A Lady's Prerogative Page 5

  Lady Natalie, the youngest person present, wore a simple sky-blue gown with puffed sleeves, a high waist, and embroidered flowers which complemented the lace along her modest décolletage. It draped neatly to the floor, hiding her satin slippers. Her hair, which held a loose natural curl on its own, was drawn up with one silver clip. A few golden tendrils framed her face perfectly. Her scowl, however, ruined the entire effect.

  Her mother had visited her chamber earlier and informed her that the Duke of Monfort would escort her into the dining hall for supper. Being a duke, Monfort would be seated to the right of her father, and Natalie was to be seated on his other side. The earl had apparently not relinquished his hopes of Natalie becoming a duchess. Blast and botheration! When she’d broken her engagement to Cortland, Papa had promised he would allow her to find her own husband and marry for love. Or so she had thought…

  Not that Monfort was an unattractive man. He wasn’t. In fact, some women might find him appealing, undeterred by his cold manner. Along with his elegant looks, he was a duke. That’s all it took to attract some women.

  But not her!

  She wanted somebody whose heart she could touch.

  Unbidden, Garrett Castleton came to mind. He was as much an opposite of the duke as there could possibly be. His black eyes burned with a fiery intensity, whereas Monfort’s silver ones could freeze a person’s very soul. Both men boasted black hair, but Hawthorne’s was unruly, while Monfort’s hair was without flaw—controlled, like the man.

  Looking around the drawing room, she wondered if Hawthorne would be in attendance tonight. He’d been furious with her for advising him on how to conduct himself while in the company of her mother’s guests. In addition, he’d further shown his disdain by ignoring her throughout the entirety of the afternoon meal. This, in spite of the fact she’d taken her own seat next to his. And yet…

  And yet, he’d exhibited a pleasantness of manner toward her parents’ guests, which could not have been comfortable for him. As the conversation flowed, Natalie had gradually relaxed. She’d been nervous for him. For some reason, she didn’t know why, she hoped he would take her advice. He was her brother’s friend, after all.

  Smoothing the skirt of her dress, quite pleased with herself, Natalie let a self-satisfied smile cross her lips. Lord Hawthorne had not sent Marcus packing. Instead, with no argument whatsoever, he’d accepted the young man as his temporary valet. Marcus reported to her, in fact, that he’d found the earl to be quite agreeable, cooperative, and unassuming.

  As though she’d conjured him up with her thoughts, Lord Hawthorne magically appeared in the doorway. Natalie’s breath caught.

  Dressed to the nines, his respectable appearance added a new dimension to her opinion of him. He was freshly shaven, accentuating his strong jaw and hollowed cheeks. His hair, although still thick and longer than that of the other gentlemen present, was styled with a small portion of pomade. Glancing at his hands, she realized his nails had even been manicured. Oh, well done, Marcus. When her eyes moved back to his face, she was embarrassed to see he had noticed her assessment of his appearance. He walked over to where she stood and leaned casually against the wall beside them. Crossing one ankle in front of his other foot, he pressed the toe of his polished boot into the carpet.

  “Do I pass muster then, my lady?” he asked, his black eyes hooded.

  Such the rogue! Those damn eyes of his—along with the gravelly tone of his voice—sent shivers skating across her skin. He spoke as though he knew all her secrets. As though he knew the cravings she had when she lay alone in her bed…She tried to breathe deeply and concentrate on an appropriate response while a swarm of butterflies danced within her.

  “Why would you not?” She attempted to muster her dignity. “You are my parents’ guest, my brother’s friend.” She opened her fan and waved it to cool the flush she felt creeping up her neck.

  The earl looked her up and down in open appreciation. His perusal was thorough but not as sinister as it had always seemed in the past. “Perhaps you have forgotten that you must not be seen with me? Or am I no longer considered the pariah I was in London?” In spite of his cool charm, an edge laced his words, for both of them remembered their meeting in Hyde Park.

  She dropped her fan and glared at him. “Perhaps a lady can change her mind.”

  “A lady’s prerogative, eh?” His bitter tone stung. “So, away from the ton, away from your friends, you will lower your standards to converse with a reprobate such as myself?” His voice was even, but the look on his face conveyed that she was not yet forgiven.

  Luckily, they were set apart from the other guests. She had no wish for this conversation to be overheard. For his sake. Well, she admitted to herself, her own reputation wasn’t without tarnish either. “Lord Hawthorne, you have done nothing to earn my regard throughout all of our…acquaintance. Why would you expect that I should have given it to you?”

  “I was not given an opportunity.” His voice was still sharp, but there was something vulnerable behind his gaze.

  “You were never presented to me.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “You cannot have been unaware that introductions to you were critically screened; that only the most exalted of persons were allowed in your presence.”

  She looked down. He spoke the truth. If not her mother, then some other chaperone had always been at her side to vet unworthy introductions. Upon his words, she was no longer certain how she felt about this. She’d merely followed the governing rules of polite society. But she had known, in fact, that he’d sought out an introduction to her.

  “Of course I was.” Natalie squirmed at the truth in his words. Then she looked up with accusation in her eyes. “But you knew what you were doing. You knew you would not be presented to any respectable ladies.” Fire came into her eyes. “I didn’t make up the rules, you know! I have only done my best to follow them!”

  Her voice stirred something in him. Pity? Protectiveness? Desire? Garrett tried to shrug it off as he considered her words. She didn’t realize how much the last statement, I have only done my best to follow them, revealed her vulnerability. For she hadn’t followed all the rules. She’d broken off a betrothal to a duke. Even worse, she’d managed to lose the regard of said duke to another woman. He watched her closely and then, coming to a decision, pulled himself away from the wall and stood up straight before her. “No, you are right. Perhaps we can—” He swallowed, a tad uncomfortable. “Perhaps we can begin anew?”

  As he looked down at her, she appeared for all intents to be the innocent girl society expected. And yet, there was something about her that he could not put his finger on. Was he imagining the coiled tension that seemed to roll off her in waves?

  She stretched out her hand, palm down, and dipped into a perfectly executed curtsey. “Lord Hawthorne, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Feeling strangely gifted, he bowed over it.

  “The pleasure is mine, my lady.” As they rose, Natalie’s mother approached them with the Duke of Monfort at her side. Before turning to her mother, Natalie held his gaze steadily for a moment longer than should have been appropriate.

  Lady Ravensdale stepped between them, effectively blocking those blue eyes of hers from his sight. “My dear, Monfort is prepared to escort you into the dining room. We will go in momentarily.” And then turning back to address Garrett, she placed her hand on his arm and steered him in the opposite direction. “My lord, might I impose upon you to escort my dearest friend, Lady Sheffield, into dinner?”

  Feeling the noose being slipped around his neck, Garrett allowed the countess to lead him across the room. He ought to kill Stone for this. “But of course.”

  Not only was Garrett to escort Lady Sheffield into the dining hall, he’d been seated next to the woman as well. He wondered that Lady Ravensdale hadn’t considered the events of the past spring while making her seating arrangements. She ought to have placed him as far as possible from the poor woman. That bei
ng said, he was not ill at ease for long.

  Dressed with less flamboyance than the other grandes dames in attendance, Lady Sheffield made up for it with numerous rings on each of her hands. She wore one purple feather in her silver upswept hair along with matching necklace and earbobs. She was not a large woman but exuded a strong presence.

  “Aren’t I the lucky one?” she teased, as old ladies are wont to do on occasion, “being sat next to such a handsome rogue as you, my lord?” Glancing toward Lady Natalie, she laughed. “That poor girl.” Her eyes twinkled as she spoke. “The earl is fooling himself if he thinks he’ll net Monfort for her. Not that my goddaughter would take him.” Like most women of his acquaintance, Lady Sheffield was a matchmaking busybody. Garrett agreed with her sentiments, however.

  “I don’t think Monfort would allow himself to be ‘netted’ by anyone,” Garrett said in a wry tone. “From what I’ve heard, he keeps to himself these days.”

  “He does at that,” Lady Sheffield said before turning back toward Garrett. “But enough talk of that poor man. Tell me what brings the new Earl of Hawthorne to Raven’s Park? You are an associate of Lord Ravensdale, I understand? And a good friend of Stone’s?”

  Garrett nodded. “Both, my lady.”

  “I know it’s not proper to talk of business, but I am intrigued by your acumen. What is it, exactly, my lord, that you do?”

  Garrett paused to think for a moment before answering. It pleased him to discover that he would not, after all, be subject to banal conversations for the entirety of the meal. The woman seemed to be genuinely interested.

  “Importing and exporting. Certain goods we cannot match here in England—cheese, brandy, and certain types of fabric. A strong demand for many British made products has yet been unmet abroad. I endeavor to meet the needs at both ends.” Garrett was proud of his accomplishments, but he answered her softly, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

  Lady Sheffield spent the rest of the dinner asking thoughtful questions about his life and accomplishments. Which products did he export? Did he lose many shipments at sea? Were pirates a problem for him? Where had he, himself travelled? She did not discuss herself, the ton, or any of the latest gossip.

  As the last course arrived, Garrett realized that Lady Sheffield was, in all actuality, in a very sticky social situation herself. After all, it had been her niece who had married Lady Natalie’s—her goddaughter’s—former betrothed. Likely, she tempered her pleasure for her niece in deference to the Spencers’ pride. He found himself regarding the older woman with genuine respect for her courage and steady composure.

  And occasionally, Garrett found himself glancing toward the other end of the long table, where Lady Natalie sat.

  Next to the Duke of Monfort.

  So this was how the winds blew. The earl must have already decided to replace one duke with another. But Monfort? Why would Ravensdale bark up that particular tree? Monfort had expressed no interest whatsoever in remarrying. His first wife, along with their two children, had died in a tragic accident three years earlier. They had been skating upon a lake which appeared frozen solid. The duke was watching them from the front steps of the manor several hundred yards away. The ice made a loud clapping sound and cracked beneath the duchess. The children ran toward her.

  He had been unable to save any of them.

  Word was that the duke’s heart froze that day, along with his family.

  Monfort was not a good match for Lady Natalie. Garrett watched her painstaking attempts to converse with the man. The duke appeared unmoved by her efforts, answering her in curt, one-word pronouncements. When he did condescend to direct conversation her way, he did so in a patronizing manner. What the hell was Ravensdale thinking? His daughter deserved much better than that!

  And then Lady Natalie’s gaze drifted down the length of the table. Garrett caught her gaze and held it, mesmerized. Not until blue eyes shuttered and broke the connection did he realized Lady Sheffield had been watching him. A mischievous smile danced across the older woman’s lips.

  Chapter Six

  Relief swept through Natalie when her mother finally stood, signaling the ladies to remove themselves to the drawing room. Natalie was happy to abandon the duke, and all the others, to their port. God save her from her father and his dukes!

  In an effort to appease her parents, Natalie had maintained a stilted conversation with Monfort throughout each carefully prepared course. Talking with the Duke of Monfort, however, had been an utter waste of time and energy. It was akin to wading through a thick Irish bog.

  Nonetheless, she had made a valiant effort. Guilt still plagued her for the embarrassment she’d brought upon her father. And for ruining his plans. He’d so wanted the Duke of Cortland for a son-in-law. For her papa’s sake, she’d forced herself to make an honest attempt at being pleasant.

  But enough was enough! At her mother’s signal, Natalie bolted out of her chair to make her escape through the large open doors.

  Passing Hawthorne, uncomfortably aware of his presence, she tried not to look at him but failed miserably. She had caught him watching her with that smoldering stare of his more than once during dinner. Recalling it, she met his eyes as she passed and found herself with an insane impulse to reach out and touch him. What on earth was the matter with her? Clasping both hands behind her back, she followed the other ladies out of the room.

  She did not, however, follow them into the drawing room. Instead, she slipped downstairs and out through the front door.

  In the country, far from the smog of London, stars sparkled and the moon shone brightly. The sense of freedom beckoned her.

  In spite of Stone and Roman’s return, in spite of the excitement she felt around Lord Hawthorne, she continued to feel sorry for herself. She wandered onto one of the paths that circled the lake and attempted to process this restlessness that had taken root inside of her. She did not know how to make it go away.

  A broken engagement ought not to force a lady to withdraw from society in shame. Most especially when the former groom, a duke no less, was free to gallivant off with his lover—now his duchess—on the honeymoon trip that she, Natalie, had planned. Frustration gnawed at her as she entered the wooded path.

  Her imposed exile gave her far too much time to spend in her own company. It allowed her too much time to think, to doubt, and to yearn. For what, she knew not. Natalie grabbed at a branch that dared dangle in her path and ruthlessly twisted it until it snapped from the tree.

  She did not regret her decision to break off her betrothal. She did not! For she’d freed Cortland so he could marry his true love. How could there be any regret in that? Had Natalie and the duke gone ahead with their wedding as originally planned, both would have grown to resent each other something fierce. That situation would have been more regrettable by far.

  Natalie wanted a husband. She wanted children. But she wanted to actually love her husband. And she wanted a husband to love her in return.

  She wrinkled her face as she deliberated.

  How did one know love without experiencing intimacy with a person, with a man? During her two Seasons in London, mingling with the ton, she often witnessed husbands and wives who not only appeared to be indifferent to one another, but displayed outright disgust in each other’s company. There were but a few exceptions to this standard. Which vexed her to no end. How did one go about finding “true love.”

  Not by following the rules, that was for certain. She’d been a good girl. She’d followed all the strictures of society and look where that had landed her.

  What a boon it would be if a lady could try her hand at being a rake. She laughed out loud at the thought.

  No longer betrothed, she would have enjoyed celebrating her freedom with some flirting. Ha, like that is going to happen. Living as a virtual prisoner, there was no chance for that.

  Logically, she knew society’s stipulations protected young women like herself. All these ridiculous rules—arranged companions,
chaperones, even the dragons at Almacks—existed to safeguard both her person and her reputation. And her family was relentless in all of this. She ought not to resent them so much. She loved them.

  So why the self-pity? Why the anger? Why the…loneliness? For yes, surrounded by her family as she was, a hollow emptiness echoed within her. She had thought she would be the happiest girl alive once freed from her commitment, but such emotion proved elusive. If she had not broken off her betrothal, this very moment, she would be traveling as the Duchess of Cortland all throughout the continent. Heavens, as a married woman, she could even possibly be with child!

  At this thought, she scrunched her nose in some distaste. Although Cortland was good-looking, she’d not ever really felt—well—like doing that with him. She had some idea of what occurred between a husband and wife to make children, but she found it unappealing to imagine experiencing such intimacy with Michael Redmond, the Duke of Cortland.

  “Are you escaping another duke this evening?” Lord Hawthorne’s deep voice leapt out of the darkness.

  “Did you follow me?” she shivered. For perhaps she could imagine doing what it took to make children with this man.

  “Would you believe me if I denied it?” He took her arm and turned her to continue walking along the path. “Would you believe me if I told you I am here merely because I needed a break from proper conversation and the smell of cigars?” He tucked her hand into his arm and then nonchalantly strolled beside her. Surprised and curious, she glanced over to look up at his profile. He had long, thick lashes. Distracted by the intensity of his eyes, and the strong definition of his jaw and cheeks, she’d not noticed them before.

  And then her gaze dropped to his mouth. Unnerving awareness tugged at her when she remembered how he’d brushed his tongue along her glove that day, slowly, wickedly. She’d been scandalized, of course, but also…intrigued.