How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1) (11 page)

At her side stood her sister, who was as short and round as her sister was tall and thin. Miss Muriella Stewart stood on her tiptoes as she squinted up at Sin. “Who’s this?” she asked.

Her sister turned to her. “Lord Fin—” She tittered behind her glove. “I
mean,
Lord
Sinclair.
”

As he always did when faced with such impertinence, Sin raised an eyebrow.

Miss Isobel’s grin faded and she turned a deep, unattractive red and quickly became engrossed in adjusting the tassel on her reticule.

Aunt Margaret interjected smoothly, “My dear Misses Stewart, it was so kind of you both to accept my invitation. We are just waiting for one more guest and then we will adjourn to the dining room.”

Lord Cameron, who like Mr. Munro was now
gawking through his quizzing glass at the painting of a nude woman reposing on a cushion, turned at this. “I certainly hope so, for I’m famished.”

Mr. Munro let his quizzing glass fall, and it landed upon his stomach like a bird perched upon a gravy-stained rock. “It’s well after eight. It does no harm to eat a bit late once or twice, but it’s bad for the digestion if one does it too often.”

“Miss Balfour will be here soon and— Ah! There she is now. Excuse me, please.” The duchess hurried across the room.

“Lud!” Mr. Munro said, lifting his quizzing glass to gaze at Rose. “Who’s the beauty?”

Sin frowned. Rose, a beauty? He turned and watched her walk toward Aunt Margaret, who must have said something waggish, for Rose broke into a smile that transformed her face. The sound of her soft laughter tickled his ears and made him feel restless.
Damn it. She does have a lovely smile. Perhaps if she didn’t always make me so mad, I might have noticed that before.

Mr. Munro chuckled with pleasure. “A vision!” He immediately began adjusting his neckcloth and, noticing the stain on his waistcoat, scrubbed at it with a thick finger.

Lord Cameron stared at Rose. “I’ve not met her; I’m sure I’d remember if I had.”

Miss Isobel sniffed. “Whoever she is, she’s horridly out of fashion.”

Her sister squinted across the room. “Lud, she’s wearing mauve. Mauve has been out of fashion for the last three years.”

Sin found himself wishing them all to the devil. If Aunt Margaret had invited her usual sparkling set, Rose wouldn’t have stood out at all. Now she was easily the most attractive woman in their small party, and was garnering all of the benefits and pains that entailed—cattiness from the women and unwanted attention from the men.

“I hope I sit near her at dinner.” Munro smoothed his too-tight waistcoat. “If not, I’ll speak to her afterward. I just wonder who she is.”

Miss Muriella said, “Her name is Rose Balfour. I met her this afternoon coming out of the library, and her grace introduced us. Her father created the Balfour rose.” When Munro didn’t appear to appreciate this information, she added, “Surely you’ve heard of it?”

Munro wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know one flower from the next. Why would I?”

“It’s quite well-known. Sir Balfour is a horticulturalist of some note.”

Lord Cameron looked down his large nose at Rose. “So her father is a mere gardener? Odd that her grace would invite a nobody to one of her house parties. She used to be more particular, although . . . ” His gaze narrowed on Rose. “For some reason, the name seems familiar.”

“Personally, I think the duchess has shown excellent taste,” Munro said with ponderous gallantry.

Rose and the duchess reached them, and Aunt Margaret did the introductions. The Misses Stewart fawned while also being barely polite. Lord Cameron was openly curious, and Mr. Munro held Rose’s hand far too long.

Finally Aunt Margaret turned his way and said rather blithely, “Miss Balfour, I believe you already know my great-nephew, the Earl of Sinclair.”

She briefly inclined her head. She might have said something, but Munro interjected himself and lost no time in bearing her off to the other side of the room, where he could be heard paying her such extravagant compliments that Sin winced. Fortunately, MacDougal then arrived to announce dinner and they all left for the dining room.

Dinner proved to be no more satisfying since Aunt Margaret hadn’t seated him near Rose. They were on opposite ends of the table, she surrounded by Mr. Munro and Lord Cameron, while he had Miss Muriella on one side and a dozing Miss Fraser on the other. Miss Muriella was quite content to monopolize the conversation, garbling on and on about the Regent, the state of the Bristol Road, and the lobster soup—she never paused for a second.

Meanwhile, Rose held reign at the other end of the table, their conversation much more lively than at his end. The meal seemed to go on forever, and Sin was
relieved when the men finally excused themselves to the library for port. At least there, Sin was certain Munro was behaving himself.

Conversation was desultory as the men waited for the women to join them, and when they finally did, Aunt Margaret came in leaning upon Rose’s arm.

Rose felt the gaze of everyone in the room, which made her acutely uncomfortable. When she usually socialized she was escorting her sisters, and as they were prettier and livelier, she rarely received such intense interest. Sin alone seemed indifferent, looking as bored as if he were at an opera performance.

His chin showed a bruise now, and she’d noticed him wince and rub his shoulder when he’d held out Mrs. Stewart’s chair at dinner.
Well, it serves him right. How dare he announce that he’s going to seduce me, so certain of his success that he had no fear in telling me his intentions?

His arrogance made her determined to resist him, even as something about him tugged her toward him and made her long for his touch. It was really
her
nature she’d have to fight, not Sin’s. The memory of their encounter in the library flashed into her mind and a shiver tingled through her.
Blast it, what is it about him that makes me react so? And why don’t I enjoy the company of less threatening men?

When she’d been in London for her season, the poet Byron had been taking London by storm and men of his stamp were all the rage. Byron was soft-looking
and spoke with an assumed affectation that made Rose cringe. Aunt Lettice had been in swoons over him, but Rose had been thoroughly unimpressed.

No, she preferred a far different sort of man. She liked a man who looked like a man, one with broad shoulders and muscled arms. A man who could fill out the knitted breeches that were so fashionable today as they molded to his powerful thighs. Her eyes found Sin across the room, her gaze moving up his legs, and then higher . . . Realizing suddenly that she was staring, she jerked her gaze up and found Sin regarding her with an amused look.

Rose spun away, her face hot. As she did so, she accidentally locked eyes with Mr. Munro, who promptly began making his way toward her.

Oh, no. I had enough of him during dinner.
Rose hurried to Miss Isobel’s side for shelter. Just as she reached Miss Isobel, MacDougal appeared with a tray that held glasses of sherry for the ladies. Rose gratefully took one.

As soon as the sherry was served, the duchess lifted her own glass. “My dear guests, may I have your attention?”

Everyone turned to the duchess, who beamed at Rose. “Miss Balfour was telling us over dinner how much she enjoys riding.”

Everyone now stared at Rose. She placed her empty glass on MacDougal’s tray and he promptly handed her a full one.

“And so,” the duchess continued, “Lady Charlotte has suggested that we take a lovely ride tomorrow afternoon to the picturesque ruins of old Roxburghe Castle, followed by a picnic. There’s a wide, even pathway that wends through the woods and along the banks of the River Tweed. For those of you not inclined to ride, we will have carriages awaiting, as well.”

A smattering of “hear, hear” and applause met this announcement, Miss Isobel the loudest of them all. Rose could only suspect that someone had once told Miss Isobel that she looked especially fine in her riding habit.

As the duchess answered questions about the coming amusement, Rose glanced longingly at the door. Could she make her excuses and slip away? If only—

“Politeness dictates that you must stay at least another ten minutes.”

The deep voice set her pulse thundering. Sin was standing far closer than she expected, and she had to tilt her head back to see his expression.

His smile reminded her of a cat with cream. “At
least
ten minutes.”

“And then I shall retire
alone.
”

“Of course.” He shrugged. “Who suggested otherwise?”

Oddly, disappointment flickered through her. “You suggested it earlier, when you said—” Her gaze narrowed as his eyes lit with amusement.

“I told you I was going to seduce you, but I didn’t
say when. I suggest that you relax until then, and simply enjoy the amusements offered by my aunt.”

MacDougal appeared to retrieve her empty glass—when had she finished it?—and she captured a full one from his tray.

“Careful,” Sin said. “Aunt Margaret’s sherry has more of a punch than most.” He stood so close that when she lifted her glass to take a sip, her elbow grazed his chest. She stepped to one side.

He followed.

“What are you doing?”

“Why? Does it make you nervous?” His wicked smile let her know that he was perfectly aware of his effect on her.

Two can play at that game.
She very casually leaned forward. “Why do you ask, my lord?” Her breasts brushed his waistcoat.

His smile disappeared.

She peered up at him through her lashes, exhilarated. “Is something wrong? Am I standing too close?”

His gaze darkened. “I’d be careful if I were you, Miss Balfour.”

“Why? Are you afraid I might lead you astray? Oh, wait. You are supposed to lead
me
astray. How could I have forgotten?”

He reluctantly smiled. “The last time we were this close, I ended up with a sore chin and shoulder. You seem to bring bad luck with you, Miss Balfour.”

The genuine humor in his deep voice dissolved her desire to best him. She’d been prepared for anger, irritation, anything but that devastating lopsided grin.

She never knew what to expect from this man! He was a mystery, one that begged for more exploration.
But that’s a very dangerous way to think of him.

She said lightly, “I’m glad you’ve recovered from your meeting with the library floor.”

He gingerly moved his arm. “I believe ‘recover
ing
’ is more apt, but thank you.” He lifted a brow. “How was dinner? Your end of the table seemed quite lively.”

“Yes, your aunt kept us amused with tales about her younger days at court. Meanwhile, the conversation on your end of the table appeared somewhat sleep inducing.”

“Sadly, Miss Fraser found the food a bit bland in the opening course and proceeded to sleep through the rest of our meal. At one point I worried she might fall into the turtle soup.”

“She seems to sleep a lot,” Rose said with a chuckle.

His gaze flickered to her forehead. “You didn’t bruise as much as I expected.”

“I rarely do. I’m quite hardy.” She looked about the room. “Unlike most of the other guests.”

“Yes, it’s a somewhat creaky party. I fear that if you came to Floors Castle expecting gaiety, you’re to be sorely disappointed.” His eyes gleamed. “Fortunately, we have our challenge to keep us busy. We can—”

“What fun!” Lady Charlotte’s soft voice broke into their tête-à-tête. “I do love a good challenge!”

Rose and Sin turned to find Lady Charlotte at Sin’s elbow. She looked expectantly between them. “Pray tell, who has challenged whom, and what are the stakes?”

Sin’s smile was gone. “It’s nothing.”

Rose feigned surprise. “Lord Sinclair, surely you’re not reneging
already
?”

His gaze narrowed. “I never renege.” He turned to Lady Charlotte and said in a stiff tone, “I merely challenged Miss Balfour to a ride—”

“Actually, he’s challenged me to quite a bit more than a mere ride,” Rose said, smiling sweetly. “We’re just now naming our stakes.”

Lady Charlotte looked pleased. She turned and called out, “Your grace, do come and hear! Lord Sinclair and Miss Balfour are engaged in a challenge of some sort and they have a
wager
!”

Instantly every eye turned their way as the duchess came to stand with Lady Charlotte. “Well?” the duchess said impatiently. “What’s this challenge?”

Sin made an impatient sound. “It’s nothing. A gallop during our ride tomorrow.”

“That’s all?”

“No,” Rose said promptly. “It’s a series of challenges. That’s the first one we’ve decided upon.”

The duchess looked pleased. “Excellent! That sounds quite amusing.”

“I’ll keep track of the wagers,” Lady Charlotte offered. “MacDougal! Pray fetch the writing desk from the library.”

“Put me down for twenty pounds on Miss Balfour,” Munro said.

Lord Cameron wasn’t far behind. “Pardon me, Miss Balfour, but I must support my own. Twenty on Sin.”

Soon the Misses Stewart had chimed in, both of them supporting Sin. Their father surprisingly put two pounds on Rose.

During the clamor, Sin leaned down to Rose. “What did you hope to gain by that little maneuver?”

“Chaperones.” She smiled sweetly. “Lots and lots of chaperones.”

“Deaf and nearsighted chaperones, who will not be of any use to you.” He shook his head. “Even if you had a thousand chaperones, I’d still find a way to you.”

“And I’d still find my way free. You will not seduce me, Lord Sin.
Ever.
”

“We will see about that,” he said with a grin. She was never at a loss for words, nor was she afraid of showing her earthy side. Just a few moments ago, he’d surprised her regarding him as if she’d like to ravish him right there in the middle of the library. Her heated look had both amused and surprised him. She’d said she was a woman of experience, and only one who was very comfortable with herself would be so bold in such a public setting.

She wanted him as much as he wanted her, which made him wonder . . . why
wasn’t
she interested in his fortune and title? On the evening of their first disastrous encounter, Rose could have easily claimed that he’d ruined her and then demanded that he marry her to make things right. But she’d never suggested such a thing.