‘Is it that obvious?’ Arthur’s cheekbones suffused with colour.
‘Only to me and everyone else in the room.’
‘I can’t help it, Lance. She’s the most exquisite creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’m in love.’
‘With Lydia Webster?’ Lance took a second glance across the ballroom to make sure they were talking about the same woman. ‘She’s a flirt and a gold-digger, and a pretty shameless one, too. She’d throw you over the moment she found out about our family finances, or lack of them, I should say. Better take your chances with Miss Harper.’
‘Don’t!’ Arthur’s face displayed a rare flash of temper. ‘Don’t speak of her like that.’
‘I’m only trying to stop you making a mistake.’
‘No, you’re treating me the same way Father does, as if I can’t think for myself. Well, I can and I ought to be allowed to choose my own bride.’
‘You’re right, you should. So tell Father that. Refuse to marry Miss Harper.’
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.’
‘What?’
Arthur turned his back pointedly towards the doorway. ‘The whole thing’s bizarre, but Father and Harper have already drawn up papers. According to their agreement, I’m only to marry her after Harper dies. He married late, so who knows how old he is now. We’re engaged, but she’s not to be told anything until after the funeral. Then we get married, I get his fortune and she gets a title.’
‘Doesn’t she get a say in the matter?’
‘Apparently neither of us does.’
‘What if Harper lives another twenty years? He looks like he’ll go on for ever.’
‘There’s probably a clause to cover that, too. No doubt Father expects me to produce an heir and I don’t suppose he’ll be willing to wait that long.’
‘Then maybe there’s a way out after all.’ Lance lifted an eyebrow as Harper let go of her arm, passing her across to their father as if at some kind of prearranged signal. ‘You just have to keep the old ghoul alive.’
‘It’s still morbid.’
‘What else do you expect from those two?’
Arthur shook his head contemptuously. ‘You know Father’s only throwing this ball to impress him. He just assumes I’ll go along with their scheme. He treats me like a dog sometimes.’
‘Then bite back.’ Lance found his gaze drawn inexorably back towards her. ‘Do you really think he’s kept her locked up her whole life? There is a kind of fairy-tale quality about her. Just look at that hair...’
‘It’s white.’
‘It’s silver.’
‘If she’s old enough to be engaged, then she ought to be wearing it up.’
‘Maybe he won’t let her. In any case, here they come. Prepare to be charming.’
‘I