To Bed a Beauty (Courtship Wars 2)

Drew’s eyes narrowed on the bea

utiful courtesan. Telling a man he couldn’t have something was certain to provoke just the opposite reaction, and Fanny well knew it, despite her ingenuous, wide-eyed look.

“I might say the same of you, Fanny, darling,” Drew responded. “It hardly reflects well on you, to be leading an innocent young lady astray.”

Fanny smiled at that. “I assure you, I did not do the leading. Roslyn knows her own mind, your grace.”

At her wry tone, Drew found himself searching the crowd again for the subject of their discussion, just as he’d done all day. Truthfully, he couldn’t understand his fascination with Roslyn. She was not his preferred style. He usually liked more curves in a woman, more earthiness. Her delicate beauty belonged more to a gilded figurine, except that he knew firsthand that she was warm, enticing flesh and blood. She had certainly enticed him that night, in part because of her elusiveness.

Suddenly he spied her dancing with Lord Haviland. She was gazing up at the earl, smiling softly, and the sight made Drew’s gut clench unexpectedly.

She’d never given him that lovely smile, and he found himself craving it. Entirely absurd, since he had no interest in pursuing her himself. No, he was merely irritated that she had accepted Haviland’s offer to dance after so pointedly refusing his own.

His jaw tightened imperceptibly-but Fanny was a perceptive woman, in the business of understanding men. “They are friends, your grace. Haviland is their closest neighbor.”

“So I was told,” Drew said, feigning indifference.

After the set ended, though, he made it a point to seek out Haviland and renew their slight acquaintance.

Following an interval of small talk where Drew learned more about the earl’s background and family circumstances, Haviland asked how he was enjoying the celebrations.

“Well enough,” Drew replied, “given that I generally loathe weddings.”

Haviland grinned. “I understand the sentiment. I always feel as if my cravat is too tight. Gatherings such as this are not my forte, either, particularly since I came into the title. It’s rather unnerving, facing packs of young ladies and their mamas on the prowl, eyeing me as if I were their matrimonial prey.”

It was Drew’s turn to grin, since he fully appreciated the earl’s situation. A wealthy peer who still possessed his hair and teeth and faculties was a grand prize on the Marriage Mart.

When he suggested they leave the ballroom and repair to one of the cardrooms, however, Haviland expressed regret that he had a prior commitment. “I have an engagement in London later this evening that I cannot miss, but I would be pleased to take you on some other time…perhaps at Brooks?”

Drew agreed they should meet at the gentleman’s club in London sometime in the near future. He was surprised to discover that he liked Haviland, which was probably why a short while later, he paid attention when he saw the earl take his leave of Arabella and Marcus and then exit through the French doors at the rear of the ballroom. Since Haviland lived a short distance from Danvers Hall, Drew supposed he planned to walk home across the estate grounds rather than take the trouble of hailing his carriage.

But when Drew saw the familiar figure of Roslyn Loring slip out the doors immediately afterward, he felt his jaw harden reflexively. Wondering at her intent, he found his footsteps carrying him to the nearest entrance, which offered a side view of the terrace overlooking the gardens. There he hesitated, watching.

Haviland had paused to wait for Roslyn, and when she reached him, she stood gazing up at him, making a breathtaking picture. The sun was setting, turning her hair to gold flame and illuminating her ivory complexion with an ethereal glow.

Drew felt his breath falter at the stunning sight. If Haviland was half a man, he would be just as bowled over, Drew knew. And if he were half a gentleman, he would leave before interrupting a romantic tryst.

Yet he couldn’t force himself to turn away. Instead his gaze remained riveted on Roslyn Loring as she offered her lovely smile to another man.

A trifle breathless from hurrying by the time she caught up to Lord Haviland, Roslyn was pleased when the earl turned and flashed her a welcome smile.

“I looked for you to say farewell, Miss Roslyn, but I was unable to find you.”

“Regrettably I had another matter with the staff to attend to.”

“Please accept my compliments on an enjoyable evening,” he said with a formal politeness worthy of his new rank as he bowed over her hand. “Organizing such a large celebration must have been difficult.”

To her chagrin, Roslyn felt herself blushing. “The size was a little challenging,” she began, then abruptly chastised herself for sounding inane. It was absurd how she sometimes grew tongue-tied around Haviland, no doubt because she was so eager to make a good impression. “I am glad you came today, my lord.”

“So am I. And I regret that I must leave so early, but I must be in London within the hour.”

Roslyn found herself regretting that he released her hand. “Your relatives expect you tonight, I believe you said.”

Haviland’s grimace held rueful amusement. “Lamentably, yes. My grandmother is holding a poetry reading and has requested my appearance. I would rather swallow a flaming sword than be subjected to her notion of entertainment-pedagogues and literary pretenders reciting bad poetry-but I feel obliged to attend.”

“Perhaps it will turn out better than you anticipate.”

“It will likely be pure torture.” He hesitated, surveying her thoughtfully. “You don’t find these social functions painful, obviously, so perhaps you might help me. You know that I am holding a ball of my own next week?”