Page 4 of A Spinster's Guide to Landing a Lyon

When Benedict looked up, he had to swallow the lump in his throat. By God, was she blonde. And the most striking woman he had ever laid eyes on. The flare of her hips. The grace in her steps. The intensity in her gaze, like she was seeing past everyone into the depths.

She was magnificent.

And likely just as magnificently manipulative. A danger to be sure. One to avoid at all costs.

“Of course she’s blonde. That’s just my luck.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“You can have her.” The words tasted like metal coming out of his mouth, though he didn’t know why.

“She’s too…something…for me. I can’t put my finger on it.” Damien annoyingly tapped his fingers on the table.

“Too blonde? Too graceful? Too poised? Too ladylike?”

“Exactly.” His friend smacked the table loudly. “She’s just your type, old friend.”

Benedict grumbled in reply. “Not anymore. And not ever again.”

Chapter Three

“No one canbe that good looking,” Amelia muttered to herself as she snuck a peek at the profile of the dark-haired Corinthian sitting at a table with his handsome friend. Nerves had blinded her when she first entered the room, but now that she was a bit more comfortable, she could see more clearly. Or so she thought until she was blinded by the beauty of that man.

By his clothing and his posture, his demeanor screamed that of being a duke, but she couldn’t recognize him from her vantage point. A few people were in the way and he was turned just so to hinder her view.

Even from sitting she could see his build. Tall. Over six feet. Strong enough to cut down a few trees for firewood if she were ever stuck alone with him in a cabin. Not that something like that would ever happen. Hair dark as night with a jaw so sharp it could…well…cut trees. Not that all this man ever did was cut trees down. In fact, she couldn’t be sure he’d ever cut down a tree in his entire life. Why would he? If he were a duke he would have never cut down a tree, split wood, made a fire for himself. He would have always had someone else at his beck and call, seeing to his every whim. No. There was no tree-cutting for this man.

But one look at his biceps straining against his jacket confirmed that he could if he wanted to. Forget his tree-cutting abilities.

There must be a flaw. No one was that handsome.

She couldn’t tell the color of his eyes. Hadn’t even yet seen his full face. But just from the profile, she was keen on getting a second look. She needed a full look. Just once to drink in the beauty and then be done with him. She could never trust a man that good looking. But one good look wouldn’t hurt.

All while being discreet, of course. She wasn’t the kind to just walk up to a man and take her fill, though she knew women who were. Like her sister. But look where that got her.

The man was with a friend who had his arm slung around his shoulder, covering parts of his face. The good parts. Couldn’t he give the man some space?

She studied him as a visitor approached their table. The god-like man didn’t even look up. Clearly the visitor was seeking his attention. But the man didn’t reply. It took his friend speaking up to deter the visitor from persisting.

Still sticking to the perimeter of the room, Amelia wandered closer, grabbing a drink on the way. If only he would turn so she could find his flaw. There must be one. Maybe this was it. Maybe the man was rude. Standoffish.

Everyone had flaws. For him to be that good looking he must have a tragic flaw. Like arrogance.

Curiously, she watched for a few minutes as another visitor approached. It was like watching a reenactment. The exact same thing happened. The visitor approached. The apparent duke didn’t even acknowledge him. The friend rebuffed him. The visitor left.

And then, not even a few minutes later, a third visitor made his way over to the table, only to be dismissed by the man’s friend again.

Mmm…yes. Amelia nodded to herself. That must be it. The apparently arrogant duke’s flaw. He was—

“Looking for someone?” a male voice interrupted her hypotheticals.

She turned her attention to the man who had appeared at her elbow. “Oh, no thank you.”

“I can help you find what you’re looking for.” He had a gleam in his eye that Amelia was not used to. So far into spinsterhood was she that she no longer cared to interpret the male expression. The past had disappointed her too many times.

Every season was the same. Just a different name.

Harold.