Page 2 of A Rogue to Ensnare

In contrast to the overly primped and spoiled young ladies of the ton, Grant’s new wife Wren appeared radiant. Clearly awed by the décor of the ballroom, she was wide-eyed, smiling with obvious happiness, and absolutely resplendent. Dressed understatedly in a pale green ballgown and long-sleeved gloves, her only nod to flamboyance was an elegant hairstyle. Somehow, in spite of her simplicity, or maybe because of it, Wren was much prettier than most of the women in the room. She was of a humble social status, having worked as a servant since arriving in Glasgow. Miles knew it was her quiet beauty that had garnered Grant’s attention and now, much to everyone’s surprise, his heart as well.

As the newlyweds were announced, he returned to stand with his parents as they congratulated Grant and Wren and toasted to their happiness.

The gathering would go far into assuring Wren’s acceptance into their circles. No one would dare snub her after the display of support by the Duke and Duchess of Spencer.

Once the announcement and introductions to several prominent couples were completed, Grant went to Miles, and they hugged. “Again, I thank you so much for this. This ball will make even the most haughty members of the Haute Ton accept Wren into their midst. I can’t thank your parents enough for their mark of approval.” Grant’s eyes shone with gratitude.

Miles nodded. “Take her to meet them. I’ll be honest with you—they are anxious to know what kind of woman could possibly tame a rogue like you, so they can arm themselves in finding a bride for me.”

As he spoke, he noticed Amelia out of the corner of his eye. She was headed straight for him, but he pretended not to see her. Instead he leaned close to grasp Grant’s shoulder. “I wish you nothing but the best, my friend. But I for one aim to remain a bachelor, and with that in mind, I need to leave before one particularly marriage-minded miss can make me dance with her again.” He backed away then, Grant’s chuckles following in his wake.

Hoping to take refuge behind a punchbowl, he rounded the table, keeping his eyes on his pursuer. Unfortunately, his attention elsewhere, he collided straight into a soft, feminine form.

Her squeal was followed by the sensation of cold liquid splashing on his arm. He looked down at his sleeve, and then over his shoulder. To his horror, the young woman with whom he’d collided with was obviously about to lose her balance. Unwilling to allow her to fall, especially as a result of his own inattention, Miles took a step toward her. Just as he caught her elbow, he slipped on the floor made slick by her cup of punch, spilled as she’d pinwheeled her arms in an attempt to remain upright. He tried to stop himself—and the young woman—from falling, but it was of no use. Together, they lost their fight with gravity.

“Oomph!” The woman let out a harsh breath as he landed atop her, and he lifted himself on his hands to rise off of her before more people saw them in a compromised position, in public, on the floor under a table. But then he caught sight of her face and stilled, utterly enchanted.

For beneath him was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. She had an oval face, a pert nose, and hair as dark as midnight and spilling in waves from her coif as pins scattered. Though he thought it possible he was made breathless because of their fall, still he was fairly certain it was her loveliness that made him forget how to breathe.

They lay, shocked face to shocked face. And then, she went limp as she looked up at him with pale blue, long-lashed eyes. Instead of falling into an embarrassed faint as would the rest of the young ladies he knew, this woman suddenly began shaking, with her pink lips split into a grin; to his shock, she began laughing while pushing him off of her and squirming out from underneath him in the most immodest of ways. “Oh dear. Mother will never let me hear the end of this.”

He managed to spring to his feet so he could bend and help her up. As she rose, he realized that most of the punch had splashed onto her bodice and the floor. He only suffered a wet sleeve and had remained mostly dry.

“Siobhan, you are making a spectacle of yourself.” Amelia had neared and stood with fists at her sides and with a furious curl to her upper lip. “Must you always make a mockery of our family with your actions?”

She gestured to the Duchess, making her way across the room to them, another woman—their mother, Zinnia, trailing behind.

“Your Grace, I beg you, excuse my sister’s actions,” Amelia said to his mother, then slid a glare at her sister, who gave her a bland look in return, something that made Miles find her even more attractive, though he could not possibly explain why.

Meanwhile, Amelia jabbed at Siobhan with one hand. “Apologize to Her Grace! And Lord Miles!”

“You’ve already met my sister,” murmured the young woman in his ear. She took a sideways step to stand behind Miles and placed her hand on his upper arm while peeking over his shoulder. “I saw you dancing with her just a moment ago.”

“Ah. Yes.” Though he supposed society expected he should be dismayed by her clumsiness and lack of decorum, Miles found that he was pleased to play protector for the unusual—nay, unique—young lady, instead.

“It was I who ran into…Siobhan, I believe? I caused her to fall. This is not of her doing and there is nothing for which she must apologize,” Miles clarified. “In fact, it is I who must apologize to you, Miss Blair, for my own clumsiness.” He had to twist sideways to look at her. “How do you do?”

The pretty woman took a tentative step back and shrugged, then noting her mother nearby, straightened and gave him a soft smile. “I am well. It is nice to meet you, and rest assured, no harm has been done, my lord.”

Amelia made a dismissive noise. “Come let us try to remedy your ruined dress, if that’s even possible.” She motioned for Siobhan to come out from behind him and follow her.

The young beauty slid a glance to him, her gaze moving from his eyes to his lips and then back to meet his eyes. She nodded her head in a quick bow and again, that smile danced on her mouth. “My lord, I look forward to the rest of this delightful evening.” With that, she allowed Amelia to escort her away.

While his mother hurried to inspect him and ensure there were no stains, and servants quickly cleaned the floor, his attention remained on the young woman—Siobhan, he reminded himself—being led away from the ballroom. Her mother had detached from his mother and had caught up to the daughters. She had grasped her younger daughter’s upper arm and, with her face red and eyes blinking, appeared to be hissing like a steaming kettle in her ear. Obviously, she was giving the young miss a scathing tongue lashing.

“No,” his mother warned as she noticed how he watched her leaving. “The younger Miss Blair is like an untamed cat. She is always causing one thing or another. According to rumors, her last antic happened when her carriage driver fainted. Reportedly, she climbed from the back of the carriage, and then jumped onto the horse’s back to bring it to a stop. In the middle of Queen Street!”

“You do not say?” Miles fought not to smile. That would have been a sight he’d would have loved to have witnessed. “Did she really?”

His mother, realizing her story had only roused his interest, tried a new, potentially more scandalizing tact. “She rode the beast astride!”

Miles gave her a grin but refrained from telling her how much he wished he could have seen that for himself. Instead, he took his mother’s arm and steered her away from the punch table. “If you must know, Mother, this incident is entirely my fault. I ran into her whilst trying to keep from the eldest Miss Blair,” he replied. “Never fear. I’m not interested in pursuing her as a potential wife, fascinating a prospect as that may be.” He reached to press his finger to her mouth as she opened it to protest. “Because, Mother, as you well know, I have no plan to pursue anyone.”

She shut her mouth then, as expressions of disappointment and dismay warred on her face.

His father, Leon Archibald Johnstone, the Duke of Spencer, joined them. “Is everything well?”

“No.” His mother’s expression settled on determination, and he realized she had decided which course was best; she was going to discourage him from pursuing Miss Blair in spite of the fact that some kind of interest was better than none at all. “Your Grace, I just saw a gleam in his eye. And it was directed at the worst possible young woman.”