The Wrong Woman (2 page)

“Enjoy your punch,” Miles answered.

As Tremain and Blume moved away, Riley drew up his shoulders and sucked in a deep breath.

“I don't care what you all say, I like the look of that red head. I'm going to dance with her.”

Miles watched as his friend marched off. He chuckled when he saw Riley reach up to make sure his hair was in order. The man had always been extremely vain about that part of his appearance. His hair was blonde but looked almost white and gave him an otherworldly air. He kept it a touch too long just so he could draw attention to himself by brushing away the lock that constantly fell over his face. Miles shook his head and sighed.

“Does something concern you, Lord Revere?” A seductive voice drifted up beside him.

“Not at all, Mrs. Tremain. I was shaking my head at Riley because he is determined to do something we told him not to do.” Miles looked down at the petite woman next to him. Tremain had certainly chosen a beauty. Blue eyes stared up at him in a look of feigned innocence. Innocent was definitely not the first word anyone associated with her.

“And what is it that you told him not to do?” She raised her eyebrows.

“We warned him against the red-haired woman in the corner.”

Mrs. Tremain's eyes flickered to the place he'd indicated. “Wise counsel. Miss Dalhousie has no fortune to speak of.”

“You know her?”

Mrs. Tremain smiled and Miles noticed her even, white teeth. “I know
of
her, but have not met her myself. Someone mentioned to me that she has an older brother here in town. I may make his acquaintance soon.” Her eyes flashed with amusement. It did not take an educated man to figure out what exactly she meant.

Her innocent looks and frankness about intimate matters disconcerted him

“Of course,” her voice grew deeper, “I could always be persuaded to leave off of that particular pursuit...” She let the words hang in the air between them. Miles knew what she intended. It was the not the first time she'd made him a proposition.

A few months ago, toward the end of the Season, Miles had found himself alone in a carriage with her. Tremain had disappeared somewhere earlier in the evening and she'd asked Miles to escort her home. Though he'd known he was on dangerous ground, she'd had him trapped. His duty as a gentleman meant he could not refuse.

The carriage had barely started away from the door before she'd been on his lap pressing her lips to his.

Miles was no stranger to female attention, but seducing his friend's wife – no matter what her reputation – was too much. He'd pushed her away immediately and firmly requested that she stay on her side of the carriage for the rest of the journey.

Miles had known, of course, that neither Tremain nor his wife were faithful. It had almost been part of their marriage vows. And she was a very attractive woman. But still, he could not imagine carrying on under his friend's nose.

Perhaps his view of marriage had been spoiled by his parents. They had made no secret of their affection for each other. Indeed, Miles had found many occasions in life to be embarrassed of their obvious attraction and attention to each other. They were constantly sharing significant looks and touching hands. His father had brought her hand-picked flowers at least once a week for as long as the children could remember. And once a day, their mother had sent one of them to their father's study with a little note. One time, a young Miles had looked to see what was written. It had only said, “Until tonight, my love.” Miles could never forget his father's smile when he read her notes.

Mama had been inconsolable for a long while when his father had died five years ago. Miles could still see her melancholy now and again, though she hid it well. He'd taken up the habit of picking flowers for her, just as their father had done.

Miles knew he would never find that kind of love. Nor did he believe that he deserved to find that kind of affection. Not after the life he'd had. Not after his brother's accident...

“Lord Revere? You have grown quite silent. I do hope that means you are considering my offer?”

“Actually, Mrs. Tremain, I was contemplating marriage.” He looked at her boldly, hoping his attitude would finally end her desire for him.

Her laugh came from deep within her throat. “Silly man. Why have marriage when you can have me?”

As he wracked his brain for an appropriate reply to put her off this mania, his thoughts were interrupted by a pretty laugh from the direction of the chaperone's corner.

“Who on earth is that?” Mrs. Tremain asked.

“I don't know,” Miles eagerly searched the corner of the room. That laugh had been a delightful and refreshing sound. Especially when trying to escape from the seductive laughter of Mrs. Tremain.

Finally he saw spotted her: a blond-haired young woman not over twenty years. The girl wore a becoming dress of a white fabric that seemed to move even when she was standing still. Her smile lit her face and all around her. Even some of the other chaperones had joined in with whatever joke she had made. Miles smiled too.

“A smile, Lord Revere? At a chit like that?” There was venom in her voice.

“Yes, Mrs. Tremain. I have a mind to introduce myself to that 'chit.' She seems like pleasant company.” Miles was pleased to see her eyes flare at the implied insult.

“Very well,” sarcasm dripped from her voice. “Enjoy yourself.” She stood, waiting for him to leave.

Miles looked back at the corner where the young woman was still laughing. She had an innocence and gaiety that appealed to him. He would find out who she was and beg an introduction. Perhaps this Little Season would not disappoint him after all.

Miles began to move toward the corner but stopped himself quickly when at last his brain recognized the figure sitting next to the pretty girl. Isobel Masters. “Dizzy Izzy” as he'd christened her after that first ball she'd attended.

For ten years Miles had largely managed to avoid her, mainly due to some sharp exchanges with her had shown him just how much she disliked him. He could hardly blame her. He
had
been the ringleader in ridiculing her during that first season. Perhaps he would introduce himself later.

Miles turned a step back toward where he'd been standing. But he caught Mrs. Tremain eying him curiously. Better to brave a few sharp words from Miss Masters. Miles squared his shoulders and strode as confidently as he could toward the chaperone's corner.

Chapter 2

“Those men just do not learn, do they?”

Isobel Masters listened to her Aunt Harriet chuckle as she asked the question.

“Hmm?” Isobel had been watching her younger sister dance with a short and square man who barely managed to remain upright. It took a moment for her to notice that Aunt Hetty was looking off into the opposite corner from where the two women were seated.

“Over there,” Aunt Hetty lifted her chin toward the scene. Isobel followed her gaze and saw Mr. John Riley approaching Miss Emily Dalhousie, one of the new young women on the marriage market this season. Isobel rolled her eyes in disgust.

Aunt Hetty made a noise of disapproval. “You’d think after ten years in this game, the young man could learn to recognize trouble when he saw it.”

“Any man in that set is destined to disappoint you, aunt. They only look for a pretty face or a large dowry. A woman blessed with both, like Miss Dalhousie, is irresistible.”

“Well, she is pretty at that. And such bright red hair! I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone swept her away.”

Isobel raised her eyebrows in doubt. “I hardly think Mr. Riley will sweep her anywhere. His charms are few.”

Aunt Hetty held her tongue. Isobel knew her tone was sharp, but she could not help it. After ten years of it, her aunt had learned not to speak of Mr. Riley, Mr. Tremain, Mr. Blume, and Lord Revere.

Especially Lord Revere.

In her first season, nearly a decade ago, they had laughed Isobel right out of any marriage prospects she might have had. And she could not let go of her hate, mostly because of the indelible nickname they'd saddled her with: “Dizzy Izzy.”

At her very first ball, Isobel had slipped somehow and come careening down the staircase in a blur of white fabric. It had been quite the spectacular tumble, but not exactly how she had desired herself to be introduced into society.

Of course, Lord Revere had witnessed her fall and instead of coming to her rescue, like a proper gentleman, had merely laughed. Then he'd started that cursed nickname. Even now her pulse raced with anger. She would never forgive him.

“Just look at her waving that silly fan about,” Aunt Hetty interrupted Isobel's thoughts before they could turn bloody. “She's liable to hit someone in the face with the wave she's flipping it here and there.”

Isobel laughed. “Aunt, I've never known you to be so uncharitable towards the new girls.”

“Because most of them are innocents and their tricks are easily seen. Miss Dalhousie has something more about her, something I don't like.”

“Well, you need not fear for Mr. Riley, I am sure.”

“Regardless of your feelings, Isobel, I quite like the young man. He is gallant, even though he can be a bit silly. I believe he wants to do right.”

“You only make excuses because his mother is your friend.”

“Well, no man deserves to be caught like a fish. Nor woman, neither, before you start!” Aunt Hetty held up her hand to quell Isobel's protests.

“You have such romantic notions about men, aunt,” Isobel shook her head.

“Though it has never come to me, I do believe every person should have a chance at love – the true kind of love. If it comes and one throws it away, ah well. But the
chance
is there. I wish no less for Mr. Riley. As I wish it for you, too.”

A chance.

Isobel might have had a chance once. But it had most certainly passed her by. She was almost thirty, had fortune but no rank, and she was definitely not accounted beautiful by anyone. She was plump and clumsy and would stay unmarried forever.

She was enjoying watching her younger sister make her debut this evening even though it brought back painful memories of her own first ball. Isobel's fate would not do for her sister. Catherine, or Cat as her family called her, was a blooming eighteen year old girl with light blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes. Their father often called her “angel.” And it suited both her face and her personality.

Cat had been impatient to get into society and their unmarried Aunt Hetty didn't mind the company. Indeed, Isobel knew she rather relished the young blood in her household. It gave her an excuse to do things the young people would do. Isobel knew she felt younger than her fifty years. She was more like an older sister, a confidant who made society bearable these last ten years. Aunt Hetty had promised to grow old with Isobel. She smiled now at the thought. Two old maids together as unchanging and reliable as the Countess of Rendell's ball. Tonight, like all the other years, Isobel saw the same food, the same decorations, the same music, even the same faces.

Only the young people changed, like Cat who came bounding toward her and Aunt Hetty. She appreciated her sister’s enthusiasm, but might need to have a word with her about not running across the floor.

“Izzy,” Cat sighed, grabbing her sister's hand, “I am the happiest girl on earth tonight!”

Isobel laughed. “And what has made you realize this delightful fact, my love?”

“Oh, everything!” She made a sweeping gesture across the room. “All of this is simply splendid!”

“A woman's first ball should always be an absolutely splendid occasion.” Aunt Hetty’s eyes flashed with mirth that sent Cat off into a pretty peal of laughter.

“Well, this certainly is, aunt. I have danced every dance with such handsome and agreeable men. It seems just like a fairy tale.”

“Then I shall play the part of your fairy godmother.” Aunt Hetty held up her hand and Cat bowed her head to be anointed. Cat laughed again and placed a sweet kiss on her aunt's cheek.

“Does that make me the ugly stepsister to your Cinderella?” Isobel teased.

“Izzy, you know that no one thinks you are ugly,” Cat protested

“I know that
you
do not think so, and that is enough for me.” Isobel smiled.

“I do love you, Izzy. I only wish you would have as much enjoyment as I do.”

“But I do, my love,” Isobel squeezed her sister's hand. “You cannot understand how much I enjoy seeing you happy. That is quite enough for me.”

“I wish you would dance,” Cat pouted. “You are a wonderful dancer.”

At this, Isobel laughed heartily. “No, dear Cat, I would only trip over my own feet. You know how clumsy I am. I would make a horrid spectacle of myself.”

“Not with the right partner, I think.” Cat refused to concede.

“Well, if you can find me the right partner, sister, I promise that I shall try it.” Isobel smiled broadly as a shadow fell over them.

Isobel looked up to see an unwelcome face. Her smile disappeared instantly as she laid eyes on the Baron of Revere.

“Misses Masters.” His cold voice raised a chill along her spine as he offered her a polite bow.

“My lord,” Isobel forced a polite nod though everything in her rebelled. At her side, Aunt Hetty also bowed her head politely.

“I hope that you are well, Miss Masters,” Revere wasn't even looking at Aunt Hetty when he asked. Instead, his gaze was trained on Cat. Clearly, the girl had attracted his attention. Isobel grew defensive. This man did not deserve to be introduced to her lovely and innocent sister. She must keep him away somehow.

Isobel stalled for a moment, combing her mind for some way to dismiss Lord Revere without making a scene. But nothing came to her. With an inward sigh and a roll of her eyes, Isobel finally gave in.

“Lord Revere, may I present my sister, Miss Catherine Masters.”

“Charmed,” Revere said as he offered a smile and a bow to Cat. Isobel was unhappy to see a pretty blush rise to her sister's cheeks.

“As am I, sir,” Cat offered a small curtsy.

“May I have this dance?” Isobel noticed that he had already turned and offered his arm for escort, as if he had no doubt of his offer being accepted. Isobel's lip curled in barely contained anger as the two moved toward the dance floor.
The arrogance!