‘I didn’t wish to talk with him. He approached me. He is an acquaintance of James’s.’
‘Indeed. I must say I am surprised at James, although he has been going about with some rather wild young men. I hope he will settle down soon enough and properly manage Meryton. It has been most careless of him to leave you to do so. Women have no business running estates.’
Rosalyn said nothing. She had not yet informed her grandmother that James had gambled away Meryton. For once she was thankful that her grandmother’s mind tended to jump from subject to subject. ‘However, we must concentrate on you. What did you think of Neville Hastings?’
‘Neville Hastings?’ Rosalyn finally recalled a plump, man with thinning hair and creaking corsets. Lady Carlyn had introduced him to her when they first arrived. ‘He seemed very nice, I suppose.’
‘A bit plump, although a diet of rice and water would help. But twenty thousand pounds a year, that is nothing to sneeze at in a husband.’
‘A husband?’
‘Why, yes, for you, my love.’
‘Grandmama! I don’t want a husband!’
‘But of course you do. You are only six-and-twenty and still quite pretty. I must own Neville Hastings is not quite what I had in mind. Someone with a bit more dash.’
‘I never plan to remarry.’
‘Of course, it will be someone you like,’ Lady Carlyn continued, paying no heed to Rosalyn as usual. ‘I have several eligible men in mind.’
Her sharp grey eyes darted around the packed drawing room, seeking more prey. ‘I see Lord Brandon has arrived. He is searching for a wife. A pity he has five children, but I know you are very fond…’
‘Please, no! I am rather tired. I would like to rest for a few minutes.’
Lady Carlyn fidgeted with her fan, then snapped it shut. ‘Very well. You may stay here. I must admit, you do look a trifle pale. No use having you faint, although Ellen Winthrope would consider that the highest compliment! I must have a few words with Maria Smythe-Howard and then we can leave.’
Rosalyn watched her grandmother make her way through the packed room, a small plump figure dressed in a gown of orange satin completely unsuitable for a woman of more advanced years. The dictates of fashion meant nothing to Lady Carlyn.
Rosalyn shifted uncomfortably. Her feet hurt from standing, her mouth ached from smiling, and her head pounded from the strain of making conversation in the impossible noise. There was no place to sit, as all the furniture had been removed to accommodate the several hundred people Lady Winthrope expected to parade through her rooms.
At least she was free of her grandmother for a few minutes. Lady Carlyn’s unflagging energy was exhausting. And this hare-brained notion of finding her a husband…she had enough to distress her without fighting her grandmother’s schemes.
Her thoughts turned to James, as they had all day. Ever since their mother’s death, four years earlier, he’d become more and more unmanageable. She no longer knew how to reach him. Somehow, she had believed if she tried to preserve Meryton for him, he would return, for he had once loved Meryton as much as she did. Now Meryton was lost and, in her heart, she feared he was lost also.
‘Oh!’ She gasped as a stout gentlemen stepped back, jostling her with such force that she lost her balance and stumbled sideways against a tall, hard form. Strong hands caught her bare arms, causing an unexpected warmth to course through her.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she said in confusion.
‘There is no need to apologise. I am always delighted when beautiful ladies fall into my arms.’
That familiar, detestable voice caused her heart to stop. Slowly, she lifted her head to meet the Marquis of Stamford’s laughing eyes. For the briefest of moments, he seemed not to recognise her, and then, a wicked grin spread across his face.
‘Why, Lady Jeffreys, what a delightful surprise to run into you like this. Particularly since you assured me we never moved in the same dissipated circles.’
She jerked away from him. Irritation replaced the unwelcome sensation she’d felt at his touch. ‘Please excuse me, my lord.’
‘But I have looked forward to seeing you all evening. You cannot mean to leave me now when I have finally found you.’
The hated colour flooded her face at the implication that he actually hoped to see her. Of course, she didn’t believe it for a moment. ‘I must find my grandmother. I do not have time for idle chatter.’
He laughed. ‘Is there any other sort at these tedious affairs? But never mind, I wanted to see you for a particular reason. I have something for you.’
‘Something for me?’
‘Yes, your fan. I believe you dropped it in my drawing room. I wanted to return it to you.’
‘You’ve been carrying my fan around?’
‘In the remote chance I might see you.’ He reached under his evening coat, towards his white embroidered waistcoat.
She nearly grabbed his hand. ‘No, please, not here.’ What would people think if they saw him pull a fan from his pocket and present it to her?
‘Shall I call on you, then?’
‘No! I mean, why can you not send it to me?’
‘But I want to give it to you in person, to make certain you get it, of course. I was hoping we could become better acquainted.’
‘I have no desire to become better acquainted with you, my lord.’
‘But I would like the opportunity to change your mind.’ A lazy half-smile, full of meaning, curled the edges of his mouth as he let his leisurely gaze travel over her person.
Mesmerised, she stared back. It occurred to her that his eyes were really not black at all, but the deepest, richest shade of brown she’d ever seen. And would his thick midnight hair, curling slightly at the nape of his neck, feel as soft and silky to her touch as it looked?
What was she thinking of?
‘Never! You’ll never change my mind!’
She whirled away, only to find her escape blocked by two ladies standing directly behind them. They gasped and stared, their fans stopped in mid-air. From the looks of pleasurable shock on their faces, she had little doubt they had heard her every word.
Lord Stamford nodded to the ladies, who tittered and turned away. Grasping Rosalyn’s arm, he bent his head towards her, and said conversationally, ‘It’s best not to pick a quarrel with me in public. It will hardly ease your entrée into society.’
Her mouth fell open. Pick a quarrel with him? He was doing his best to provoke her.
‘However, any time you wish to quarrel with me in private I would be delighted to accommodate you.’
‘If you had an ounce of sensibility you would realise that, under the circumstances, I want neither to speak to you nor to see you.’
‘I take it you refer to the business with your brother. I cannot see what it has to do with you or…with you and me.’
She was floundering, badly out of her depth. Nothing in her limited experience with the opposite sex had ever prepared her to deal with a man such as Lord Stamford, a man with devastatingly dark expressive eyes, a man as handsome as the devil himself, a man who was flirting with her in a blatantly sensual fashion that caused her to feel vulnerable and utterly confused.
Desperate, she looked around for escape. With relief, she saw Lady Carlyn winding her way towards them. Her relief was short-lived when she noted the look