Lady Natalia presented an intriguing puzzle.
She was nothing he’d expected her to be. Young, yes. But not silly or simpering. Her looks were far too striking to be fashionable, but he’d never cared much for the pale, willowy blondes who were all the rage.
The top of the tiny brunette’s head didn’t even reach his chin, and her demure white gown did nothing to hide her voluptuous curves. Her mother, the duke’s first wife, had been a Russian princess. Perhaps that accounted for the exotic tilt of those wide, emerald eyes, and the full lush mouth he’d instantly imagined kissing.
He let himself into his old room and sank down on the huge pedestal bed. Loosening his cravat, he stared into the empty grate, still trying to make sense of what had gone wrong.
He’d thought her pretty at first sight, exquisite up close. But when she’d stared deep into his eyes—and he’d noticed the passion and light fade from hers—she’d become more than just a quick way to make a hundred pounds.
Since his return to London, no one else had made an effort to see behind the careful façade he’d erected to keep the world at bay. Unfortunately, he had the distinct impression that what she’d seen had disappointed her in some soul-deep way.
If she’d caught even a glimpse of the things he kept hidden, it was no wonder. Ugliness seethed within him. It seemed a farce that God had gifted him with such a pleasing form and face. Then again, Lucifer had been the most beautiful of all the angels.
“What did you see, Natalia?” he whispered into the stillness of the room. And he wondered why he cared.
* * *
The Earl of Warren’s ball seemed to last forever. Natalia went through the motions. She smiled and danced as though having the time of her life, but in truth, her feet were killing her, and she was desperate for the evening to end.
As she fended off Lord Jonathan Taylor’s advances for the dozenth time—and earned a fulminating glare from the gentleman in question—she wished for the peace and quiet of her father’s country estate. Now that she saw the reality of Town life, she couldn’t imagine why she’d been so excited to make her debut.
The Season was only a few weeks old, but she’d already grown tired of the constant social whirl. The endless balls, teas, concerts, and soirees exhausted her.
It might have been different if she’d been allowed her to choose her own husband, but she knew she wouldn’t have any say in the matter. Her father would choose for her, and there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it.
Why take the time to get to know any of the young men who flocked to her side? If she foolishly fell in love, she’d only wind up with a broken heart.
She felt like a fraud, a carrot her father dangled in front of London’s most eligible bachelors for the contrary satisfaction of snatching her away. It was a game to him.
She suspected he’d already struck a deal with one of her mother’s Russian cousins. No ordinary earl or marquess would do. No. The duke’s daughter would marry a prince.
As a matter of fact, when the Season ended, the duke intended to take Natalia to St. Petersburg for a prolonged visit with Prince Nikolai Ivanovich.
The duke assured Natalia nothing was definite. He claimed she’d have the chance to get to know Prince Nikolai before he agreed to the marriage. But she’d already met the prince, long ago, and had no desire to further their acquaintance.
Nikolai was handsome, but calculated cruelty lay in the depths of his ice-blue eyes. The mere thought of becoming his wife made her uneasy.
Her father refused to listen to her fears. She’d been a child the last time she and Nikolai met, he reminded her. She needed to give the prince a chance, see him with the eyes of a woman.
In response, she’d tried to make herself unapproachable, going so far as to deny any man the privilege of more than one dance a night. She didn’t want to encourage anyone unduly, didn’t want to make any of these young men think they had a chance at winning her hand and, more importantly, the fortune that came with it.
“I believe this last dance is mine.”
The gentleman who’d spoken approached when Natalia’s former partner—an elderly German count, who’d trampled on her toes—led her off the dance floor. The handsome newcomer, with his golden hair and deep blue eyes, looked familiar.
Natalia smiled with more enthusiasm than she’d shown all evening. The last dance.Finally.
She glanced down at her dance card, and then back at her new partner with renewed interest. “Lord Sherbourne?” Michael Blake, the Earl of Warren’s heir—and Captain Blake’s older brother.
Sherbourne nodded. Genuine warmth sparkled in his eyes. “I’ve been looking forward to this dance all evening, Lady Natalia.”
“You flatter me, Lord Sherbourne.” The practiced words slipped easily off her tongue. For once, she allowed herself to relax and be a little flirtatious. It was late, and she grew tired of guarding her heart.
The string quartet began yet another waltz. To her delight, Sherbourne danced divinely. As they whirled across the thinning dance floor, she took the opportunity to study him and marveled at his lack of resemblance to the captain. She would never have known they were related, if not for their names.
Unfortunately, Sherbourne came up lacking.
Sherbourne was a bit shorter and thinner than his younger brother, and his warm blue eyes weren’t as intense. Nothing mysterious or rebellious about this man. In fact, she’d bet a million pounds he’d done exactly what was expected of him his entire life.
