‘...my great-nephew, Richard Arrandale.’
Sophia was presenting him to Lady Phyllida. He dragged his attention back, summoning up a careless smile as he reached for the lady’s hand. Her eyes widened, dilating as he grasped her fingers. What the devil? Richard concealed his surprise: he had not said or done anything to frighten her. She must know of his reputation, he thought as he kissed her hand and felt it tremble, but she replied calmly enough to him and stepped back to introduce her stepdaughter.
Surely the young widow could not have sole responsibility for this piece of perfection? But it appeared to be so, for even as he addressed Miss Tatham, Lady Phyllida was explaining as much to Sophia.
‘Ellen is going to live with me in Bath until the spring,’ she was saying in her soft, musical voice. ‘Then we go to London, to my sister, Lady Olivia Hapton, who is to bring Ellen out.’
‘And will you return to Bath afterwards, Lady Phyllida?’ asked Sophia.
‘Perhaps, I have not considered. I moved here so that I might have Ellen with me. I thought we could enjoy a little society while she continued her education through the winter.’
‘Philly—that is,’ Ellen corrected herself with a mischievous look, ‘Stepmama has kindly organised lessons for me in singing, dancing and Italian. Of course I learned all those things at school, but one can always improve.’
‘Indeed, it is never too late to improve oneself,’ agreed Sophia. Richard felt rather than saw the look she cast at him. ‘No doubt you will be attending the balls and concerts, too?’
‘Oh, yes, ma’am. That is all part of my education, ready for my come-out in London next year.’
* * *
‘A very pretty-behaved child,’ opined Sophia when Lady Phyllida led her stepdaughter away a short while later. ‘Pretty face, too.’
‘Exceptional,’ agreed Richard. ‘A veritable diamond.’
‘She has everything,’ continued Sophia slowly. ‘She is handsome, of good birth and has a considerable fortune, just like—’
She broke off as an elderly gentleman approached and Richard stood back, lost in thought as they conversed. He guessed what she had been about to say.
Just like Cassandra.
Sophia was clearly on good terms with the widow and inclined to approve of her stepdaughter. Thank heaven she did not know about the wager!
* * *
‘So you have stolen the march on us already with the heiress.’
A soft, drawling voice intruded upon Richard’s reverie and he turned to find Sir Charles Urmston at his shoulder.
‘Quite a piece of perfection, isn’t she?’ Urmston continued, raising his glass to study Miss Tatham, who was now on the far side of the room talking with the Wakefields. ‘I had thought Miss Julia Wakefield the most attractive girl in the room, but her prettiness is quite eclipsed by Miss Tatham’s golden beauty. A fortune is always worth pursuing, but when it comes so deliciously packaged, how can one resist?’
Richard frowned. The idea of Urmston pursuing Ellen Tatham did not please him. Sir Charles was a cousin of Richard’s late sister-in-law and they had met upon occasion, but Richard had not felt any inclination to pursue the acquaintance following his sister-in-law’s premature demise eight years ago. Richard sensed a cruel and predatory nature behind Urmston’s ready smile and urbane manners. He had met his sort before, a charming man about town, befriending eager young bucks and helping them to spend their—or rather their family’s—fortune. He did not condemn Urmston for his way of life, after all a man must live.
It was no secret Urmston had bullied his wife, who had died in childbirth a year ago, along with their unborn baby. The idea of any innocent young girl being cruelly tricked into marriage and treated badly was not something Richard could condone, yet he had signed up to the wager, along with the others. His frown deepened as he considered the men who had put their signatures in the book. There was no doubt that any one of them would cold-bloodedly ruin the girl in order to win the prize money. That thought proved equally distasteful, though he knew seductions such as this were common practice. And it was not only Ellen Tatham who would suffer. A sudden vision of Lady Phyllida’s distress disturbed him and he quickly pushed it away. Good God, when had he become so fastidious? He must be getting old.
Suddenly the idea of making a play for the heiress himself seemed almost sensible. He would be doing the girl a kindness if he married her, not to mention the fact that her fortune would prove very useful. If reports were true it was sufficient for him to maintain Arrandale and still keep his own family in luxury. He had not come to Bath looking for a wife but it was expected that he would settle down one day, and if Wolf should not return it would clearly be his duty to carry on the line. Perhaps he should not let this chance slip by. He glanced across the room to where Lady Phyllida was presenting her stepdaughter to Lady Wakefield. From this distance they might have been sisters.
It would be an easy seduction. The stepmother was no dragon and he had no doubt he would easily gain her approval. After that, it would be a simple matter to win the hand and the heart of the beautiful Miss Tatham. It was of little consequence whether his heart was engaged. He would treat her well and she would be better off with him than any of the other men who would be vying for her attentions. He had no doubt he would win, by fair means or foul. After all he was a rake, wasn’t he? One of the infamous Arrandale family. And rake hell was what they did.
So now he smiled at Urmston. ‘As you say, Sir Charles, how can one resist such a beauty? I give you fair warning, this is one wager I mean to win!’
* * *
Phyllida kept her smile in place as she progressed around the Pump Room, making Ellen known to her many acquaintances, but inside her heart was racing, as were the chaotic thoughts that flew around her head until she felt quite giddy. Richard Arrandale was the last man she had expected to meet in Bath. Since marrying Sir Evelyn their paths had not crossed, but seeing him again had brought it all back, that night at Almack’s, seven years ago, when he had danced with her.
She remembered it all so clearly. He had been the most handsome young man she had ever seen, with his brown hair gleaming in the candlelight, and that laughing twinkle in his blue eyes. He was only a year or so older than Phyllida but already he had been a confident man about town, whereas she had been a tongue-tied young girl, fresh from the schoolroom and dressed in an unbecoming pink gown that her mother had thought the appropriate colour for a débutante. Her first and only Season had been a tortuous round of parties and dances, where she had been too shy and plain to attract the attention of any young man. She had spent long evenings sitting at the side of the room while the other young girls danced and laughed and enchanted their partners. Even those gentlemen who were persuaded to stand up with her quickly made their exit when they found that she was too shy to do more than blush and return monosyllabic answers to their attempts at conversation. She had told herself it did not matter, that she cared for none of them, and that was true, until she had danced with Richard Arrandale.
Phyllida had known his reputation—everyone in London was aware of it—but in her silly schoolgirl mind she had thought that she could tame him, that if only he could see past her rather plain looks he would be captivated by her goodness and would repent his wild ways.
How he must have despised her for her awkwardness, even though he had laughed and made light of it when she had moved the wrong way in the dance and collided with him. He had responded to her mistake by giving her his whole attention, smiling at her, putting her at her ease. He had looked at her, really looked, as if she was the only lady in the room. As if she mattered. At that point she had lost her heart completely.