To Bed a Beauty (Courtship Wars 2)

Despite their attractions, he wanted nothing to do with marriageable young ladies of the Loring sisters’ ilk. For much of his life he’d been hounded and harassed by avaricious mamas and daughters who had only one goal in mind-the taming and matrimonial capture of a wealthy duke. The thought of being shackled for life to that sort of covetous, grasping female made him shudder.

Roslyn Loring might not be so material-minded, but he most certainly didn’t want to find himself strangled in the parson’s noose with her as his wife, which likely would have happened had he made love to her that night.

Drew was vastly relieved by his near escape from potential disaster. Because of his mistaken assumption regarding her identity, he might have been honorably compelled to offer for her hand in marriage.

Indeed, if Roslyn hadn’t been so set on escaping him, he might have thought she’d purposely contrived to entice him out onto that balcony. It wouldn’t b

e the first time a scheming husband-hunter had plotted to entrap him by luring him into a compromising situation.

But whatever her reasons for attending the Cyprians’ ball, he intended to discover them. If his friend’s ward was courting trouble and risking scandal, or worse, actual danger, Marcus needed to know about it.

His thoughts were interrupted as the bride and groom took their places before the altar. A hush fell over the crowd, and a moment later, the vicar began the service.

“Dearly beloved…”

Drew sat back in his seat, girding himself to endure the proceedings. He did not like weddings. In fact he loathed them, for they signified the entrapment of a man in marriage. And this particular wedding was especially regrettable, since Marcus was shackling himself to a young lady he had known for a ludicrously short period of time. Marcus had been a devout bachelor before meeting Arabella and completely losing his head over her, swept up in an infatuation.

Drew shook his head. He cared deeply for his friend and hoped he wouldn’t be bitterly disappointed in love, but suspected it was inevitable.

As the vicar prosed on, he found his gaze straying across the aisle to the lovely Roslyn. She sat tall and straight, watching the ceremony with solemn interest.

Eventually his thoughts drifted back to the night they met. He remembered her scent, soft and tempting. He remembered the feel of her in his arms, her sweet, tentative response when he kissed her the first time.

Perhaps she truly was as inexperienced as she’d claimed. If so, that explained why she kissed so innocently.

She’d responded fervently to their second kiss, though, and to his more erotic ministrations afterward. He was an expert at reading his lover’s responses, and he could tell she wasn’t feigning passion.

He’d responded with an unanticipated fervency of his own, Drew acknowledged. He rarely was that swiftly, that intensely, attracted to any woman. In truth, he couldn’t remember ever feeling such a sudden fierce spark of desire as he had that night. The urge to sweep Roslyn up in his arms and carry her to the nearby chaise longue had been overwhelming. He’d wanted to make love to her for hours, to arouse her to pleasure and to experience his own, to prove to her they could have a supremely enjoyable liaison while it lasted.

Thank God he had taken it no further.

But how damned ironic that the first woman he’d been interested in for months was off limits. Roslyn Loring was completely untouchable. No honorable gentleman would pursue her without marriage in mind. And he had no intention of winding up here in this church with her.

She had remained in his thoughts for days afterward, however. Hell, she was still captivating his thoughts. He couldn’t forget her lush nakedness, her sweet, ripe breasts. Couldn’t forget how her dusky nipples had felt in his mouth, how they tasted…

The ceremony was thankfully brief. A short while later, Marcus was given permission to kiss his bride, which he did with obvious tenderness.

Beside Drew, Eleanor sighed and wiped a tear from her eye.

Seeing her action, Heath leaned over to tease her. “For someone who has jilted two suitors, Nell, you are strangely romantic.”

“Simply because I don’t wish to wed doesn’t mean Marcus shouldn’t. He and Arabella are made for each other.”

Drew refrained from scoffing, but barely.

Eleanor saw his expression and eyed him curiously. “You don’t believe they are in love, do you?”

“I believe Marcus thinks he loves her, which is not the same thing at all.”

Heath’s mouth curved. “Such a cynic.”

Drew smiled. “Just so. But I’ve never seen a union that was formed so precipitously last beyond the first flush of infatuation.”

“Neither have I,” Eleanor said wistfully, “but I know they must exist. All the poets say so.”

She rose then and went to join her brother, where she gave him a long and heartfelt embrace. Heath and Drew followed but contented themselves with shaking hands with Marcus.

For once, Drew kept his cynical thoughts to himself. Through much of their boyhood and all of their adulthood, the three of them had been inseparable, having attended Eton and Oxford together and then come into their vast fortunes and illustrious titles the same year. Like Roslyn, Drew didn’t want to spoil the momentous day for Marcus, even if he was troubled by his friend’s reckless rush into matrimony.