Relentless Lord Page 2

  He had noticed it the moment she had glanced up and dropped her skirts in the corridor. A sizzle in the air. An odd unbalancing within him.

  He felt it now as he observed her from across the drawing room, not particularly caring if his inordinate interest was noticed by the other guests.

  She was dressed in the virginal white of a debutante, as so many other ladies present tonight. But there was something in her manner that set her apart from the crowd. She did not twitter like other young women. Even during their tantalizingly intimate interaction, which could have easily sent another maiden into hysterics, this one had remained calm and resolute.

  While he stared, a well-dressed lady approached the blonde. As the two of them spoke, Miles noticed something else.

  All of England was experiencing an unusually hot summer, and the country party at which they were in attendance was crowded with guests anxious to escape the oppressive stuffiness of town. But even the northern county of Lancashire sweltered in the heat wave. The drawing room in particular, when filled with so many bodies, had become nearly suffocating.

  While the blonde’s companion whipped her open fan in front of her face with so much gusto it threatened to blow over the fern behind her, the blonde remained composed. Her fan was unused, dangling by a cord around her wrist.

  Miles took a quick glance about the room but already knew what he would see. Various colored fans in vibrant hues and pastels flitted and flapped about the room like a mass of frantic butterflies. He saw faces flushed from the heat and the heavy stillness of the crowded room. He saw gentlemen with moisture beading on their skin and soaking into their collars.

  He looked back to the blonde. Cool as a cucumber.

  Miles grinned. Interesting.

  While the lady beside her continued to prattle on, the cool blonde angled her head to cast a practically disinterested glance about the room.

  Though it was likely because he was so blatantly staring, Miles preferred to believe it was his striking attractiveness that drew her attention.

  The moment her gaze fell on him, a jolt of lust shot through his system.

  Rather than glancing away with a blush, as a well-mannered innocent should, she returned his stare with an openly assessing one of her own. Surely she recognized him as her champion from earlier. Miles wasn’t sure what he expected from her by way of acknowledgement, but when she gave just a curious quirk of her eyebrows before glancing away with a dismissive expression, amusement spread through him in a delightful rush.

  Elbowing the man beside him, Miles asked, “Who is that young lady over there?”

  Lord Grimm, one of Miles’s best friends since Eton, flinched from the jab but craned his neck to peer through the crowd in the direction of Miles’s nod.

  “Eh?” Grimm squinted his eyes and then looked back to Miles with a perplexed expression, which did not worry Miles in the least since Grimm often wore a perplexed expression.

  “Are you feeling up to snuff, Whitely?”

  “Of course. Who is she?”

  Grimm eyed him oddly and answered, but he slowed his words as if worried Miles might not catch their meaning. “That is Lady Esther, the one Father decided on for my wife. Don’t you remember I introduced you to her not thirty minutes ago?” Grimm flung his arm out in a gesture to encompass the room. “She is the entire reason for this wretched party. Father wanted to put on a proper show for both our families before announcing the engagement. I swear, I explained this all to you.”

  Miles blinked at the enormity of his friend’s error. “Of course I recall the introduction. I am talking about the other young lady. The one talking to your betrothed.”

  “Oh, right. Of course.” Grimm peered back across the drawing room. “Let’s see. That is Miss Walpole. Twenty years old. Family hails from Oxfordshire originally. She has no brothers or sisters and is being presented under the patronage of her uncle, Lord Tremaine.” Grimm leaned to the side and muttered beneath his breath, “He is one of Father’s cronies and a more pious man I have never met. Despite their connection, Father made it clear he expected me to stay clear of Miss Walpole.”

  Miles arched a brow. “What threat could the young woman possibly present?”

  “Her dowry is hefty, but Miss Walpole hails from an eccentric branch of the family tree.” He hissed the descriptor like a curse.

  “How so?” Miles asked, glancing back to the young lady under discussion. She still stood near Lady Esther, but another young woman had joined them. It appeared to him the newcomer was casting rather sly glances at Miss Walpole.

  “Her parents are explorers.”

  “Pardon me?” Miles glanced back at Grimm, wondering if he should ask his friend to speak slower again. Surely, Miles had misunderstood him.

  Grimm shrugged his sloped shoulders. “You know, Egyptian pyramids, remote deserts, lost treasure, that sort of thing.”

  “But if the girl was raised by her uncle—”

  “She wasn’t,” Grimm interrupted. “They say she was born in the heat of the Sahara desert and traveled all around the African continent with her parents up until just a couple years ago.” He squinted his eyes and curled his lips distastefully. “In truth, she seems a bit odd, if I do say so. Even her cousins avoid a great deal of association with her.”

  As Miles observed further, Lady Esther and the other lady made their excuses and strolled away, leaving poor Miss Walpole standing by her lonesome. A veritable wallflower.

  She did not look particularly awkward. In fact, she looked rather content to stand by herself observing her surroundings.

  Still, Miles felt it his duty as a gentleman to rescue the poor thing, especially if she did not even have the sophistication to realize she was on the verge of appearing to be a social pariah.

  “I want an introduction,” he declared to Grimm.

  His friend actually groaned out loud. “Dammit, Whitely. Why her? I haven’t even been properly introduced to the girl.”

  “Then find someone who has, because I intend to meet her.”

  Grimm groaned again, but he acquiesced. Grimm always acquiesced. His father had made sure to bully any resistance out of the poor man ages ago.

  While Grimm craned his neck this way and that, scanning the room for someone who could make the proper introduction, Miles decided he didn’t want to wait. He took off in a purposeful stride across the drawing room.

  Hannah saw him coming. She just did not believe his audacity.

  That he would dare to stare at her so openly through the crowd was shocking enough, not to mention annoying. But that he would dare to approach her with his bold grin was quite uncalled for. She knew it because her uncle had spent the last twenty months ensuring she fully understood the expectations of polite society.

  She wasn’t sure what prompted the green-eyed demigod to alter his direct course as he neared, but she watched him covertly from the corner of her eye as he sidled around through the crowd to her right before getting lost from view.

  She tensed, sensing his pursuit was not at an end but unsure where he might next appear. And so it was when she finally heard his low murmured voice just behind her, she barely managed to contain a startled jump.

  “Enjoying yourself, Miss Walpole?”

  Hannah squared her shoulders and sent a forced-casual gaze out over the drawing room.

  “You should not speak to me, my lord. We have not been properly introduced.”

  “I know.” He sighed dramatically. “It is a shameful situation, which is why I have got someone seeking out a means to obtain an introduction at this very moment. In the meantime, since I am already here and we are already talking, how about an improper introduction. I am—”

  “I know who you are,” Hannah stated sharply. This man was clearly intent upon not following the rules of propriety.

  “You do?” He sounded genuinely
surprised.

  Hannah nearly scoffed but recalled such a sound was not considered ladylike. “My cousin told me all about you, Lord Whitely. She…met you during her season two years ago. I must insist you walk away and leave me be.”

  There was only a brief pause before he said, “I trust you have had no further problems with your garter?”

  In truth, her leg had started throbbing incessantly a few minutes after she left him. Though thanks to him, at least she could walk without wincing in pain. But she was not about to provide any of that information. The man had far too intimate knowledge of her person already. That he would bring up such a topic here in the midst of so many who might overhear convinced her even more of his lacking sense of decorum.

  She responded to his question by turning her back more squarely to where he stood behind her. He could ask her inappropriate questions all he liked. She would simply ignore him.

  He chuckled warmly at her reaction. The rumbling sound made her stomach tremble. The man found amusement in the oddest things.

  “You wound me, Miss Walpole.” His voice had gotten closer. So close she felt the waft of his breath against her nape. Hannah stiffened despite herself. “That you would treat me so shabbily after I came to your rescue.”

  “I have no doubt you will recover,” she whispered.

  “But my wound is deep. I would recover faster with your gentle touch.”

  “No doubt there are other women present who would be more than happy to administer to your needs.”

  “But I want you.”

  “You cannot have me.”

  Hannah’s lungs grew tight as she felt him step closer. His legs stirred the fall of her gown, brushing them against the back of her thighs.

  “I beg to differ,” he whispered across the back of her neck.

  Gooseflesh rose on her skin as a tingling shiver coursed down her spine, making Hannah strengthen her resolve. She needed to convince him to ply his flattery elsewhere. Against her better judgment, his whispers were starting to have an effect.

  She cleared her throat. “You are wasting your efforts on me, Lord Whitely. I am unseduceable.”

  More laughter rolled around her, through her. Her low belly tightened.

  “Is that a word?” he asked, amusement thick in his voice.

  “It does not matter,” she replied, “because it is true. I am more likely to convince you to marry me than you are to seduce me.”

  She felt him stiffen the instant she uttered the M word. A smile of triumph tugged at her mouth. It seemed she’d hit on something that might scare him off.

  “I accept your challenge,” he replied after a moment.

  Hannah blinked in confusion. Without considering her actions, she turned to look over her shoulder at him. “Wait. That was not a challenge. It was simply a figure of speech.”

  “It does not matter,” he said, repeating her earlier phrase with a wink, “because I have accepted.”

  His green eyes flashed as he gifted her with a wide and winning grin. The effects of his smile were devastating. Her breath seized and heat flooded her extremities.

  “Drat,” she muttered from a tight throat.

  Chapter Three

  Miles always made a point to learn as much as possible about a topic that interested him.

  And Miss Walpole definitely interested him. He had not been merely flirting when he had declared he planned to seduce her. He wholeheartedly intended to do just that. And in seduction, as in any endeavor worth accomplishing, it paid to gather all available intelligence.

  Over the next couple of days, Miles learned as much about Miss Walpole and her family as he could. Though, in truth, there was little known beyond what Grimm had already disclosed.

  He also maintained a casual distance from the wary young woman. When one’s first encounter has your hands up a lady’s skirts, it was prudent to take a few steps back. He found it easy enough to place himself in her vicinity without appearing suspicious. He reveled in the occasions when it was perfectly natural to pass near her, catch her sweet scent and hear the distinct tone of her voice.

  The more he refrained from indulging more significantly in Miss Walpole’s company, the more he desired it.

  A poignant discovery, considering he had long ago accepted his tendency to lose interest in things rather quickly despite the intense curiosity they may initially spark. With Miss Walpole, Miles faced the possibility his interest ran far deeper than mere curiosity.

  Of course, she was a fascinating creature.

  In his sometimes covert and sometimes blatant observation of the young lady, Miles acknowledged there was more about her that set her apart than simply her cool attitude. She had a lovely relaxed way of moving. So different from the tortured postures of other young ladies who were not long from the strict dictates of the schoolroom. Miss Walpole also had a different way of looking about her. She had a clear, intelligent gaze and open interest. No coy looks or sly glances for her.

  In all of his observations, Miles never saw her twitter or shrink. She didn’t seem to know how. If she wanted to know about something, she asked.

  For her part, Miss Walpole did an excellent job of avoiding any direct contact with him. However, it was the indirect that convinced Miles she was not as oblivious to him as she tried to present. It was not long before he noticed she would seek him out whenever she entered a room.

  On the third day after their first meeting, Miles encountered the perfect opportunity to take his pursuit to the next level.

  It was just barely past breakfast and already the day was proving to be exceptionally warm. By midday it would likely prove to be quite unbearable. Yet Grimm’s father had planned a picnic in the vale past the deer run. Another option for the day was to climb into stuffy carriages for the two-hour drive to the nearest village for a meal at the inn then shopping at the local market.

  The idea of sitting in the enclosed air of a carriage only to spend several hours perusing the wares of rustic craftsman before riding in said carriage back to the estate did not appeal to Miles in the least. Then again, picnicking under the hot sun did not seem like a good time either.

  Miles sat on a low stone wall that jutted out from the side garden of the manor house. It was one of the few spots of shade on the east lawn. The only reason it was not occupied was because the gathering group of guests who were scattered about before him were about to set out for their picnic. The servants had left more than an hour before to set up shade tents and blankets for the ladies to sit upon. Another round of servants would follow later with the food.

  He had been watching all morning for the curious Miss Walpole to appear. If she had joined the group heading for the village, he would have jumped aboard her carriage despite the stifling discomfort.

  Gratefully, she had not, so Miles assumed she would be down shortly as the nearly three dozen picnickers were soon to depart.

  Maybe he would get lucky and she would stay behind in the house. Considering the heat, there was a chance she would opt out of both planned excursions.

  He did not bother to hide the grin splitting his face at the thought of going on a merry hunt through the empty house, seeking out the cool blonde.

  Alas, he was not to be so lucky, as the lady suddenly made her appearance, practically flying down the front steps of the manor, still tying her bonnet beneath her chin. The grin on his lips faltered at the unexpected jolt she gave his system. Her appearance was fresh and invigorating. She was dressed simply in a muslin gown with daffodil-yellow trim and a bright yellow sash beneath her perfect breasts.

  Perfect?

  Hadn’t he thought them a bit small just yesterday?

  He was sure he had, but seeing them now, tucked modestly behind the white virginal bodice, made his heart thud awkwardly against his ribs. She crossed the front drive in long strides as she made her way to three oth
er young ladies.

  Miles glanced away from Miss Walpole long enough to note that the group she approached consisted of her cousin, Miss Beatrice Tremaine, and two other young ladies who were making their debuts this season. Miles’s inquiries had revealed that Miss Tremaine had a tendency to say some rather nasty things about her cousin.

  Just before Miss Walpole reached them, Miss Tremaine leaned toward her two friends to whisper something that had them all exchanging sly smiles.

  Miles stiffened but did not move from his position beneath the apple tree, preferring to watch the scene. At least for the moment.

  He was too far to hear any of the words spoken, but he was a relatively good translator of body language. As Miss Walpole reached the other young ladies, her cousin initiated a display of distress. All of the ladies began to show concern and tried to comfort the girl, but it was Miss Walpole who seemed to offer a solution. Miss Tremaine appeared ever-so-grateful. Miss Walpole patted her cousin’s arm in a comforting gesture before she turned away and headed swiftly back into the house.

  “What the hell?” Miles muttered.

  Just as Miss Walpole was fully out of sight, Miss Tremaine withdrew a handkerchief from the wrist of her glove with relish and a laugh. The other girls burst into giggles.

  Miles’s jaw felt tight with anger.

  For the most part, he loved being around people. The many possible human foibles never ceased to amuse him, and he loved a clever conversation. But if there was one thing he abhorred, it was bullies. It was the very reason he had befriended Grimm all those years ago. That some people would choose to belittle someone for the purpose of raising themselves grated harshly on his nerves.

  A moment later, a shout went up indicating it was time for the party to depart for the vale.

  The gathered group of guests began to meander down the drive, following Grimm’s father who led the procession on horseback. From there, they cut across the north lawn to take up the path that led them through the woods to the vale on the other side. Miss Tremaine and her friends linked arms joyfully and set out to make their way with the rest of the guests.