of finding herself on the streets again. When Heath offered her sanctuary at his family estate under the aegis of his housekeeper, Betty stared at him for a long moment and then burst into tears.

Lily immediately wrapped her arm around the girl in an effort to ease her distress, but startlingly, Betty eschewed the proffered comfort and got down on her knees to Heath instead.

“Oh, milord!” she sobbed, taking his hand to kiss it fervently. “You are a saint, just like Miss Loring. You won’t regret taking me in, I swear it. And I will repay you somehow, every penny.”