To Wed a Wild Lord Mass market paperbound - 2011

Summary

Excerpt

Chapter One

Eastcote, August 1825

Virginia Waverly could hardly contain her excitement as the carriage hurtled toward Marsbury House. A ball! She was going to a ball at last. She would finally get to use those waltz steps her second cousin, Pierce Waverly, the Earl of Devonmont, had taught her.

For a moment, she let her mind wander through a lovely fantasy of being danced about the room by a handsome cavalry officer. Or perhaps by their host himself, the Duke of Lyons! WouldnâÈçt that be grand? She knew what people said about his father, whom they called âÈêthe Mad Duke,âÈë but she never paid attention to such gossip.

She did wish she had a more fashionable gownâÈ'like the one of pink gros de Naples sheâÈçd seen in The Ladies Magazine. But fashionable gowns were expensive, which is why she had to make do with her old tartan silk one, bought when Scottish garb was all the rage. How she wished sheâÈçd picked something less . . . distinctive to make over. Everybody would take one look at her and know how poor she was.

âÈêI can see that youâÈçre worried,âÈë Pierce said.

Virginia stared at him, surprised by his insight. âÈêOnly a little. I tried to make this gown more fashionable by adding a net overlay, but the sleeves are still short, so now it just looks like an outdated gown with strange sleeves.âÈë

âÈêNo, I meantâÈ'âÈë

âÈêSurely people wonâÈçt fault me too much for that.âÈë She thrust out her chin. âÈêThough I donâÈçt care if they do. IâÈçm the only woman of twenty I know whoâÈçs never been to a ball. Even the farmerâÈçs daughter next door went to one in Bath, and sheâÈçs only eighteen!âÈë

âÈêWhat I was talking aboutâÈ'âÈë

âÈêSo IâÈçm not going to let my gown or my inexperience on the dance floor keep me from enjoying myself,âÈë she said stoutly. âÈêI shall eat caviar and drink champagne, and for one night pretend that IâÈçm rich. And I shall finally dance with a man.âÈë

Pierce looked affronted. âÈêNow see here, IâÈçm a man.âÈë

âÈêWell, of course, but youâÈçre my cousin. ItâÈçs not the same.âÈë

âÈêBesides,âÈë he said, âÈêI wasnâÈçt talking about your gown. I meant, arenâÈçt you worried about running into Lord Gabriel Sharpe?âÈë

She blinked. âÈêWhy would he be there? He wasnâÈçt at the race today.âÈë

A few years ago, the Duke of Lyons had started an annual raceâÈ'the Marsbury StakesâÈ'run on a course on his property. This year her grandfather, PierceâÈçs greatuncle, General Isaac Waverly, had entered a Thoroughbred stallion from their stud farm. Lamentably, Ghost Rider had lost the race and the Marsbury Cup.

ThatâÈçs why Pierce was accompanying her to the race ball tonight, instead of her grandfatherâÈ'Ghost RiderâÈçs poor performance had keenly disappointed Poppy. It had disappointed her, too, but not enough to keep her from attending the ball.

âÈêSharpe is LyonsâÈçs close friend,âÈë Pierce said. âÈêIn fact, he was at the race in Turnham Green with Roger.âÈë

Her stomach sank. âÈêThat canâÈçt be! The only people there were Lord Gabriel and some fellow named KinlochâÈ'âÈë

âÈêThe Marquess of Kinloch, yes. That was LyonsâÈçs title before his father died and he ascended to the dukedom.âÈë

She scowled. âÈêNo wonder Poppy refused to attend tonight. Why didnâÈçt he tell me? I wouldnâÈçt have come.âÈë

âÈêThatâÈçs why. Uncle Isaac wanted you to enjoy yourself for once. And he assumed that Sharpe wouldnâÈçt be there since he wasnâÈçt at the race.âÈë

âÈêStill, IâÈçll have to face the duke, who let Roger run that awful course in Turnham Green despite knowing the risks. Why did he invite us? DoesnâÈçt he realize who we are?âÈë

âÈêPerhaps heâÈçs holding out the olive branch to you and Uncle Isaac for his own part in RogerâÈçs death, small as it was.âÈë

She snorted. âÈêRather late, if you ask me.âÈë

âÈêCome now, you canâÈçt blame Lyons for what happened. Or Sharpe either, for that matter.âÈë

She glared at Pierce. TheyâÈçd had this argument many a time in the seven years since her brother had died in a dangerous carriage race against Lord Gabriel. âÈêHis lordship and KinlochâÈ'LyonsâÈ'took advantage of RogerâÈçs being drunkâÈ'âÈë

âÈêYou donâÈçt know that.âÈë

âÈêWell, no one knows for sure, since Lord Gabriel refuses to speak of it. But Poppy says thatâÈçs what happened, and I believe him. Roger would never have agreed to threading the needle with Lord Gabriel when sober.âÈë

The course was called âÈêthreading the needleâÈë because it ran between two boulders with room enough for only one carriage to pass. The racer coming behind had to rein in to allow the other to drive through. Roger hadnâÈçt pulled back in time and had been thrown into a boulder. HeâÈçd been killed instantly.

SheâÈçd hated Lord Gabriel ever since.

âÈêMen do stupid things when theyâÈçre drunk,âÈë Pierce said. âÈêEspecially when theyâÈçre with other men.âÈë

âÈêWhy do you always make excuses for Lord Gabriel?âÈë

Pierce cast her a shuttered look from eyes the exact shade of brown as Ghost RiderâÈçs. âÈêBecause although he may be a reckless madman who risks his neck every chance he gets, heâÈçs not the devil Uncle Isaac makes him out to be.âÈë

âÈêWeâÈçll never agree on this,âÈë she said, tugging at her drooping gloves.

âÈêOnly because youâÈçre stubborn and intractable.âÈë

âÈêA family trait, I believe.âÈë

He laughed. âÈêIndeed it is.âÈë

Virginia gazed out the window and tried to regain her buoyant mood, but it was no use. The ball was doomed to be ruined if Lord Gabriel showed up.

âÈêStill,âÈë Pierce went on, âÈêif Sharpe does come, I hope youâÈçll refrain from mentioning the challenge you gave him a month and a half ago.âÈë

âÈêAnd why should I?âÈë

âÈêBecause itâÈçs madness!âÈë His eyes narrowed on her. âÈêItâÈçs not like you to do something so irresponsible. I know you didnâÈçt mean to issue that challengeâÈ'you were just angryâÈ'but to continue would be foolish, and you arenâÈçt that.âÈë

She glanced away. Sometimes Pierce had no clue what went on inside her. He and Poppy insisted upon seeing her as some pillar of domestic virtue who kept the farm running and wanted the same things all women her age wantedâÈ'a stable home and a family, even if it was just with Poppy.

It wasnâÈçt that she didnâÈçt want those things. She just . . . didnâÈçt want them at the sacrifice to her soul. To the part of her that felt boxed in sometimes by constant work and responsibility. The part of her that wanted to dance at a ball.

And race Lord Gabriel Sharpe.

Pierce went on lecturing. âÈêBesides, if Uncle Isaac ever hears that you challenged Sharpe to a race on the same course that killed Roger, heâÈçll put a stop to it at once.âÈë

True. Poppy was a mite overprotective. SheâÈçd been only three years old when heâÈçd left the cavalry to take care of her and Roger after their parents, his son and daughter-in-law, had died in a boating accident.

âÈêHow will he hear of it?âÈë Virginia batted her eyelashes at Pierce. âÈêSurely you wouldnâÈçt be so cruel as to tell him.âÈë

âÈêOho, donâÈçt try your tricks on me, dear girl. They may work on Uncle Isaac, but IâÈçm immune to such things.âÈë

She stiffened. âÈêIâÈçm not a girl anymore, in case you havenâÈçt noticed.âÈë

âÈêActually, I have. Which is why you must stop tormenting Lord Gabriel. This ball is your chance to find a husband. And chaps donâÈçt like it when women go about challenging men to foolish races.âÈë

âÈêIâÈçm in no hurry to marry,âÈë she said, giving him the same lie she always gave her grandfather. âÈêI prefer to stay with Poppy as long as possible.âÈë

âÈêVirginia,âÈë Pierce said softly, âÈêdonâÈçt be naÃāve. HeâÈçs sixty-nine. The likelihood of him living much longerâÈ'âÈë

âÈêDonâÈçt say it.âÈë The very thought of Poppy dying made her stomach roil. âÈêHeâÈçs in good health. He could live to be a hundred. Surely one of our horses will win a good prize in the coming years, enough to increase my pathetic dowry.âÈë

âÈêYou could always marry me.âÈë Pierce waggled his dark brown brows. âÈêYou wouldnâÈçt even have to leave home.âÈë

She gaped at him. Because of RogerâÈçs death, Pierce would inherit Waverly Farm, but heâÈçd never before suggested marriage. âÈêAnd who would be sleeping in the room adjoining yoursâÈ'me or your mistress?âÈë

He scowled at her. âÈêNow see here, IâÈçd give up my mistress.âÈë

âÈêFor me? The devil you would.âÈë She smirked at him. âÈêI know you better than that.âÈë

âÈêWell,âÈë he said sullenly, âÈêI wouldnâÈçt keep her in the same house, at least.âÈë

She laughed. âÈêNow that is the Pierce Waverly I know. Which is precisely why I could never marry you.âÈë

Unmistakable relief crossed his face. âÈêThank God. IâÈçm too young to be leg-shackled.âÈë

âÈêThirty isnâÈçt young. If you were a horse, Poppy would put you out to pasture.âÈë

âÈêGood thing IâÈçm not a horse,âÈë he quipped, flashing her the lopsided grin that had every silly girl on the marriage mart swooning over him.

She straightened. âÈêLook, weâÈçre almost there! I think I see the house!âÈë She smoothed her skirts as she faced him. âÈêDo I look too much a country mouse?âÈë

âÈêNot at all. A city mouse perhapsâÈ'âÈë

âÈêPierce!âÈë

He laughed. âÈêIâÈçm joking, you little widgeon. You look perfectâÈ'eyes sparkling and cheeks blushing. ThatâÈçs why I offered to marry you,âÈë he teased.

âÈêYou didnâÈçt offer marriage. You offered a convenient arrangement wherein you got to have your cake and eat it, too.âÈë

He grinned. âÈêIsnâÈçt that always my plan?âÈë

She shook her head at him. He was hopeless. âÈêI should hope IâÈçm not yet so desperate that I need to marry for convenience.âÈë

âÈêThe trouble with you is you have your head in the clouds. You want some damned union of souls, with cooing doves flying overhead to bless the conjugal bed.âÈë

Surprised that heâÈçd even noticed that about her, she said, âÈêI just think two people should be in love when they marry, thatâÈçs all.âÈë

âÈêWhat a disgusting thought,âÈë he muttered.

That was why they could never wed. Pierce had a distinct aversion to marriage. Besides, he preferred women with big bosoms and blond hair, neither of which she had. And he liked them wild, too. PierceâÈçs reputation was less than stellarâÈ'though she suspected that half of it was whipped up into a froth of scandal, outrage, and intrigue by the gossip of worried mamas whose daughters were enamored of his dark good looks and devil-may-care manner.

Then there was the fact that he was practically her brother. He spent as much time at Waverly Farm as he did at his estate in Hertfordshire. She could no more picture him as her husband than his coachman.

The carriage stopped and Pierce climbed out, then helped her down. She stared open-mouthed at the famous Marsbury HouseâÈ'three long expanses of flint dressed with stone and anchored by four copper-domed stone towers.

The inside was even granderâÈ'marble columns and statues everywhere. As servants escorted them to the ballroom, she glimpsed rich tapestries, huge paintings in gilded frames, and silk draperies.

Oh, Lord. She didnâÈçt belong here.

Could Pierce be right? Could the duke have invited her because he felt bad about RogerâÈçs death? No, that made no sense. He hadnâÈçt even attended the funeral.

Still, what other reason could there be for the invitation? The race ball at Marsbury was an exclusive affair, and although Poppy was the third son of an earl, heâÈçd spent more of his life riding over battlefields than at fine parties like this. Having never had a formal debut, she wasnâÈçt exactly high society, either.

When they entered the ballroom, Pierce guided her to a secluded corner so they could catch their bearings. Done all in gold and cream with gaslit chandeliers, the ballroom held a warm glow that made her heart race with anticipation. What if she did meet someone here tonight? WouldnâÈçt that be lovely?

After all, she wouldnâÈçt mind finding a husband, though she feared that her requirements were unreasonable. The man would have to be willing to live at Waverly Farm until Poppy died, heâÈçd need his own fortune, and heâÈçd have to overlook the fact that she meant to race Lord Gabriel. All of which was a tall order.

Suddenly PierceâÈçs face tightened, and he bent to murmur, âÈêDonâÈçt look now, but Sharpe himself is leaning against that pillar over there.âÈë

She looked at once, of course, then wished she hadnâÈçt. Because Lord Gabriel SharpeâÈçs appearance had materially altered since the last time sheâÈçd seen him.

When sheâÈçd challenged him at Turnham Green, sheâÈçd been blinded by rage, and heâÈçd been covered in dust from the race heâÈçd just won against Lieutenant Chetwin. Tonight, however, he looked every inch the Angel of Death.

Oh, how she hated that nickname! People had given it to him after RogerâÈçs death, and he did everything to reinforce it. He dressed entirely in black, down to his shirt and cravat, which were said to be specially dyed for him. HeâÈçd even painted his phaeton black and fitted it out with a matched pair of coal-black horses.

Angel of Death, indeed. He was using the tragic race against Roger to enhance his reputation as a fearless driver. He ought to cower in shame in a remote corner of his familyâÈçs estateâÈ'not take on every fool who demanded that he race him. How dared he strut about society without a care in the world? How dared he look so much like an Angel of Death?

Not just the death part, either. Grudgingly, she admitted that aside from his clothes, he was the very image of an angel. His gold-streaked brown hair looked as if the sun had run its fingers through its waves. And his face was like something sculpted by MichelangeloâÈ'a classic nose, a full Italian mouth, and a stubborn chin. Though she couldnâÈçt see his eyes just now, sheâÈçd observed their color beforeâÈ'a mossy green with brown flecks that reminded her of secret forest glades.

She snorted. She must be mad. His eyes were those of the man whoâÈçd killed her brother. SheâÈçd only noticed him because she hated him so thoroughly that it seemed an outrage for him to be that sinfully attractive. That was the only reason.

âÈêYouâÈçre staring,âÈë Pierce muttered under his breath.

Oh, Lord, she was. How dared Lord Gabriel get her to stare at him?

âÈêCome, letâÈçs dance.âÈë Pierce offered her his arm.

She took it, grateful to be saved from herself. Then, as they joined a long line of dancers, she saw Lord Gabriel catch sight of her. His gaze widened, then slid down her figure with rude interest.

And the last thing she saw, as Pierce whirled her into the dance, was the curst Angel of Death look straight into her eyes and smile.

LORD GABRIEL SHARPE watched as Miss Virginia Waverly danced down the length of the hall with the Earl of Devonmont. Thank God she had come. If heâÈçd had to endure an entire blasted ball without accomplishing his purpose, heâÈçd have blown his brains out.

Fortunately, he was well prepared for her appearance here. Jackson Pinter, the Bow Street runner helping his siblings look into the deaths of their parents, had discovered a great deal of sobering information about Miss Waverly. And Gabe meant to use it to his advantage.

âÈêThere goes your nemesis,âÈë said Maximilian Cale, the Duke of Lyons.

Lyons was a fellow Jockey Club member and GabeâÈçs closest friend. He had a stable of Thoroughbreds that Gabe envied, one of which had won the Derby twice and another that had won the Royal Ascot. Gabe had bought the progeny of the latter horse last month, after heâÈçd scraped together enough money from his wager winnings to afford it.

âÈêMiss Waverly hardly qualifies as a nemesis,âÈë Gabe said dryly.

Lyons snorted. âÈêHas she renewed her challenge to you yet?âÈë

âÈêShe hasnâÈçt had the chance,âÈë Gabe said, feigning nonchalance. That damned challenge had been bandied about society ever since Turnham Green, and tonight he meant to put an end to it.

âÈêSurely she wonâÈçt.âÈë Lyons sipped his wine. âÈêShe canâÈçt possibly be as hotheaded as her brother.âÈë

Gabe stiffened. Seven years, and he still couldnâÈçt forget the sight of Roger lying twisted in the grass, his neck broken. If only . . .

But âÈêif onlyâÈë was for priests and philosophers. Gabe was seeking neither absolution nor understanding; he couldnâÈçt change what had happened.

But perhaps he could assuage the dire results, now that he knew about them. âÈêI suspect that Miss Waverly is not only hotheaded, but stubborn.âÈë Gabe followed her with his eyes as Devonmont led her down the narrow row. âÈêShe came here tonight, didnâÈçt she? She had to guess I might be here.âÈë

âÈêIf she mentions the challenge again, will you accept it?âÈë

âÈêNo.âÈë He was done with running that course in Turnham Green.

Lyons smirked at him. âÈêAfraid that the chit will beat you?âÈë

Gabe knew better than to rise to the bait. âÈêMore afraid that sheâÈçll run her rig over my best team of horses.âÈë

âÈêThey say she beat Letty Lade. ThatâÈçs no small feat.âÈë

He snorted. âÈêLetty Lade was nearly seventy by then; itâÈçs a miracle the woman didnâÈçt fall off her perch. Leave Miss Waverly to me. After tonight, there will be no more talk of a race.âÈë

âÈêWhat do you mean to do?âÈë

âÈêI intend to marry her,âÈë Gabe said.

What else could he do? Clearly her grandfather overindulged her, and that scoundrel Devonmont probably encouraged her for his own amusement. Miss Waverly needed a man to take her in hand. And since he was partly to blame for her present situation, heâÈçd be the one to do it. In the process, he could solve his own problem.

Lyons gaped at him. âÈêMarry her? Why the hell would you do that?âÈë

Gabe shrugged. âÈêGran is demanding that my siblings and I marry, and Miss Waverly needs a husband. Why shouldnâÈçt it be me?âÈë

âÈêBecause she blames you for RogerâÈçs death?âÈë

Gabe forced a smile. âÈêOnce she realizes that what happened with Roger was truly just an accident . . .âÈë

He trailed off, bits of memory plaguing him. Roger rousting him out of bed for the race. Lyons looking green about the gills as they arrived at the course. GabeâÈçs blood running high as he approached the boulders . . .

An uncharacteristic anger boiled up in him, and he tamped it down with effort. He didnâÈçt generally get angry. Long ago, heâÈçd buried his emotions in a grave so deep that they could never be unearthed.

Or so heâÈçd thought. Ever since Miss WaverlyâÈçs challenge, heâÈçd been volatile, prone to irrational bouts of fury. It made no sense. How could one stupid challenge churn up the cold ground inside him? And yet it had. Everything seemed to tax his temper.

But tonight he must hold his anger in check, or heâÈçd never succeed in his plans. So he fought his emotions back into the grave that felt shallower by the day.

âÈêWhy not find someone more compliant to marry?âÈë Lyons asked.

Because her lack of compliance oddly attracted Gabe. Since he had to marry, he didnâÈçt want some placid, toadying society chit. He wanted a wife with spirit. Who had more spirit than a woman brave enough to publicly challenge a man to a race?

Besides, after everything heâÈçd heard about Miss Waverly and the sad life sheâÈçd been leading, he couldnâÈçt let that situation continue. Not that he could tell Lyons that; the duke wouldnâÈçt understand that he was only doing what was right.

He put on his usual grin. âÈêYou know me. I always like a challenge.âÈë

Looking unconvinced, Lyons sipped his wine. âÈêSo it wasnâÈçt your grandmotherâÈçs idea for you to marry RogerâÈçs sister?âÈë

âÈêGran didnâÈçt specify whom we marry, just that we all do soâÈ'or none of us will inherit. And by the way, thatâÈçs not common knowledge, so IâÈçd appreciate it if you kept it to yourself.âÈë

âÈêI suppose Miss Waverly wouldnâÈçt like hearing that sheâÈçs the key to your gaining your inheritance. But do you need the money that badly? Oliver seems to have the estate well in hand, Jarret convinced your grandmother to give him the brewery anyway, and Minerva now has a husband who can afford to give her whatever she wants. Surely you can rely on them to lend you money if you run short.âÈë

âÈêItâÈçs not that.âÈë Given more time, he hoped to support himself on his own anyway. âÈêIâÈçm worried about Celia.âÈë

âÈêAh, yes. I forgot about her.âÈë

Gabe glanced over to where his sister was dancing with some foreigner twice her age and looking decidedly annoyed. SheâÈçd told Gabe only last week that she had no intention of marrying as long as Gabe stayed unmarried. We two should hold firm, sheâÈçd said, and Gran will have to give in. SheâÈçs got three of us paired offâÈ'that should satisfy her.

Gabe gritted his teeth. Gran wouldnâÈçt be satisfied until she had the entire family marching in step to her tune. And as long as he refused to marry, Celia could blame him for the fact that they were all disinherited.

But then she would be the one to suffer. While he was putting his plans for financial independence into place, she would be shuffled from relation to relation. She said she didnâÈçt need or want a man, but with no dowry to compensate for the weight of the family scandal on her marital prospects, sheâÈçd have no choice but to become a spinster.

He refused to be responsible for that. If Celia still wouldnâÈçt marry after Gabe got himself leg-shackled, at least she couldnâÈçt blame him.

âÈêI donâÈçt suppose youâÈçre looking for a wife,âÈë Gabe said hopefully.

Lyons eyed him askance. âÈêYour lovely sister? IâÈçm not sure I want a wife who can shoot me dead at twenty paces.âÈë

Gabe smiled ruefully. âÈêThat seems to be the objection most men have to Celia.âÈë

And given LyonsâÈçs family background, he would have more of an objection than most.

Lyons returned his attention to Miss Waverly, who was sashaying into a turn. âÈêI suppose sheâÈçs pretty enough. A bit underendowed, though.âÈë

Underendowed? Hardly. But then, Gabe had never been attracted to women with bosoms like overstuffed chair cushions. Made them look unbalanced. He liked breasts he could take in his mouth without feeling smothered.

HeâÈçd wager Miss Waverly had fine little breasts beneath that martial gown . . . and a shapely little derriÃúre to match. In fact, she was damned near close to perfect. Taller than the average female, with a trim figure that bespoke hours of walking and riding.

Then there was her beautiful hair, glossy black and swept up into some arrangement of feathers and plaid ribbons and dangling ringlets that made a man itch to take it down. And her face, tooâÈ'all pert and pretty, from her saucy chin to her high, aristocratic brow. Not to mention her eyes. A man could wander for days in the depths of those cool lake eyes.

Lyons drained his wine glass and placed it on the tray of a passing footman. âÈêHer hatred of you will be a serious obstacle to winning her. Especially since youâÈçre not good with women.âÈë

âÈêWhat? Of course IâÈçm good with women.âÈë

âÈêI donâÈçt mean the doxies and merry widows who pursue you because youâÈçre the Angel of Death. You donâÈçt have to do anything to get them to like youâÈ'they just want to see if youâÈçre as dangerous in bed as you are on the race course.âÈë Lyons glanced back at Miss Waverly. âÈêBut she is a respectable woman, and they require finesse. You have to be able to do more than bed them. You have to be able to talk to them.âÈë

Gabe snorted. âÈêI can talk to women perfectly well.âÈë

âÈêAbout anything other than horses? Or how lovely they look naked?âÈë

âÈêI know how to turn a woman up sweet.âÈë The dance ended, and Gabe saw Devonmont leading Miss Waverly from the floor. When the orchestra struck up a waltz, Gabe arched an eyebrow at Lyons. âÈêTen pounds says I can get her to dance the waltz with me.âÈë

âÈêMake it twenty, and youâÈçre on.âÈë

With a grin, Gabe sauntered off toward Miss Waverly. Devonmont was headed for the punch table. Good. That should make things easier.

As he approached her another man also did so, but Gabe took care of that with one warning glance. The man paled, then headed in the other direction.

There were definite advantages to being the Angel of Death.

She seemed oblivious to what had just happened. Tapping her foot to the music, she stared bright-eyed at the couples taking the floor. Clearly she was eager to dance again. This shouldnâÈçt be too hard.

Gabe made a wide circuit so he could come up behind her. âÈêGood evening, Miss Waverly.âÈë

She stiffened, refusing to look at him. âÈêIâÈçm surprised to see you at such a dull diversion, Lord Gabriel. My late brother always said you disliked balls. Not enough danger, I suppose, and few opportunities to create mayhem.âÈë

He ignored her emphasis. âÈêEvery man needs the occasional break from mayhem. And although I dislike the insipid punch, insincere smiles, and inevitable gossip, I enjoy the dancing. IâÈçd be pleased if you gave me the honor of the next one.âÈë

A sharp breath escaped her, and she finally turned to fix him with a cold gaze. âÈêI would rather immerse myself in a vat of leeches.âÈë

The vivid image made him bite back a smile.

âÈêThank God.âÈë When she blinked at him, he added, âÈêI was worried you might accept, and then weâÈçd have to discuss that racing nonsense.âÈë

He turned as if to walk away, and she said, âÈêWait!âÈë

Ah, he had the fish on the line. He faced her again. âÈêYes?âÈë

âÈêWhy canâÈçt we discuss it right here?âÈë

He cast a meaningful glance at the people straining to overhear the conversation between the notorious Angel of Death and the notorious female rumored to have challenged him to a race. âÈêIâÈçd have thought youâÈçd prefer the privacy of a waltz for that, to prevent any chance of your grandfather finding out what youâÈçre contemplating, but if you donâÈçt careâÈ'âÈë

âÈêOh.âÈë She glanced nervously about. âÈêYou do have a point.âÈë

âÈêItâÈçs your decision,âÈë he said casually. âÈêYou would probably just as soon forget the whole thing, in which caseâÈ'âÈë

âÈêNo, indeed.âÈë She lifted her chin and said in a carrying voice, âÈêIâÈçd be happy to dance with you, Lord Gabriel.âÈë

âÈêVery well.âÈë With a cordial smile, he took her to the floor, casting a triumphant glance back at Lyons. When the duke lifted his eyes heavenward, Gabe grinned.

Not good with women, hah! What did Lyons know about it?

True, he rarely had dealings with respectable females, but he could get a woman to marry him. He was eligible enough, despite the scandal that surrounded his family, and he was generally accounted to be handsome. And he should soon inherit a tidy fortune.

Granted, Miss Waverly had a certain bias against him, but her current situation was very precarious. All he need do was show her his good side, soften her up a bit, and then point out the practical advantages to a marriage between them.

How hard could it be?

Âû 2011 Deborah Gonzales

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