Authors: Jennifer McNare
You, and Only You
You,
and Only You
By
Jennifer McNare
Text
Copyright © 2013
All
Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, organizations and incidents are products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as
factual.
Any resemblance to actual
events, locales, businesses, or persons is completely coincidental.
Table
of Contents:
Chapter 1
England,
1851
Alexander Warrene, sixth Earl of Chesterfield, sifted
leisurely through the daily correspondence lying atop his desk, wrinkling his
nose as the overwhelming scent of a dozen different perfumes assaulted his
senses.
Although the sickeningly-sweet
combination was not particularly pleasant, the potent aroma was a familiar
one.
Long-considered one of England’s
most eligible bachelors, he was even more sought after now that his good friend
Nicholas Leighton, Duke of Sethe, had retired to his country estate with his
beautiful young wife and infant son.
Now, dozens upon dozens of scented notes and invitations flooded his
townhouse with increasing regularity, attesting to the fact that he was
presently amongst the foremost targets for the
ton’s
marriage-minded
females.
Pushing a stray lock of dark, chestnut-colored hair from his
brow, Alex leaned back in his chair and turned his gaze to the row of tall,
narrow windows lining the rear wall of his study.
With a small, lazy smile tilting the corners
of his lips, he let his thoughts drift back to the previous evening and soon
the memory of another familiar scent invaded his senses, this one far more
pleasant.
Although his gaze was fixed
upon the nearest window, he failed to notice the neatly tended garden and
impeccably manicured lawn that lay behind his opulent London townhouse.
Instead, the image of the woman he’d left
lying in a wanton sprawl the night before, thoroughly sated from hours of
sexual excess filled his thoughts and effectively eclipsed his view of the
grounds.
His current paramour, Lucinda Langdon, had garnered his
attention several weeks ago at a card party hosted by a mutual
acquaintance.
That she had captured his
interest wasn’t altogether surprising, for the baroness was quite beautiful,
possessing a striking combination of inky black curls, fiery green eyes and a
body designed for pleasure.
That she had
managed to hold it for more than a few days however, was somewhat unusual, for
he had been the recipient of the amorous attentions of countless females since
maturing from a precocious youth, and no one woman had ever managed to hold his
interest for long.
For years women had
clamored for his affections, drawn not only to his handsome face, but to the
lure of his prestigious title and the enormous wealth that accompanied it.
He had only to walk into a room to find a
dozen women eager to share his company and his bed.
Admittedly, it had made him rather jaded, and
as such he often failed to truly appreciate that which came too easily.
In this particular instance, Alex merely attributed his
prolonged interest in Lucinda to her extraordinarily inventive imagination in
bed.
In addition, with an elderly
husband residing comfortably at the Langdon country estate, he didn’t have to
worry that Lucinda was looking to put a ring upon his finger.
It was an ideal situation.
At twenty-eight, the fact that he had managed
to avoid the matrimonial trap for as long as he had was a true accomplishment,
especially considering the vast number of women who had attempted to lure him
into wedlock over the past several years.
It hadn’t helped having his own mother thrusting available young women
in his path at every opportunity either.
Though he loved her dearly, the near-constant barrage was exasperating.
Though he was well-aware that she was getting anxious for
him to marry and produce the next Chesterfield heir, unfortunately for her he
had no intention of relieving her anxiety any time soon.
He wasn’t ready to assume the title of
husband just yet, and he wasn’t about to be pressured into doing so, not even
by his mother.
Mercifully, he was
enjoying a brief respite from her incessant prodding as she was presently
holidaying in France with his sixteen-year-old twin sisters, Amelia and
Lizzie.
Although, as the only Warrene
son, he fully understood that he
would
have to marry eventually.
For the time
being, however, he was content with his life exactly as it was.
Quite simply, he enjoyed having the freedom
to do what he wanted, when he wanted, and without question or censure.
Therefore, his mother, as well as the rest of
Society’s match-making mamas, was simply going to have to wait a little while
longer to see him permanently leg-shackled.
With a sigh of resignation, Alex directed his attention back
to his desk and resumed his daily task.
Casually he tossed aside a dozen calling cards, several scented notes
and over a dozen various invitations, knowing that his secretary would later
pen an appropriate response to each.
Though he rarely attended the endless number of dinner parties, card
parties, balls and social gatherings that so many of his peers found
entertaining, considering them for the most part to be little more than a
dreadful waste of time and energy, his name was always on the guest list.
And despite the fact that the Season had yet
to begin, there seemed to be an unusually high number of the cursed
things.
However, one item did manage to
capture his attention, for he couldn’t fail to notice the elaborate Sethe coat
of arms embedded within the envelope’s wax seal.
He opened it immediately and discovered that
it was an invitation, accompanied by a personal note from Nicholas’ wife,
Ashleigh.
Apparently the Leighton’s were
hosting a ball in honor of Lady Tiffany Marlowe’s eighteenth birthday, and not
only was he on the guest list, but his attendance was being
personally
requested by Nick’s young
duchess.
Despite her youth, the golden-haired beauty had caught his
notice from the very first moment he’d seen her, sitting with Ashleigh in a
neighboring box at the theater a little less than a year ago.
However, he had purposefully refrained from
pursuing an association with the captivating young lady upon learning that she
was the Marquess of Melborne’s seventeen-year-old daughter.
Although he had long ago garnered the
reputation of being an unabashed rake, he wasn’t without morals and had always
refrained from dallying with innocents.
Oddly enough though, in spite of all that, he had to admit that
he had never before felt such an instant and overwhelming attraction to a
woman, nor had he since.
Not even the
beautiful baroness had elicited such a sudden and astonishing initial reaction.
It had been unsettling at the time, and truth
be told it astounded him still.
It was
also the primary reason he had done his best to avoid encountering the lovely
young lady during the course of the past year.
Fortunately, he had been able to avoid the temptation of Tiffany’s
alluring charms for the most part, having come in contact with the enticing
lass only a handful of times since that fateful night at the theater.
Leaning back in his chair, he thought back to the last time
he had seen her, a couple of months ago at the Leighton’s country estate.
They had both been present at the christening
of Nicholas and Ashleigh’s infant son, for he had been selected as the child’s
godfather while Tiffany had been chosen to fill the role of the boy’s
godmother.
He remembered all too well
the disturbing effect Tiffany Marlowe’s cornflower blue eyes had had upon his
damnable libido whenever her gaze had fallen upon him.
It had occurred on numerous occasions that
afternoon, and the frequent, lingering glances had stirred Alex’s desire to an
alarming degree.
Though she might not
have intended to be quite so transparent, he’d been the recipient of such looks
far too often to miss the signs of Tiffany’s interest.
Closing his eyes, he sighed aloud as he
recalled how difficult it had been to ignore that interest and to refrain from
encouraging the undeniable physical attraction that existed between them.
Luckily, his deeply ingrained sense of
morality, as well as the presence of her father, had ultimately helped to quell
the bothersome fire raging in his loins.
Tiffany’s father.
Opening his eyes, his thoughts turned
reluctantly to the marquess, his jaw tightening reflexively in irritation.
Much to his continued consternation, William
Marlowe owned a large piece of property in London that was situated directly
between two of his own holdings.
For
years, he had been attempting to purchase the land in an attempt to join the
three properties, but upon each and every request he had been met with an
adamant refusal, regardless of the price or terms he’d offered.
It was especially frustrating, considering
the plans he had for the vacant land.
For as long as he could remember, his mother had been
involved in numerous charitable organizations and welfare programs for the
indigent.
However, her primary focus had
always been to provide whatever help she could to the countless number of
children who wandered the streets of London, orphaned, homeless, malnourished
and often abused.
Ever mindful of the
privileged upbringing he had enjoyed, the cause had become vitally important to
him as well.
It was the reason they
needed the land Melborne owned; to build a refuge, a safe-haven in the heart of
one of London’s most impoverished districts, to help those children who needed
it the most.
Despite Melborne’s past refusals, a few weeks ago, when they
had inadvertently crossed paths at White’s, the marquess had surprised him by
suggesting that he might finally be willing to sell the land.
Eager to broker a deal, he’d had his
solicitors begin the preliminary negotiations at once.
Initially, things had gone smoothly, but now
that they were close to finalizing the contracts, Melborne suddenly seemed to
be dragging his heels.
To his extreme
irritation, it was beginning to appear as if the marquess was playing some kind
of cat and mouse game with him, and his patience was quickly wearing thin.
Not for the first time, he wondered how a
pompous old windbag like William Marlowe could have fathered such a
delightfully charming daughter.
Glancing down at the invitation, he shook his head, his
thoughts returning to the matter at hand.
Recognizing that another encounter with the enticing young lady would
most likely serve only to increase his uncharacteristic fascination with her,
he knew he should send his regrets.
Surely that was the sensible thing to do, w
asn’t it?
Yes, of course it
was.
Sitting forward, he reached for a
piece of stationary, fully intending to pen an excuse and decline the
invitation.
However, a few moments later and against his better judgment,
he found himself affixing his signature to a note of acceptance.
Chapter 2
Alone in one of the Duke and Duchess of Sethe’s
elegantly-appointed guest bedchambers, Tiffany Marlowe sat quietly gazing at
the small framed portrait of her mother, lost in thought.
It was her eighteenth birthday, eighteen
years since the day the lovely young woman gazing back at her from the
miniature canvas, the mother she had never known, had died giving birth to her.
She stared at the remarkably detailed image
of Victoria Marlowe’s beautiful face, painted just weeks after her marriage to
Tiffany’s father, feeling a combination of sadness and longing.
How she wished she could have looked into her
mother’s eyes, the exact same shade of blue as hers, or that she could have
touched her upswept hair, the same pale blonde as her own flaxen curls, or just
once felt the warmth of her embrace.
Fate, however, had deprived her of those precious moments, and as much
as it pained her there was nothing she could do to change that.