If Love Were Enough Page 3

  This could get difficult.

  But, in truth, it was not too very long ago he would have enjoyed the flirting, teasing and innuendoes that circulated in such a heady gathering. His body tightened even now with the expectation despite his lack of interest.

  Old rakehell habits must die hard. But his mind had changed direction, so his body must learn to follow suit. He would have responsibilities and a nursery he must fill to guarantee the survival of his line.

  Estella remained at home, ready to marry him whenever he gave the word. And, possibly, he should do just that before his father took his last breath. It would give his father and hers the joy of knowing their families and lands would be united at last. It would also double the properties he would leave to his heir, whenever he had one, and reinforce his family fortunes. Though not tapped out, they could benefit from the bolstering in short order.

  Why then was he hesitating when he knew it was expected he would marry his childhood friend? He knew her as well as anyone. She seemed ready to accept him and their parents’ plans for them. Yet, for some reason, he was filled with reservation. Theirs would be a better match than most. Probably better than any of those in this drawing room, or for that matter, his parents’.

  Even Asher married for money, not for love.

  What was it that made him hesitant, wary even, of marrying Estella?

  Could it just be it was not a love match? How possible was it he could ever make one?

  He barely settled his elbow on the mantel before his solitude was breeched by his host.

  “Well, Brandon, I must say again, I did not expect you here, what with your father’s illness and all.”

  Thomas Merton, Viscount Asherton, had always been a good friend even after his marriage and escape to the countryside. Just over six feet in height, he still kept himself in shape with his riding and hunting. A Corinthian in his youth, his vanity must still be too strong to let his physical appearance dissipate the way his moral ethics had.

  Having been clapped on the back, Brandon answered, “As I mentioned, I was kicked out, Asher. My father felt I had been too long out of Society and needed some company to renew my spirits. Even Estella urged me to come, though I am not sure she was clear on the type of activity I am attending. Thus, I am here to partake of your generous hospitality, though I doubt I shall partake in much else.”

  His eyes roamed the room once again. No one garnered his interest until his tutored gaze fell upon a new face of fair and enduring beauty standing near the open French doors. He missed her moments ago because the four gentlemen hovered around her, shielding her from his view.

  “If you are to renew your energies, Brandon, then you must find some willing accomplice to entice you. I am sure Anne would be happy to assist you in making a temporary match.”

  Just what he needed, Asher’s wife fitting him up with an empty-headed female. Or worse, based on past experience, Anne would be throwing herself at him.

  His eyes had not left the beauty near the French doors. Her auburn hair showed to advantage when the setting sun glinted red upon it. Her eyes looked green from this distance, or were they made so from the green satin she wore. She was not tall, no more than an inch or two over five feet from his estimation, but her small frame had all the curves a man could want to smooth his hands over. And the high neckline of her gown did little to camouflage the generosity of the charms beneath it.

  “The lady near the French doors, Asher. Who is she? I have not seen her in your company previously. I doubt she is shackled to any of the four gentlemen pressing their company upon her, since she does not look the least bit interested in any one of them. Her demeanor is polite but cold, if I had my guess.”

  Asher looked over. “I have never invited her to any of my house parties. In fact, she was not invited to this one.”

  “She doesn’t look the type to force herself into such a gathering.” Brandon let his gaze flow over her curvaceous form again. His inner being stirred; his body hardened.

  “One does not introduce one’s sister into such society intentionally, my Lord Brookfield.”

  Brandon’s perusal stopped short then he turned his head to meet the gaze of his host.

  “Your sister? I never knew you had one. You never mentioned it when I met you in town. What was that? Near ten years ago? You have been holding out on me. Have you introduced her to the other rakes gathered here?” Brandon could see the discomfort in Asher’s face. His friend’s brow furrowed; his smile dissolved into a frown.

  “Each and every one of them has taken up introductions on his own. She arrived unannounced, earlier today before the rest of you descended. She has been in her rooms resting from her trip from Northumberland.” Asher’s gaze traveled to his sister. “I didn’t want her to attend, but your arrival presented us with an unmatched male. So, we asked her to join us for dinner. You should know, she just buried her husband and is beside herself with grief. She came home for some much needed family consolation.”

  “It looks like there are quite a few who would willingly console her.” With little reluctance, Brandon would take on the task himself. “Was the death expected?”

  “Eventually. The man was forty years her senior.”

  Brandon made a disapproving sound. “Which of your idiot relatives arranged that hideous match?”

  “I did,” the viscount said, after clearing his throat. “Priscilla came out just after our parents died in the carriage accident. Soon after her first ball, Rutherford asked for her hand. He might have been old, but he was titled, rich and kind. He also needed an heir so he wanted a young wife and was willing to be generous over it.”

  “After his death, I found my father had left the family’s finances in shambles. I had little in the way of a dowry to offer. Even financing a Season was to be a hardship.” Asher drew a cheroot from a sterling silver case from an inside pocket of his jacket then bent to light a piece of kindling from the hearth. “I did the best I could for her with what I had to work with. Priscilla was young, just seventeen, and seemed to be content enough to be banished to the wilds of Northumberland after having lost her parents.”

  Asher, a name only his longtime acquaintances used due to his habit of leaving cheroot ashes in his wake, puffed away at his tobacco. “I was four years her senior. What could I have done, an unattached rake, to care and protect her? We had not even a maiden aunt for a chaperone.”

  Ashes from his cheroot fell to the hearth.

  “She has returned none the worse for wear, has she?” Brandon asked, while he continued to watch the interaction across the room.

  “Well, Rutherford cared for her well enough, though the child never came. I don’t know how long she will remain here; Anne will take her under her wing.”

  Brandon wished that would help the new widow, but doubted Anne’s self-absorbed assistance would be of any value. Priscilla could know little of the ton and its adventures after leaving it so young and being away from it so long. Though, from the looks of her currently, she was holding her own quite well. In fact, she looked like the Ice Queen. Her smiles, rare and forced at best, seemed to be granted solely because she knew it was appropriate.

  Brandon shifted, sensing movement at the door.

  The butler came in to announce dinner.

  Knowing the crowd would move to the dining room, Brandon returned his attention to Asher’s sister. She gazed out the window oblivious while all but one of the gentlemen around her started for their dining companions. No longer did Priscilla have the look of the impenetrable princess, aloof, cold, unattainable. Now her features softened, her body stilled and crumpled. Her focus through the glass seemed distant, whether in distance or time he did not know.

  Brandon perused the dispersing crowd again.

  Priscilla couldn’t believe her circumstance. Though she had to admit
her own intentions were less than honorable, she lacked interest in any of the four men who surrounded her, ogling her, like the finest horse for sale at Tattersall’s. It was debasing, no less confounding. Even her short time on the Marriage Market more than ten years ago was less demeaning than this. She was almost sorry Anne relented and invited her to join the company for dinner.

  In the meantime, out of the corner of her eye, she could see each of the other women sitting around the room preening while they made eyes at her brother and Lord Brookfield, the two most attractive men present. What chance had she of cornering the unattached lord when there was so much interest from other quarters? And, he might be such a rake he would be servicing them all. Could she tolerate being one of many?

  “Lady Rutherford, I shall escort you to dinner.” Lord Dimsford raised his arm to her. She hesitated. She had no desire to touch this repugnant stranger. But not knowing how to avoid this common courtesy in such formal circumstances, she reluctantly placed her hand upon his sleeve to join the others for dinner.

  She caught a glimpse of Brookfield, one more society rake. Tall, taller than those around her, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. She had been warned off his kind before. But he might be the one who could solve her dilemma. And, he was probably irresponsible enough not to care, like the others presently attending her, only he was more handsome, more inviting, and even more dangerous. He must have women throwing themselves at his feet, only alone because he hadn’t yet chosen his victim.

  Her spine tingled with the look of him, the thought of him, the sexuality he exuded even while he stood silently, perusing the crowd.

  He could be Robert’s match.

  His gaze turned to meet hers. The tingle that was sensitizing the surface of her skin turned into heat. The heat flushed through her entire body. Priscilla was quite sure her face and décolletage blushed from the heat this man inspired.

  He nodded his greeting, sharing a subtle, seductive smile that reached his eyes. Her eyes blinked in astonishment. He was too knowing by half. Lord Dimsford murmured something in her ear. She turned and he led her away.

  Chapter 5

  Sitting at the other side and other end of the table, Brandon kept a close watch on his newest interest. She had one debauched lord at each elbow both of which endeavored to keep her entertained. They refilled her wine glass when she took the merest sip. Yet, she was not obliging them in getting herself past her limits, nor even close, as she seldom touched her wine.

  He had not seen again the fleeting look of vulnerability that flitted across her face when she glanced out the French doors earlier. At that moment, she had not looked the Ice Queen, but the forlorn widow.

  Had she loved her husband despite the disparity of their ages? Was her heart broken?

  Feeling a hand on his sleeve, Brandon broke his abstraction. “Have you found someone of interest, my lord? I would be more than happy to make introductions should you not know her.” Now sitting next to him, Anne had made her grand entrance after all were seated at the table. Every gentleman in the room stood to acknowledge her arrival.

  How could one miss it? Her gown was scarlet-hued and so low cut it looked like she would soon fall out of it.

  Even now, Anne was leaning toward him. Seated to his right, she did everything in her power to flaunt her charms.

  Brandon tried not to show his disaffection. He liked Asher, and preferred to refrain from intimate dealings with his wife. Putting her off without offending her might be more of a challenge than he was presently up to.

  Who knew what the lady’s preferences and innuendos meant in reality? He hoped she had not set her sights on him. That would complicate matters far beyond his present preference.

  “No, my lady. I merely observe the interactions of others this trip. My mind is much too preoccupied with my father’s impending passing for me to dally with opportunities presented here.

  “Besides,” Brandon reached for his wine glass, then took a sip. Asher did have an excellent wine cellar. “I refrain from entanglements with women attached to my friends. I find it complicates a friendship too much. I would rather do without the liaison than lose an association I have cultivated for years.”

  Would she take the hint? He set his wine glass back down.

  “Nonsense, my lord. Most, if not all of these men have married for duty not love. What have they to lose if they or their wives find comfort and gratification with a respected acquaintance? In point of fact, it might bring that acquaintance even closer to the family knowing that such intimacies satisfy both partners.” He felt the smooth warmth of her palm when she laid her hand on the back of his.

  No, she would not take his meaning. She may even be intentionally obtuse. He must be careful with this situation. It could get a great deal more complicated, and soon if he failed to pay attention to his actions.

  Thank God Asher rose at the other end of the table. The men could have their port, and the women leave to discuss their fashions and gossip. The reprieve was none too soon. He stood and bowed to his hostess before she left the room.

  Hours later, Brandon concealed his presence in a draped alcove near Lady Rutherford’s door. Such activity was unusual for him, but he was more than curious whether the new widow would look for comfort among the available, and all too willing, married rakes Asher invited.

  Everyone retired early to their beds. He knew, however, that meant the clandestine assignations could start earlier in the night leaving more time for the intimate exertions everyone was expecting.

  And the hallway was most busy. Each of the four gentlemen who spoke with the widow in the drawing room knocked upon her door to no avail. The door remained shut; Lady Rutherford had not even inquired who was knocking.

  It seemed Asher’s sister would not be entertaining his guests.

  Good for her. But his were a confusion of feelings.

  He wanted to meet her, talk with her, get to know her. There was something about her that called to him. Not only physically, though his arousal earlier that evening attested to that desire. Maybe it was also that she had just suffered a similar torment to his. It was not easy losing a loved one. She must have cared to some degree for her spouse to be so distant when there was opportunity for distraction, sexually motivated or not.

  After watching Dimsford, the last of the four gentleman, try his luck, Brandon decided the widow was not going to answer regardless of who it was.

  Since he had not yet been properly introduced, he would take a different tack. Earlier, when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing room after port and cigars, she was not present.

  He made no sound as he left his post in the alcove to take the servants’ back staircase to a door that led outside the manor house. Walking about twenty feet out onto the surrounding grounds, he followed the periphery of the building counting the windows and calculating which one would be hers. When he found it, he could see a glow, but not a true light, coming through the glass. The sash was ajar but not fully open.

  Much to his pleasure, there was a trellis supporting, if not being supported by, an age-old wisteria. The spring blooms gave off a fragrance that enticed his senses, lured him further along his selected path.

  He started the climb.

  He must be quite mad to be taking this course. He had not climbed a trellis since childhood.

  His foot slipped off a crossbar and he grabbed a limb to keep from falling.

  What would they all think if someone found him?

  He reached higher. Damn, his trousers caught on a broken limb. If he ripped his breeches his valet, Simpson, would lambaste him for days, maybe weeks.

  He was getting closer.

  Both feet slipped. He was hanging by the mere strength of his arms.

  What must he look like from the ground?

  Had anyone heard him
? He was not a monkey, after all. He regained purchase and continued up the trellis.

  Why was he bent on this fool’s errand? What did he hope to achieve? Was the widow even worth this much effort?

  What would he say to her once he knocked on her window pane? For all he knew, she would push him over the balustrade to the ground.

  That was not a pleasant thought. And, it would hurt.

  Well, it had been a long time since he had an adventure. Had not his father suggested he go and relax and enjoy himself? This would be entertaining no matter the outcome.

  Being thrown off the balcony was the worst possibility, and the ground was only two stories below. If he paid attention, the worst that should happen was a broken leg. He smiled sardonically.

  But he might just get farther than any of the other gentlemen.

  Did that make him as bad as they? He refused to think of that now.

  He swung his long legs over the railing to land silently on the balcony. Just knowing he still had the ability to take such radical actions gave a jolt to his body and more energy to his quest.

  He turned to the window but lost his breath before he could knock upon the pane.

  Priscilla pulled out the last pin from her hair and relished the feel of it falling to her shoulders. Shaking her head while she ran her fingers through the thick, wavy mass, one shoulder of her rose silk robe slid off. Her tresses felt like silk cascading down her back.

  She closed her eyes to savor the susurrant feel.

  Despite leaving the gathering early, her time with her brother’s guests was almost more than she cared to handle. It was a blessing to return to her rooms, dismiss the maid and console herself with the silence.

  If they would just leave her alone.

  She had not encouraged one of the attending males to approach her, but that had not stopped them from banging upon her door.