The Rogue's Reluctant Rose (2 page)

Jasper noticed that the young woman had arrived with the Lord and Lady Worthing, and made his way over the older couple, greeting them with a polite, elegant half-bow.

He did not miss the disapproval that flashed in Lady Worthing’s eyes before she schooled her expression into gracious politeness. He was not surprised. His fortune made him a target for many a mama, but his rakish reputation had also earned him heavy disapproval in the eyes of society matrons even as it inspired wary fascination in their daughters.

“Tell me, Lady Worthing, how is the lovely Miss Sutton tonight?” he asked in a lazy drawl, watching the lady in question and her pretty companion.

Lady Worthing’s voice was a little stiff as she replied. “She is quite well, my lord. Balls always put Miss Sutton in fine spirits.”

“Ah, no doubt. And I see you have brought another lady with you tonight.” Chestleton allowed just a touch of a predatory smirk to linger at the corners of his mouth, enjoying her ladyship’s discomfort.

“That is our niece, Miss Araminta Barrington, sister of the late Viscount Fanshawe,” offered Lord Worthing.

“Fanshawe? I say, Worthing, her brother was a very fine fellow. A great friend of mine, you know, from White’s. We were down at Oxford together. I’d met the young lady once in London, visiting old Charlie, though I believe she is much changed since then. I daresay I ought to go and present myself to Miss Barrington.”

With a quick bow at the viscount and his wife, Chestleton took his leave. He wasted no time in making his way across the room towards the young ladies. His eyes met those of Miss Barrington once again.

***

Araminta was startled to see the handsome gentleman making his way over to her. His eyes were grey, steel grey, and as sharp as lightning, sharp enough to pierce her trembling heart. His hair was raven-black. He looked somewhat familiar, though she could not quite place him.

“…now, Lord Harris is not as wealthy, but his fortune is considerable, and — ” Susan broke off her account of the finer gentlemen in the room, starting in surprise, as she followed Araminta’s line of sight.

“Minta!” Susan scolded sharply, making her cousin’s eyes return to her. “You are staring at the Marquis of Chestleton. Whatever are you thinking? You should not attract his attention so. The man is a shameless Corinthian, you know. He’s very debauched by all accounts. A young lady of virtue and quality would do well to keep away from
his
gaze. Have you not heard of him?”

“I have not,” Araminta said softly, fighting the urge to steal another glance. Though perhaps, she thought, she
had
heard of him. His name, surely, sounded familiar. Susan stole a quick look at the man, and looked away just as quickly. With a flick of her wrist she opened her fan, a beautiful piece of ivory silk, decorated with tiny pearls on the carved handle.

“Oh, dear. He seems to be coming over here. We must not appear to have noticed him — perhaps he will not speak to us then. Well, my dear, since you don’t now, only a month ago there had been the terrible business of his liaison with Miss Violet Grey. You remember Miss Grey? Lord Newford’s youngest daughter. It was a shocking scandal, I’m sure you realize. Why, even now that everyone knows of it, still there is no word of an engagement. A gentleman would have married her, you know, but the marquis is no gentleman. She would be fortunate indeed if any wed her now. And before Violet…” But Susan did not get a chance to finish her story as the man in question finally reached them and she quickly broke off her narrative.

“Good evening, Miss Sutton.”

The man inclined his head to Susan, who replied with an automatic curtsy before looking up at him. “Good evening, Lord Chestleton.”

“I am most dreadfully sorry to intrude upon your conversation with your cousin, but I find that I owe my regards to Miss Barrington.” Susan blushed to be addressed by the marquis, and her eyes darted nervously around the room, while she fluttered her fan with obvious agitation.

He seemed to notice Araminta’s confusion, because he smiled indulgently. “Ah, perhaps you do not remember me, Miss Barrington.”

“I’m afraid not.” Minta did not blush and her voice remained calm.

“Not to worry. It was quite some years ago, after all. I visited your brother, Charlie, at Fanshawe House in London. I heard news of his accident, of course. Dreadful business. But we were good friends, and I feel it only my duty to entertain his sister at this dreadful bore of a party.”

Amusement flashed quickly across her face. “By all accounts, the sort of entertainment you would provide, Lord Chestleton, is not the sort I’m interested in,” she answered primly. His eyes trailed down her pale, elegant neck until, tearing his eyes away from the smooth silky skin of her bosom, Jasper Devereaux laughed.

“Is that so, Miss Barrington? I must say, your words wound me. I own I am quite at sixes and sevens as to what it is that you might be implying. Am I mistaken in supposing that you do not desire my company?”

Reluctantly tearing her eyes away from his sensual, thin lips, Araminta composed herself before the gentleman noticed anything untoward. Her smile was cool as she replied. “No, Lord Chestleton. You are not.”

“Ah, but we have only just met for the first time in many years. Surely I have not already caused you unforgivable offense? In which case I can only surmise that your poor opinion of me has been formed by some verbose acquaintance. And yet rumour, in my experience, is often incorrect.”

Araminta was spared from replying by the arrival of Arthur Crowley, the Baron Harris, who was quick to greet the present company, before asking Susan if she would honour him for the next courante.

Araminta and Chestleton watched the couple as they took their place on the floor.

“Shall we, Miss Barrington?” Jasper asked, with a rakishly charming smile and an extended hand.

Araminta looked startled for a moment, before shaking her head. “Thank you, my lord, but I would rather not.”

“Come now, my dear. Why ever not? You are not concerned about being seen with me, are you?”

“Certainly not.” lied Araminta, bristling. “I simply have no wish to dance. I am convinced that I shall not enjoy it, if I do.”

“Ah, but I
mean
for you to enjoy it,” he replied, his eyes darkening strangely. A husky note entered his voice as he looked at her intently for a moment.

“My lord — ” Araminta began coolly, suddenly uneasy under his scrutiny. She did not complete her thought, for at that moment, Jasper grabbed her elbow and used her surprise to propel her onto the dance floor, where other couples were awaiting the music. Minta found herself standing in the row with the other young ladies, facing her dashing abductor. Her face flushed with indignation, the damsel opened her mouth to voice her feelings on the matter of being dragged to the dance floor, then snapped it shut. It would not do to berate Lord Chestleton before all the other guests. She would not only come out looking the shrew, but it might imply some deeper connection between them, and this would cause more damage to her reputation than she was willing to risk. Among the
beau monde
, appearances were everything. His amused grey eyes watched her face, and his lips quirked faintly at her obvious dilemma. Araminta shot him a dark look, aware that he was enjoying himself at her expense.

She wished very much that she could walk away from the arrogant man, but that, too, would be inappropriate. However, if she were to dance with the odious marquis, then it would be assumed that she had set her cap at him. She felt a chill clench her stomach as she realised that if his reputation was indeed all Susan had warned her it was, any perceived connection between them would be thought to have nothing to do with matrimony. This would be ruinous!

With a resigned sigh, she realised that she would have to stay and dance. He had been a friend of her brother’s. Perhaps, it would be assumed that his invitation had been one of common courtesy. One dance, she promised herself. One dance, and then she would make her excuses and withdraw from his company. She looked up into his eyes, trying not to notice the way he was looking at her, and how mirth transformed his icily handsome face.

Jasper watched various expressions flit across the young lady’s flushed face, the indignation and indecision blazing from her midnight-blue eyes. He thought that indignation made her look particularly breath-taking, and had to keep himself from laughing at her, knowing that she would take offense. Miss Barrington wanted none of his company, and somehow this made her that much more enchanting.

He bowed in answer to her curtsey, and then began the steps of the dance. He wondered what she was after, and found that he could not understand her at all. She was an enigma, and a pretty one at that. Chestleton was suddenly glad that he had decided to stay longer at the tiresome party — it had certainly turned out to be a very entertaining evening, and promised to be even more so. He found himself looking forward to sparring further with Araminta Barrington.

Araminta tried to keep from flushing as they moved through the steps of the dance. Chestleton danced with surprising grace, his steps carelessly sure. Araminta tried to ignore the way her heart rate increased whenever his eyes met hers, or the way her skin tingled whenever his hand brushed her gloved one. They did not speak as they danced. Araminta could not help but feel his gaze caressing her face and form, and had to force herself to focus on the music and the steps. She was afraid that she would miss a step under his gaze. Flustered, Araminta did her best to ignore him. She decided that she did not like the man. It was clear that he was a scoundrel with no morals, and she was angry that his nearness and his burning gaze were having such an effect on her.

Gritting her teeth, she did her best to focus her thoughts elsewhere.

She sought a marriage of convenience, and Chestleton was not the sort of man who married. She knew that women who associated with his kind ended up like Violet Grey or worse, and she had not yet fallen so far in her fortune as to become some spoilt lord’s mistress. She sought a gentleman: wealthy, kind and respectable. Once the dance was over she needed to escape him. Chestleton was a dangerous man.

At last, after one final spin, the music came to a halt, as ladies and gentlemen curtseyed and bowed, respectively.

“Well, Lord Chestleton,” said Araminta dryly, “
thank you
for endeavouring to dance with me. I daresay I must now attend to my Aunt Worthing — I see that she sits alone. No doubt Uncle Worthing has quite abandoned her to talk horses to some gentleman.”

Not waiting for a reply, and still feeling the strange warmth on her hands where they had touched those of Lord Chestleton, Araminta hurried back to her aunt. She did her best to hide her eagerness to be away from the dark marquis.

Chestleton was not fooled. He was amused by the young woman’s determination to be quit of him. Somehow, he found that
he
did not wish to be quit of
her.
He was also somewhat flummoxed by the girl’s apparent resistance to his charm.
It would
, he thought,
be worth every effort to make her succumb.

The morning dawned grey and misty. Araminta woke up feeling strangely refreshed. Stretching, she contemplated the events of the previous night. The dance with Chestleton was foremost in her mind, though she had danced again with many fine and eligible men. Aunt Worthing had arranged for her a fine dance card, though she had been disappointed to learn that Sir Timothy had only one country dance with her. She had not spoken to Chestleton again for the duration of the night, yet she couldn’t help but be aware of him from the corner of her eye. His elegantly dark form lingered on the edge of vision, even as she tried to maintain polite conversation. She wondered why his presence should bother her so: she had only truly met him the previous night, and they had spent a very brief time together at the gala. Only, he was somehow never far from her thoughts.

Kitty, her lady’s maid and former nurse, came to help her dress, for which Araminta was grateful — she was certain that in her distracted state of mind, she would put her gown on the wrong way round if left to her own devices. Kitty had been with Araminta for many years. Her father had engaged Kitty soon after the previous Lady Barrington, Araminta’s mother, had died. She was a kindly lady well past her middle age, and widowed for many years before she had come to Fanshawe Hall. Kitty had instantly taken to her young charge — a skinny, awkward girl, looking, for all the world, completely lost. Though she could never have replaced Araminta’s mother, she had done a good job as a substitute. Years later, with Araminta grown into a refined, lively young lady, Kitty could congratulate herself on having done a fine job indeed.

“Did you have a good gala, Miss?” asked Kitty as she plaited and pinned Araminta’s silky dark hair into a knot at the nape of her neck.

“Oh, yes, thank you, Kitty. I certainly did. It was a very enjoyable gala. Mrs Snowe has outdone herself yet again.”

The many enjoyments of the party had been discussed at length on the way back to Grandston House, the Worthing residence in London. Mrs Snowe always engaged the finest singers and musicians for her parties, and the string quartet that night had been no exception. Araminta found herself agreeing and rhapsodising with all the proper enthusiasm as her aunt and Susan praised the event. Her uncle, whose own enjoyment lay in debating politics and horses with other gentlemen, and in sharing a glass of warm punch with his wife as they nostalgically watched younger couples dance, had opted to listen to their chatter in amused silence.

Minta’s mind had not really been on the splendours of the party, however. As Susan praised the many merits of Lord Harris, who had made a point of speaking to her as much as possible all night and paying her every compliment, and who had commandeered two dances on her dance card, Araminta couldn’t help but think of a pair of slate grey eyes. She thought of the intent way Chestleton had watched her as they’d danced. No word had actually been spoken between herself and the marquis for the duration of the dance, and yet there had been some sort of breathless tension hanging between them like a thick fog, obscuring all the other people in the room and making it difficult for her to draw breath.