The wicked spark in his eye did nothing to reassure her, but it was too late to do a thing. Lady Carlyn had already made her way to them.
Lord Stamford’s mouth curved in a disarming smile as he bowed over her plump hand. ‘Lady Carlyn, I have just had the delightful opportunity of meeting your granddaughter. She is as lovely and charming as her grandmother.’
Lady Carlyn fluttered her lashes at him in a disgustingly flirtatious fashion. ‘It’s no use trying to turn my head at my age, young man. Rosalyn is much lovelier than I ever was. But how did you come to make her acquaintance? With a proper introduction, I trust?’
His eyes danced. ‘Not at all. I was forced to introduce myself after she stumbled into my arms. Quite by accident, of course. But now that I have met her…I hope to secure your permission to call on her.’
A peculiar expression crossed her grandmother’s face. ‘You may, but I’ll have you know I intend to keep a strict watch on her. She may be a widow, but she is not one of your flirts. I will not have you trifling with her.’
He turned his gaze on Rosalyn who felt as if she’d turned to stone. ‘I shall behave with the utmost propriety.’
‘That I shall have to see to believe.’ Lady Carlyn stared at him for a moment. ‘Very well, you may call on her.’
Rosalyn had to put a stop to this. ‘It is quite doubtful that I would ever be at home to you, my lord.’ And how could they discuss her as if she were in leading strings with no mind of her own? She did not know which one to strangle first.
‘Nonsense. Of course you will, dear.’ Lady Carlyn shot her a quelling glance.
A smile of pure devilment quirked his mouth. ‘Unfortunately, I must depart now. I will see you soon, very soon, Lady Jeffreys.’ Her name sounded like a caress on his lips.
He made an elaborate leg and strode off. Lady Carlyn watched his dark-haired figure weave its way through the crush.
With a bemused expression, she took Rosalyn’s arm. ‘My dear, I can scarcely believe this! Lord Stamford wishes to call on you. I cannot image why; he never pays the slightest heed to any respectable woman. Surely he cannot think that…no, of course not. Not with you dressed in that gown!’
‘Isn’t it fortunate that I wore it, then,’ Rosalyn replied with a humourless smile. Her simply cut blue gown had been a source of contention between them, Lady Carlyn declaring it was fit only for a Methodist.
Rosalyn barely noticed as they made their goodbyes to Lady Winthrope, descended the crowded staircase, and waited a good twenty minutes for the carriage to be brought around. Her thoughts were totally occupied with the icy set-downs she planned to give Lord Stamford.
It wasn’t until they had settled into the carriage and her grandmother spoke that Rosalyn started out of her reverie.
‘My dear, what do you think of Lord Stamford? I hadn’t even considered him. But now that I think of it—he would do quite nicely. No woman would ever be bored with him.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Lord Stamford. For a husband.’
‘A husband?’ Horrified, she stared at Lady Carlyn.
‘I don’t believe you’ve been attending at all. His aunt, Lady Spence, told me—in strict confidence, of course—that Eversleigh has been casting about for a wife for him. Why did I not think of this before? There is no reason why you should not be in the running. Now that you are finally in London, I shall call on Margaret and drop a hint in her ear.’
A most alarming headache was beginning in her right temple. ‘Grandmama, please, no. I would rather be dead than ever, ever consider him for a husband.’
His most blatant efforts to flirt with her had failed dismally.
Michael received his overcoat and hat from the footman and headed down the steps into the cool spring night. He liked walking at night, despite the risk of footpads.
A smile curled his lips. It was wicked of him to tease Lady Jeffreys so much. Especially in front of Lady Carlyn. But the fire that sprang to her eyes and the all too-ready colour washing over her cheeks was too tempting to resist.
He had no idea why such a respectable widow should interest him. She was pretty but not beautiful. Her dress, even tonight, was unfashionably plain; no rows of lace and flowers adorned its hem, no low-cut bodice designed to reveal its wearer’s charms. But it became her.
He usually found such ladies excessively dull. But not Lady Jeffreys. Behind the proper façade she tried to present, he sensed a warm, passionate woman. It would be a challenge for any man to storm those barriers.
Particularly as she detested him and made no pretense otherwise, not even in hopes he might relent and return her brother’s estate. He admired her for that. At least she was honest in her dealings with him.
It would probably be too much to hope Miss Randall would harbour the same sentiments. No, from what he gathered of the young lady, she was very biddable and unlikely to disobey her family’s wishes. A pity Lady Jeffreys was not his intended bride; he’d never get her to the altar unless she was drugged and bound.
Suddenly, Charles’s words flashed through his mind. His head snapped up and he stopped dead in the quiet street, inspiration hitting him like a bolt of lightening. Why not? She was well bred, respectable, pretty, intelligent. And she disliked him thoroughly.
What more could he want in a prospective bride?
Having the proper, disapproving Lady Jeffreys in his power would be most agreeable. He’d wager any sum that by the end of their association, he could break down her resistance to him.
And he knew without doubt he could induce her to agree to his plan.
Chapter Three
Morning sunlight streamed through a crack in the heavy brocade curtains of Rosalyn’s bedchamber. She fought to open her eyes, heavy with sleep, wanting nothing more than to snuggle back down into the cosiness of her bed.
It was these late nights. She was not used to staying up past midnight, let alone until two or three in the morning. She had never realized what energy a woman of sixty some years could possess. An evening at home was far too tame for Lady Carlyn; she must be out to a soirée or ball or to a concert every night. And she insisted Rosalyn accompany her.
Rosalyn struggled up as Mrs Harrod, her housekeeper, entered. She carried a tray with a pot of chocolate and a plate of toast.
‘Anything else, my lady?’ she asked as she set the tray in front of Rosalyn. She was plump and kindly and watched Rosalyn with a motherly eye. ‘I thought you might like a tray today seeing how you did not come in until nearly three. Such a long night for you.’
Mrs Harrod bustled about, opened the curtains and then departed. After pouring herself a cup of the steaming chocolate, Rosalyn sunk back on her pillows, wondering if there was any way she could escape tonight’s ball. She had been to more of these affairs since arriving in London ten days ago than in the eight years since her own coming-out.
Her husband, John, had considered ton parties a frivolous waste of time, as did most of his scholarly colleagues. After the miserable, tongue-tied shyness of her one and only season, she had been grateful.
Sometimes she had longed for a little more gaiety. It seemed after the first year or so of their marriage, as he became more deeply immersed in completing the massive book he’d spent years working on, that anything which distracted him from his work was a waste