continue to come my way until I did my duty and asked the lovely, boring Miranda to marry me.
The woman who was sleeping with my brother. I slid Christopher a glance. He was doing a piss-pour job of pretending not to watch her. My parents might expect me to marry Miranda, but hell if I would take my brother’s mistress from him.
We were all actors here, in a play of our own making. Every day of my life was the same damn scene, over and over until I thought I’d go mad. But this is what I’d wanted. This is what my parents had connived. Hell, this is what I’d planned.
I lifted my glass and sipped the tepid wine, feigning ease and a naturalness I didn’t feel. Where the hell was the gin? Anything stronger. If I had to endure one more dinner, one more ball…I’d go mad. The sidelong glances, wide nervous eyes from the debutantes, the gossiped whispers just loud enough for me to hear, as they wondered if I was the monster society claimed.
If they had any idea…
Perhaps it was time to head to the country. A little fishing, hunting, an escape from my parents. But then I would have to leave Ginny. I wasn’t ready to give up on her yet. I’d never in my life had to work so hard to get a woman to become my mistress. It was…galling, and yes, intriguing.
“Of course he’ll give a ball, won’t you, brother?” Chris grinned at me from down the table. Bastard. “There’s nothing he enjoys more.”
I smiled. “Yes, and you shall pick the date and be hostess.”
She nodded demurely, her pale cheeks flushed, suddenly shy when only an hour ago she’d trapped me in the library ,and had practically thrown herself at me. The rumors about Ginny had finally reached her ears; she was desperate. Not that I’d partaken. I wouldn’t be trapped into a marriage. But let her believe, let her think she had a chance.
I stared hard at the woman, taking in her pale complexion, her golden hair, blue eyes…English perfection. Boring. She always wore a ridiculous, meek smile that I feared one day would drive me insane enough to throw myself in the Thames.
However, when wearing that pale blue gown that matched her eyes and showed off her trim figure, there was no denying her beauty. She spoke with Lady Easton, a woman who had made the match of the season last year. No doubt she was giving her advice on how to land the perfect lord. Miranda and I had been pushed together five years ago, before she’d even been old enough to marry. Not only did her father promise a fine parcel of land, but he was one of the wealthiest men in England. She’d been at my side since, whether I paid attention to her, or not.
“My lord.”
The softly spoken voice surprised me. I glanced up at my butler. He would never interrupt without good reason, which meant it must be important. Hell, had my father finally died? One could hope. “What is it, Alfred?”
“There’s a visitor, my lord.”
I quirked a brow. A visitor at this time of night? “I’m a bit busy at the moment, as you can see.”
Lord Beckett, who was seated next to me, chuckled a nervous laugh. He’d been fidgeting all night, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. Despite what society seemed to think, good breeding wasn’t always inherited. I wouldn’t have invited the man at all, but he had a stallion I was eager to buy. “Good staff is difficult to find.”
Alfred showed no outward sign of having heard the man. He’d been trained not to react. He’d been trained to be the perfect butler. Which was why his sudden appearance in my dining room was so surprising. “She insists, my lord.”
She? Anticipation shot through me. It was on the tip of my tongue to demand he describe her then and there, but I somehow managed to contain my interest. Lord Beckett overheard and raised his brows as he sipped his wine. The rumors would travel the table by the time I returned. All of London by week’s end. I didn’t care.
“Very well.” At the moment it hardly mattered about ruining my chances with Miranda. I stood, barely able to control myself. A variety of emotions bombarded me all at once, some of which I wasn’t entirely familiar with. “If you’ll excuse me for the briefest of moments, I’m sure