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Arthur’s expression turned sullen. ‘I don’t hear you saying no to a woman very often.’
‘I don’t need to. I’m not the heir. No one wants to ensnare the feckless younger brother.’
Not that it stopped them wanting to do other things, he thought cynically... Cordelia Braithwaite for one had been throwing beckoning glances in his direction all evening, ever since her husband had abandoned her for the card room. Not to mention the pretty, and currently partnerless, redhead. Even if he had just promised to behave, some opportunities were too good to miss. As soon as he finished consoling his brother, he’d start taking advantage of them.
‘Only younger by ten minutes.’ Arthur sounded bitter. ‘Sometimes I wish we could just change places. Then you could tell Father for me.’
‘Wouldn’t work, I’m afraid. I’d never be able to look as responsible or intelligent as you. Ten minutes makes all the difference, apparently.’
‘Then maybe you’re right.’ Arthur’s dolorous tone shifted suddenly. ‘Maybe it is time I stood up to him.’
‘That’s the spirit.’
‘I just need to be blunt.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘I’ll tell him I have my own plans.’
‘Exactly.’
‘I’ll say... Wait!’ Arthur’s hand shot out and gripped his shoulder. ‘There she is.’
‘Who?’
‘Violet Harper!’
Lance turned casually towards the doorway, though it took him a few moments to actually locate the subject of their conversation. Standing between their two fathers, she was the tiniest, most unusual-looking woman he’d ever seen, nothing at all like he would have expected, an innocent daisy between two bristly thistles. Dressed all in white, she looked more like a fairy-tale creature than a woman, seeming to give off an almost translucent glow in the candlelight. Even her hair was pale, a shade of shimmering, silvery blonde that fell in a perfectly straight line to her waist. It gave her an oddly top-heavy appearance, though the top of her head barely skimmed the shoulders of their father, whose six-foot frame both he and Arthur had inherited. How would one kiss such a woman without getting backache, he wondered, not to mention other things? Not that he’d shirk such a challenge...
‘It could be worse.’ He nudged Arthur none too subtly in the ribs.
‘What, your behaviour?’
‘Very funny. I mean Father’s choice of bride. She looks like a kitten.’ He grinned. ‘I want to pat her on the head.’
‘You marry her, then.’
‘Shall we go and suggest it? I’d like to see Father’s face if we did. Harper’s, too. They’d both have apoplexies on the spot.’
‘Maybe we ought to suggest it, then.’
‘She’s pretty.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Unusual. I like unusual.’
‘You would. Have you ever met a woman you didn’t like?’
Lance shrugged, unabashed. It was true, he wasn’t biased towards any one type of woman. He liked variety—the more of it the better—though there was something particularly intriguing about Miss Harper, something that piqued his interest more than he would have expected. He let his gaze roam over her face and figure appreciatively. Her tiny size and distinctive colouring made her appear strangely ethereal, as if she were in the room and yet apart from it somehow. He couldn’t think of another way to explain it, but the duality only increased her appeal.
The longer he looked, the more he noticed other contradictions about her. Pint-sized though she was, her hips and breasts were disproportionately wide and generous, quite distractingly so, in fact. Her facial features were large, too, her eyes in particular seeming to take up half of her face, their intense blueness striking even from a distance. And as for her lips—he found himself running his tongue along his own instinctively—surely they were the most sensuous-looking pair he’d ever laid eyes on. Plump and voluptuous, like a bow he wanted to pluck on.
He took a flute of champagne from a passing footman and gulped it down quickly, taken aback by the strength of his attraction to her. If it hadn’t been for the obligation of marriage, he might have felt jealous of his own brother.
‘I wonder what she thinks about marrying you.’ He dragged his gaze away finally.
‘She doesn’t know anything about it.’
