At forty-one, Lady Ruth Attwood, is feeling insecure and old
especially since Ruth's last two suitors left her for
younger women; the beginning of the end for a
courtesan such as herself. Ruth has no choice but to
consider retirement, but before she does, Ruth must secure
an estate to house the overflowing children from the
orphanage she began over a decade ago. Ruth must prove to
her peers that the latest abandonment doesn't bother her in
the least by attending a ball knowing her pride is at stake.
All the while, she is trying to figure out how to pay for
the needed estate. The moment the dark and brooding
stranger enters the ballroom Ruth's neck begins to tingle
and a heat she has never experienced before leaves her
shaken and ready to go home. To make matters worse, this
stranger defends her honor then asks for a dance confirming
Ruth's thought that she must escape as soon as possible.
Baron Garrick Stratfield has done the best he can to provide
for his family by taking care of them when he can and
finding husbands that will adore them as he does. The
humiliation of Garrick's past regarding his uncle and a
woman Garrick thought he loved has Garrick doing what he
must to protect a secret that will destroy him if found out.
Garrick's situation begins to spiral out of control as his
mistress decides to marry the tutor, leaving him open to
ridicule unless he finds a replacement quickly. Lady Ruth
comes to mind but she seems to not want his attention no
matter what he does to gain her favor. A woman has never
excited him like Lady Ruth but her obsession with her age
compared to his own is an obstacle he can overcome if she
will allow it and ignore the gossips. Keeping his hands to
himself will prove to be difficult especially while trying
to convince Ruth that he is the perfect choice as her protector.
PLEASURE ME is Monica Burns' follow up novel to
Kismet telling a story of tragic emotional
insecurities and a strong love that can rise above it all.
Absolutely enjoyed every page.
Despite his reputation as a man’s man, Baron Garrick
Stratfield has never bedded
a woman. His physical impairment is such that he knows not
even a whore will
touch him, and he’s looking for a mistress who’s willing to
be kept without
sharing his bed. But passion is just one delicious kiss away
because the mistress
he wants is a virtuoso in the bedroom. She’s wreaking havoc
with his senses, and
she has him on the verge of surrendering not only his
secrets but his celibacy as
well.
Youth and beauty are a courtesan’s greatest assets. At
forty-one, Lady Ruth
Attwood has lost both as her lover has left her for a
younger mistress. Ruth’s all
too familiar with abandonment. Her father, convinced she was
another man’s
child, renounced her, and survival offered few choices.
Feeling old and
undesirable, Ruth never expected a younger man’s attentions
or caresses could
make her feel young again. But losing her heart is certain
to remind her just how
old she is.
Excerpt
London, 1897
Chapter 1
"I'm sure you understand, my dear. Miss Fitzgerald and I
have formed a tendré for each other that transcends what
you and I have had over this past year. I'm amazed she's
even countenanced my suit as she's so much younger than me."
Ruth flinched as she stood at the window with her back to
Marston. What he really meant was that Ernestina Fitzgerald
was younger than her. There was just enough complacency in
her lover's voice for her to know the bastard was enjoying
himself. She'd been through this type of event so many
times over the past twenty some years, but this time it was
worse. This was the second time in less than two years that
a lover was leaving her for a younger woman. And at forty-
one years of age she was old—wasn't she? Her hands
trembled despite her death grip. Steeling herself, she
pasted on a smile and turned around to face him.
"Of course, I understand, Freddie." She deliberately used
the nickname and earned a glare from him. She knew how much
he despised anyone calling him that. "I'm certain Miss
Fitzgerald will suit you well. As I understand it, her
talent for skilled conversation equals yours."
Marston sent her a suspicious look, but she knew he would
never understand the double entendre. The man wasn't nearly
as intelligent as he liked to think. In fact, he was
hopelessly inept at conversing intelligently about any
subject other than hunting and fishing. Suddenly, she
despised herself for even entering into a liaison with him.
She knew why she had. She just hadn't wanted to admit it
until now. She'd been scared, afraid that time was running
out for her. And now it had.
"Naturally, I'll see that your allowance is paid through
the end of the month."
"Naturally," she said coolly, not about to let him see she
was shaken by the parting. It wasn't as much unexpected as
it was humiliating. "And Crawley Hall?"
"I am sorry, Ruth, but that seems a rather extravagant
parting gift, don't you think?"
"I prefer to think of it as a promise you made several
months ago."
She narrowed her gaze at him. She needed the estate. The
orphanage on Aston Street was overflowing, and the more
sickly children would benefit from the fresh country air.
"Did I? I don't recall agreeing to any such thing."
"Then perhaps I should have Wycombe refresh your memory, as
he was present at the time you agreed to purchase the
property for me."
"I'm sure Wycombe will remember it differently," Marston
said with more than a hint of smug arrogance. "Besides, you
already have property in the country. I see no reason why
you would have need of another one. If you're concerned
about money, you can always sell the jewelry I've given
you."
The sanctimonious pig. The bastard knew why she wanted the
Crawley Hall. He also knew good and well that the house she
owned near Bath was far too small for her needs. There was
barely enough room for her, Delores and Simmons let alone
half a dozen orphans. And the jewelry he'd given her would
bring her barely enough for half the purchase price of
Crawley Hall. His refusal to buy the Hall meant she would
need to dig more deeply into her resources. Something she'd
hoped to avoid. She'd managed her finances well over the
years, but buying Crawley Hall meant utilizing her long-
term investments much sooner than she liked. Especially
when her future was far from bright when it came to
securing a new patron. She sent him a contemptuous smile.
"The jewelry you've given me? Darling Freddie, those
trinkets will hardly fetch even a paltry sum. But if you
refuse to keep your promise with regard to Crawley Hall,
who am I to question your honor." She caught a glimpse of
the anger darkening his face as she turned away from him
with a small shrug. "Since we've nothing further to say to
each other, I think it's time you left."
Seconds later, a rough hand snaked through her hair and
jerked her head backward. She never liked to show fear, but
Marston pulled painfully on her hair and she cried out not
only in surprise, but anguish as well.
"Listen to me, you old hag, if you even suggest that my
attentions to you were ever anything but honorable, I'll
show you just how honorable I can be."
A door opened behind them, and her butler entered the room.
Tall and burly enough to make any man cautious of crossing
him, Simmons occasionally acted the bodyguard in addition
to his many other talents.
"I heard a scream, my lady. Is everything all right?" It
wasn't a question. It was the butler's way of telling
Marston to release her, which Freddie did with a rough
shove.
"Don't forget what I said, Ruth. I'll not have anyone sully
my good name."
She remained silent, despite her desire to tell him exactly
what she wanted to do to him, starting with castration.
Lord, how could she have actually thought the man
attractive? Because he was the only man who'd been
interested enough to enter into a liaison with her.
Nauseated by the thought, she swayed slightly on her feet.
As Marston left the parlor, she crossed the floor and
gripped the arm of the settee as she slowly sank down into
the cushions. Simmons didn't comment. He simply followed
her ex-lover out of the room, obviously intent on seeing
the man out of the house. The trembling of her hands
expanded to wrack her entire body, and she closed her eyes
against the pain sweeping through her. First one tear and
then another rolled down her cheeks.
She'd always known this day would come, but it was even
more horrible than she'd possibly imagined. Age had always
been her enemy, and she'd never been able to find a way to
defeat it. Bent over, she cupped her face in her hands to
cry softly. A warm arm wrapped around her shoulders, and
she looked up to see her maid's concerned expression.
"Did he hurt you, my lady?"
"Not really, Dolores." She pulled a handkerchief from a
side pocket in her skirt and shook her head as she wiped
the tears from her cheeks. "More my pride than anything
else."
"I never cared for the man. He never treated you as well as
your other beaus."
"I'm well aware of how you felt about Marston." She
couldn't help but release a small laugh at the vehement
distaste in her maid's voice. "I'm surprised I didn't come
around to your way of thinking a long time ago."
"You're stubborn. That's why. Stubborn, right down to the
core, you are. Always so certain that man was the best you
could do."
"He was the only man who seemed remotely interested at the
time as I recall," she said with a
self-deprecating laugh. "I can no longer fool myself,
Dolores. My age has begun to show."
"Nonsense." The maid snorted with disgust. "You still have
the figure of a young girl, and a face as lovely as an
angel's."
"Thank you, Dolores. You are a true friend, loyal and blind
to the obvious."
She winced at the truth. It wasn't necessary to look in the
mirror to know that her looks weren't what they once were.
She knew she was still an attractive woman, but her days of
garnering accolades for her beauty were long gone.
"Harrumph. My eyesight is as good as it was twenty years
ago." The maid straightened her shoulders, hands clasped in
front of her, and scowled down at her. "There are plenty of
men who would be more than happy to enter a room with you
on their arm. You're far too hard on yourself."
The woman's chiding lifted her spirits slightly as she
contemplated the way Lord Mackelsby had complimented her
several nights ago. Marston had even spared enough time to
leave Ernestina Fitzgerald's side to come claim her as if
she were a piece of property he owned. The analogy had been
accurate at the time. Marston paid her bills and as such
was entitled to her full attention.
But now he was gone, along with her monthly allowance. She
released another sigh. It wasn't the money that troubled
her as much as the fact that Marston, like her lover before
him, had left her for a younger woman. No matter how much
she fought it, the knowledge threw her into a state of
despair.
She swallowed back another rush of tears. Crying would do
little good, and there were more important matters to
consider than her bruised ego. She stood up quickly to pace
the floor in front of the fireplace. The children had to
come first. Whatever it took, she'd find a way to purchase
Crawley Hall or another estate like it.
In addition to the few trinkets Marston had given her, she
owned several other pieces of jewelry she could sell, but
she knew it wouldn't be enough. She breathed a sigh of
resignation. In order to fetch the remainder of the Hall's
purchase price, she would have to sell her house outside of
Bath. She cringed inwardly at the thought before dismissing
her regret. She could just as easily retire to Crawley Hall
as anywhere else.
"I think it's time I sell some of my investments."
"What?" Dolores's horrified astonishment made her smile.
"My jewelry should fetch at least half the sale price of
Crawley Hall, and selling the country house should make up
the balance and hopefully pay for the necessary
improvements to the Hall. If that's not enough, I can
easily rent the town house. There should be sufficient
monies from my annual annuities to support me, as long as
I'm careful with money." Ruth glanced around the parlor
wondering how much the house would rent for. It was in a
reasonably fashionable district, which should make it an
attractive offering.
"But you bought the house in Bath for your retirement, my
lady. And if you rent this house, where will you live?"
"I shall live at Crawley Hall." She saw her longtime
companion flinch, and quickly moved forward to grasp the
older woman's hands. "And you'll come with me, Dolores. And
Simmons, too. You do want to come, Dolores, don't you?"
"Yes, my lady." The maid's expression of fear
disappeared. "I just thought perhaps you might not have
need of me anymore."
"Don't be ridiculous." She sat down next to the woman and
squeezed her hands. "I don't know what I'd do without you.
Who else will keep me on the straight and narrow?"
"This is true, my lady. Although I think you've a heart
that's far too big for your pocket where those children are
concerned."
"They haven't anyone else to look after them, Dolores. I
can't simply abandon them as Marston has me."
The words were a vivid reminder of her current state of
affairs, and she fought off the wave of self-pity
threatening to wash over her. As much as she wanted to give
in to the emotion, she refused to do so. She'd always been
practical in her outlook, and it was time she accepted the
fact that her days as one of Society's darlings was quickly
coming to a close. Marston leaving her for a younger woman
would make her an object of pity among the Marlborough Set,
something she would abhor. The appearance of Simmons at the
parlor doorway interrupted her train of thought.
"Lady Pembroke has arrived, my lady."
As the butler stepped aside, Allegra Camden, the Countess
of Pembroke, swept into the salon as Simmons retreated from
the room. The smile on her face only enhanced her younger
friend's beauty, as Allegra took her outstretched hands in
hers then kissed her on the cheek.
"I'm sorry I'm late, but Shaheen and the children took
longer than usual with breakfast."
"It's quite all right." Ruth returned her friend's
affectionate greeting then turned to her maid. "Dolores,
bring us some tea, please."
The older woman bobbed her head and left the room to do as
Ruth had asked. With a small gesture, she invited her
friend to sit down. Her movements elegant, Allegra sank
into a wingback chair as Ruth took a seat on the settee
across from her. A frown on her face, her friend eyed her
carefully.
"Something's happened. Are you ill?"
The concern in Allegra's voice tightened her throat, and
she shook her head. "No. I'm fine."
"You look rather peaked." Allegra leaned forward then
suddenly gasped. "You've been crying."
Before Ruth could say a word, her friend sprang to her feet
in a soft rustle of expensive silk and joined Ruth on the
couch. Taking her hands in hers, Allegra studied her with
an expression that said she intended to get to the bottom
of whatever was troubling her.
"Tell me." The command didn't surprise her. Allegra had
always been as protective of her friends as they of her.
She sighed.
"Marston has left me." Saying the words made tears well up
in her eyes again. She blinked hard, fighting them back.
The man wasn't worth the effort.
"Oh, my dear. I'm so sorry, but I confess I never liked
Marston at all. He has never treated you with the respect
you deserved."
"I've been a fool." Ruth drew in a deep breath and shook
her head.
"You most certainly have not. You did what you thought you
had to do to survive."
"No, not survival . . . a refusal to admit the truth. I am
old, Allegra."
"Nonsense. You're only a four years older than me, and you
look younger." Her friend sent her a look of admonishment.
She rejected the observation with a shake of her head.
"He left me for Ernestina Fitzgerald. She's at least
fifteen years younger than me."
"And the woman is twice as dimwitted as Marston. The two
shall make a handsomely dull pair." The disgust in her
friend's voice made Ruth choke out a laugh.
"See, you agree with me," Allegra said with great
satisfaction. "There are plenty of men who would find
themselves enthralled with you. And when you attend the
Somerset ball this evening I've no doubt you'll see how
quickly men will flock to your side."
"I couldn't possibly go this evening." She stared at
Allegra in horror. "Marston will be there. He'll have
Ernestina with him, and everyone will know he left me for
her."
"Well, they'll notice it more if you're not there. You know
as well as I do the sharks will close in the moment they
smell blood." Allegra eyed her sternly before suddenly
flashing a wicked smile in her direction. "Besides, what
better time to announce how delighted you are that Marston
has finally found someone who equals his intellectual
standing in the Set?"
This time Ruth laughed easily. "When you put it like that,
it's easy to see I'm crying over the man for no reason at
all."
"Precisely," Allegra said firmly.
She forced herself to smile at woman seated next to her.
No, there was no reason to cry over Marston's departure.
But her lost youth? She had no doubt there were far more
tears still to be shed for that loss. How had it happened?
It seemed only yesterday that Allegra had invited her,
Bella, and Nora to stay with her while her friend weathered
the scandal that had made her the renowned courtesan she'd
been before her marriage to the Earl of Pembroke.
How could twenty years pass in the blink of an eye? She
didn't feel old. Her hopes and desires were still the same,
although the ones buried deep inside her seemed doomed to
go unanswered. She envied Allegra and the happiness she'd
found with the earl. Her gaze drifted up to where her
portrait hung over the fireplace. The Viscount Westleah had
commissioned it when she was twenty-three. They'd spent
almost three years together before they'd parted as friends.
Westleah had bought this house for her then taught her how
to manage the generous allowance he'd given her. It was how
she'd made several sound investments that would ensure her
retirement wouldn't be one of abject poverty as was that of
so many other women like her. She had simply hoped to have
a little more time before being forced to retire.
The soft rattling of china caught her attention, and she
turned her head to see Dolores entering the room with tea.
The woman set the tray on the round table in front of the
settee, and eyed her carefully for a moment. With a quick
shake of her head, Ruth indicated she was fine and reached
for the teapot. The maid, somewhat satisfied with Ruth's
silent assurance, released a soft grumble then left the
salon. Eager to talk of something other than her future,
Ruth smiled offered her friend a cup of tea.
"Motherhood and marriage suit you, my dear. You've found a
happiness most can only dream of."
"I am happy, Ruth. If you had told me five years ago that I
would be living such a wonderful life, I would have laughed
at you."
Neither one of them said it out loud, but for a courtesan
to find love, let alone marriage, was a rare thing. The
soft glow on Allegra's face emphasized how happy her friend
was despite the trials she'd endured in the Moroccan
desert. Allegra had only shared some of the pain she'd
experienced, but she knew her capture at the hands of
Pembroke's enemy had taken its toll on her friend.
Every so often, a dark emotion filled Allegra's eyes that
said the trauma would never leave her. When Lord Pembroke
was present, he seemed to instinctively sense his wife's
distress and was immediately at her side. Robert, she would
never grow accustomed to his Bedouin name, Shaheen, was
devoted to his wife and children. The sound of a teacup
clinking loudly against a plate pulled her out of her
reverie.
"We're not going to let him get away with this."
"What?" Ruth sent her friend a puzzled look.
"Marston. Tonight, we're going to see to it that everyone
thinks Marston a fool for leaving you to take up with that
flibbertigibbet, Ernestina."
"And exactly how do you propose to accomplish that?" she
asked in a skeptical tone.
"Do you remember how Mrs. Langtry stood out among the rest
of the Set by wearing a simple black dress before Bertie
took her under his wing?"
"Lily Langtry stood out because she was beautiful, not
because she wore a simple black dress to catch the eye of
the Prince of Wales. I'm reasonably attractive, but far
from beautiful."
"Nonsense. You're lovely, and you have presence, Ruth. When
you enter a room everyone stops to look at you. And that
mysterious smile of yours makes men eager to discover all
your secrets. Tonight you're going to use that to your
advantage."
"And how, pray tell, am I going to do that?"
"Dolores is going to modify that hideous monstrosity of a
dress Marston insisted you wear to his house party last
winter."
"The purple one with the enormous pink flowers?"
"Yes." Allegra's smile broadened. "The dress matches your
eyes beautifully, but the flowers are horrendous. When
Dolores makes the changes I have in mind, everyone will
think Marston a fool for choosing Ernestina Fitzgerald over
you."
"Such a transformation seems highly unlikely, but I suppose
a miracle is always possible," she said with a skeptical
laugh.
"Well, I for one believe in miracles," her friend replied
quietly. "And so should you."
She met Allegra's affectionate look with a doubtful smile,
but her friend's words were still in her head hours later
as she climbed the steps to the Somerset town house. She
should have known better than to question Allegra's
determination. With Dolores's skillful sewing and Allegra's
vision, the two women had managed a miracle. The result was
a daring dress that emphasized her ample bosom and rounded
hips. But most of all, it was devoid of any lace, flounces,
ruffles, or bows.
The sleeves, what little was left after Dolores had
finished, barely clung to the edge of her shoulders, mere
slips of material. The entire dress was one of stark
simplicity, but symbolically, it represented her casting
Marston off. The flowers, the ruffles, every decoration on
the dress that had once weighed down the satin were gone,
with the exception of a trail of pink flower petals
bordering the hem. It would give her enormous satisfaction
to point out that Dolores had refashioned Marston's
ostentatious choice into something much lovelier.
Her maid had pulled the original flowers apart to tack the
pink trimming along the edge until they appeared to be
actually falling off the hem. Before the night was over,
they would be crushed and dirty. A silent sign of how
unimportant Marston was to her. At her throat was the
amethyst necklace she'd worn in the portrait Westleah had
commissioned.
Her only other extravagance was a mauve-colored feather
fan. As she entered the house, a tremor streaked through
her as she caught sight of Marston entering the ballroom
with Ernestina on his arm. In a mechanical fashion, she
undid the frog loops of her cape, allowing the footman to
gently remove it from her shoulders.
As more guests arrived, she stepped out of the way to
inspect the sides and back of her gown for any unexpected
wrinkles. It was more a need for time to collect herself
than concern over her dress. The sudden whisper of
sensation trailing across the back of her neck made her
hand reach up to touch her skin. Satisfied her hair hadn't
unraveled from the knot on top of her head, she turned
toward the ballroom. Another frisson skimmed its way over
her skin as her gaze met that of a man who casually handed
off his overcoat to the household staff without looking
away from her.
He was almost a foot taller than her with hair the color of
a moonless night. There was something intense and riveting
about him. If Allegra thought she had presence, her friend
hadn't met this man. He seemed to dwarf everyone and
everything in the entryway. He studied her for what seemed
an eternity, yet she knew it was only a few seconds before
another man she didn't recognize drew his attention away.
But the stranger's look was enough to leave her heart
racing.
She swallowed hard and gripped her fan tightly. Good lord,
she was no longer twenty and attending her first soiree.
She flinched at the thought. Suddenly overcome with the
need to flee, she forced herself to cross the foyer floor
toward the ballroom rather than claim her cape and head
back out into the night. The sensation she'd experienced
moments ago warmed her neck again, but she refused to turn
around to look at the man. She hadn't come here this
evening to find a new paramour.
The moment she reached the ballroom doorway, her courage
sagged. She didn't see a single friendly face in the room.
Dear God, where was Allegra? She wasn't certain she could
do this alone. The moment the thought entered her head, she
stiffened her back. Her youth might be gone, but not her
dignity. She'd hold her head high, and she'd make damn sure
no one, not even Marston, would be able to tell how she was
feeling inside. As she waited for those in front of her to
pass through the receiving line, the tingle at the nape of
her neck became a blazing heat.
Lord, it had been years since she'd had this type of a
reaction to a man. In the crush of arrivals pushing their
way toward the ballroom, the space between them evaporated.
He was so close to her that the warmth of his breath singed
her shoulder. The sudden image of his hands at her waist,
pulling her back into his chest flashed in her head. The
mental picture sent a shudder rippling through her that she
was certain everyone around her could see.
Confused by the strength of the sensations assaulting her,
she almost stumbled forward in her haste to greet Lord and
Lady Somerset. The reception she received was a polite one
simply because of her relation to the Marquess of
Halethorpe. Her stomach lurched at the thought of her
father. She didn't know whether to despise the man or thank
him for sending her down the path she'd chosen so many
years ago. Either one was painful to contemplate.
She turned away from the Somersets and slowly descended the
steps into the ballroom. Despite her attempts to deny it,
she wanted to know the stranger's name, and as she made her
way down the staircase, she heard him introduced as Lord
Stratfield. The moment she reached the ballroom floor, a
small group of women to her right caught her attention and
her heart sank. Ernestina. The last thing she wanted was a
scene. Desperate to find a friendly face, she strained her
neck to see over top of an older woman with three tall
feathers sticking up in her hair.
"Once an old cow is put out to pasture, you would think
she'd stay there." Ernestina's comment sliced deep, and
Ruth stiffened as she continued forward. She didn't get far.
"Lady Ruth, what a delightful surprise to see you here this
evening."
Words failed her as the renewed tingling on the back of her
neck ignited a fire that raced across her skin. Dear God,
was that the way he always sounded? Like he'd just woken up
and was inviting her to sin in ways she'd never dreamed.
The wickedly deep, dark note of his voice sucked the air
out of her lungs as she slowly turned toward him and
extended her hand.
"Good evening, my lord." She fought to keep her voice
steady, and a shiver streaked up her arm as he politely
kissed the back of her hand.
"Simplicity becomes you, my lady. I've never seen you look
so exquisite."
His gaze suddenly shifted to stare at the ruffles, lace
appliqués, and bows adorning Ernestina's gown. It was a
deliberate snub, and everyone within hearing distance knew
it. A part of her almost felt sorry for Marston's new
paramour. Still, she experienced a twinge of pleasure to
see the other woman's viciousness silenced, but she was
leery of the man's motives for coming to her rescue. When
her eyes met his again, his gaze revealed nothing, but he
smiled as he offered her his arm. Her heart immediately
skidded out of control.
It was a smile that would be lethal to a woman's heart if
she allowed herself to fall under its spell. She accepted
his arm and allowed him to guide her away from Ernestina
and her friends. The frisson skimming over every inch of
her body made her want to run as far away as she could.
This man was far too attractive for his own good, which
made him dangerous. Besides, he looked younger than her. A
flirtation with him would only serve to make her feel that
much older, and she was feeling far too vulnerable tonight.
"While I appreciate your gallantry, my lord, I can assure
you I was not in need of rescue." She heard the catch in
her voice and forced herself not to look in his direction.
"It was a sincere compliment. The fact that it served to
rescue you was secondary." The husky note in his
voice made her blood flow sluggishly. Lord, but the man was
a mesmerist. She caught sight of Allegra and came to a
halt. He turned his head toward her, his eyebrow quirking
upward in either amusement or curiosity. She couldn't
determine which.
"Then I thank you again. If you'll forgive me, I see a
friend I must greet." Something flickered in the depths of
his vivid blue eyes, and it made her mouth go dry. Lord
Stratfield bowed his head in her direction.
"A pleasure, my lady. I look forward to our next meeting."
There it was again, that husky note of sin in his voice.
Her chest tightened in reaction. Blast it, she was acting
like a woman half her age. She was too well seasoned to
allow herself to be affected so easily. She swallowed hard
and gave him a slight nod as she fled his side. And she was
fleeing. She was crossing the floor entirely too fast, not
in her usual restrained manner. Despite reaching the safety
of her small circle of friends, her pulse was still racing.
Allegra offered her a small hug then stepped back to study
her with a look of concern.
"Good heavens, you're shaking."
"It's nothing, simply nerves."
"Are you certain it's not a devilishly handsome stranger
that has you in a dither?" The amusement in Allegra's voice
sent a wave of heat into her cheeks.
"Of course not." She sniffed with irritation as her friend
sent her a look of disbelief, but chose not to question her.
"You look stunning. I knew Dolores would make this dress a
work of art. And the petals bordering the hem . . . it's a
masterpiece at saying the man isn't good enough to kiss the
hem of your gown."
"Let me add to my wife's observations, my lady." The Earl
of Pembroke offered her a slight bow. "You look enchanting."
"Thank you both."
"Might I add my own compliments as well, my dear? Everyone
is talking about how radiant you look tonight." The warm
voice of Lord Westleah's voice drifted over her shoulder,
and she turned around with a smile of delighted surprise.
"William. How lovely to see you again."
He greeted Allegra and the earl with warmth before turning
back to her and leaning down to kiss both her cheeks. It
had been months since they'd last seen each other, and to
see him here tonight reminded her how long ago it had been
since they'd first met. She pushed the thought aside as she
stared up at her old lover.
"It's been far too long, Ruth. How have you been?"
"Quite well."
She forced a smile as she saw him narrow his gaze at her.
Westleah knew her well, and could easily see through the
façade she'd deliberately thrown up for the evening's
event. She was grateful when he didn't press her. As
Allegra and the earl turned away to greet another couple,
Westleah eyed her carefully.
"How do you know Baron Stratfield?" The question caught her
by surprise, and she darted a quick look at her champion,
engrossed in a conversation with several gentlemen across
the room.
"I don't. He overheard a rather nasty comment directed at
me when I arrived and rescued me from further insult."
"Doesn't surprise me. He's a decent fellow. Rarely takes
offense at anything except the mistreatment of others."
Allegra turned back to them at that moment, and her friend
tipped her head to one side in a questioning manner. "What
doesn't surprise you, Westleah?"
"Lord Stratfield. It seems he rescued Ruth from some rather
unpleasant gossip when she first came into the room."
"Do you mean the handsome gentleman headed our way?"
Allegra's question made her turn her head toward the last
place she'd seen Lord Stratfield. To her astonishment, the
man was coming toward them. No, her. He was heading
directly toward her. Instantly, her palms felt clammy and
her heart was pounding a hard rhythm against her chest.
What in heaven's name was she going to say to him? The
question irritated her. Had she suddenly lost her wits? The
art of flirtation was something she'd excelled at for
years. Now suddenly one man had her doubting herself. No,
it wasn't him. The break with Marston had shaken her
confidence. Nothing more.
Not to mention Lord Stratfield had to be at least five
years younger than her, although there was something about
his mannerisms that made him appear older than his years.
She winced inwardly. Her interest in him was bordering on
the absurd. The strains of a waltz faded into the
background as her body hummed a melody all its own the
moment the man joined them.
Westleah dealt with the introductions before excusing
himself to speak with another friend, and in seconds
Allegra had dragged her husband away to greet other guests.
If she hadn't known better, she would have thought the
entire thing staged to leave her alone with Lord
Stratfield. The silence stretched between them for a long
moment before he cleared his throat.
"Might I have this dance, Lady Ruth?" The low sound of his
voice skimmed along her senses as she struggled to reply in
a quiet, reserved manner. Instead, she simply nodded, then
placed her hand in his. A moment later he whirled her out
onto the dance floor. The electricity pulsing its way
through her was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.
Not even Westleah had affected her this way. Frustrated by
her faltering composure, she straightened her spine. For
more than twenty years she'd perfected the art of
seduction, and she refused to let this man reduce her to a
state of confusion, especially when he was younger than her.
"How is it we've never met until this evening, my lord?"
She offered him a small well-practiced smile.
"When it comes to events such as this, I've seen far too
many of my acquaintances ensnared in the spider web of some
mother with a marriageable daughter. I prefer my freedom."
His straightforward response made her laugh. He smiled with
a hint of satisfaction.
"Good, I've made you laugh. It suits you."
As much as she wanted not to, it was impossible to keep the
heat from flooding her cheeks. The man was far too
charming, and it was irritating to know how susceptible she
was to him. She breathed in his clean, woodsy scent, and
her heart skipped a beat. Even at the most base levels her
body responded to him. When she didn't say anything, he
sent her an intense look that sent a shiver racing down her
spine.
"The man's a fool."
There was a dark note of outrage in his voice, and she
stumbled. He immediately pulled her closer as she collected
her wits.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Marston. The man needs his head examined."
"Oh." Forcing a smile to her lips, she gave him a brief
nod. "And I should have my head examined for ever having
been seen with the man."
He released a soft laugh that drifted across her skin like
sinful velvet. His large hand in the middle of her back
pressed her into him even tighter. As the heat and scent of
him filled her senses, she found it difficult to breathe
normally. A primitive rhythm hummed in her blood, and her
mouth was so dry not even champagne could wet her tongue
enough. She tried desperately to regain control of her
senses.
"And I'm certain there are many here tonight who are
delighted to know that your heart is no longer occupied,"
he murmured as the music came to a halt.
Slowly letting her go, he stepped back from her as she sank
into a low curtsey. His words eased her bruised feelings
for only a split second before she realized he hadn't
included himself in the compliment. Why would he ask her to
dance if he had no interest in pursuing her acquaintance?
Confused she frowned. What was it Westleah had said? The
man rarely took offense except at the mistreatment of
others. Anger slashed through her. Damn him. The bastard
had asked her to dance out of pity. She came upright and
snapped her fan open to flutter it quickly in front of her
then collapsed it again in a sharp movement.
"Thank you for your second rescue attempt this evening, my
lord. But in the future, please note that I neither want
nor appreciate your interference in my affairs."
Without giving him the opportunity to respond, she swept
away from him with her back ramrod straight. The insolence
of the man. She was more than capable of looking after her
own interests. And she certainly didn't need any man
treating her like a lost cause.
Read additional chapters at Monica Burns Website.
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