A Matter of Choice (2 page)

“The musicale is about to begin. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me?”

“I’d be delighted.” She took control of her emotions and placed her hand upon Lord Archbite’s outstretched arm.

By the time they entered Lady Cowpepper’s elegant music room, most of the seats were filled, leaving them to sit toward the back. She didn’t mind. For as much as she loved music, she didn’t consider either of Lady Cowpepper’s daughters more than passably talented.

She settled in her chair as Lady Francine, the oldest, began her first selection, a lovely Italian aria. When the song ended, Lord Archbite leaned closer to say something. Allison turned her head—and her breath caught.

The marquess stood with his shoulder propped casually against the door frame, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his gaze locked with hers
.

His inordinate height separated him from the rest of the guests, and a whirlpool of raging emotions swirled out of control deep inside her. She chastised herself when she realized she couldn’t pull her gaze from him.

A slow smile spread across his face and he graciously lowered his head in acknowledgment. Such a subtle greeting. So unnerving. So confident. As if he relished the effect he knew he had on all women.

In a show of rebuke, she lifted her chin and turned her head. She wanted to wipe the smile from his face, and for a tiny fraction of a second, she was glad she’d slapped him. But she was also afraid. Never before had any man affected her as strongly as he had.

She averted her gaze, struggling for as long as possible to keep from looking back to the spot where he stood, forcing herself to concentrate on the musical performance. But a power she couldn’t control pulled her gaze to where he stood. Fortunately, this time he wasn’t watching her. His gaze was fixed on someone sitting on the other side of the room.

Without seeming obvious, she turned her head enough to see who’d captured Lord Montfort’s interest. For some reason, the recognition galled her. He was focused intently on the recently widowed Lady Serena Paxton.

The striking redhead wore an emerald green gown with an indecently revealing décolletage. But more telling was the look on her face. It was obvious that she was extremely pleased with Lord Montfort’s attentions.

When the overly polite applause for Lady Francine’s vocal selection dwindled, Lady Darlene took her place at the piano to play one of Mozart’s earlier works. Allison took advantage of the momentary lull to look again to where Montfort stood. With his eyes locked on Lady Paxton’s, he briefly nodded his head, then without notice, left by the nearest side entrance.

Allison turned her gaze back to Lady Paxton. A few moments later, the woman left the room by an exit on the other side.

Allison’s cheeks flamed. One would have to be an imbecile not to know what the two intended. Or that Lady Paxton was the woman Montfort had come to that secluded spot in the garden to meet. The woman for whom he’d mistaken her.

Allison’s opinion of him plummeted further, if that were possible. He was a womanizer and rake of the worst kind. She pitied the woman he eventually took as his wife. He would never change. Men with those leanings never did. His poor wife would never be able to walk through Society with her head high. Everyone would know of her husband’s infidelities.

Lady Darlene’s piano selection ended and Allison turned her attention back to Lord Archbite. If she had to marry—and she did if she wanted to keep her inheritance —he was worth her consideration.

He was handsome enough, yet not too handsome to attract every woman in Society. And if she were any judge, the puppy-dog look of adoration she detected in his gaze said he was more than mildly enamored of her.

With a heavy sigh, she realized she finally had at least one name for her list of possible marriage candidates.

The thought was not comforting in the least.

It had been two weeks
since Joshua had last seen his father. Two weeks since their last confrontation. Joshua was foolish enough to think he’d have at least a month’s respite before the next battle, but he’d run into his father at White’s earlier in the day.

His father had never been able to tolerate him. Today was no different. In fact, today’s battle had been more hostile than ever. His father’s words filled with more bitterness and loathing. And not for the first time, Joshua realized that the growing hatred that consumed his father was unhealthy.

Joshua stood at the back of the Earl of Ploddingdale’s ballroom and slowly nursed his second drink. He needed help forgetting the niggling fear that warned him the end result of his father’s anger would be catastrophic.

The recurring focus of his tirade had again been that the wrong son would some day carry the Ashbury title. He never missed an opportunity to lay more blame at Joshua’s feet for his brother Philip’s death.

Joshua threw a swallow of liquor to the back of his throat. Bloody hell! Didn’t he know Joshua would give anything to relive that day and be the one who’d died instead of Phillip?

Joshua replayed the confrontation from this afternoon. He wanted to reject the idea that his father had lost his grip on stability, but it was almost as if his desire to punish Joshua for Phillip’s death consumed him to the point that he no longer had a firm hold on sanity.

Joshua refused to contemplate anything so drastic. The ramifications were too terrifying. Instead, he pushed all thought of his father to the back of his mind and concentrated again on the crush of guests crowding into the Earl of Ploddingdale’s townhouse. Perhaps
she
would be here again tonight. Lady Allison Townsend.

He’d discovered her name after their unforgettable meeting in Lady Cowpepper’s garden. For some reason he didn’t understand, he couldn’t erase her from his mind. What a spitfire the lady was.

Joshua cradled his glass of brandy while his gaze swept the room. He looked for her at every function he attended. He refused to consider why he was so fascinated with her. Perhaps the attraction was nothing more than curiosity over a woman brave enough, or foolish enough to slap him—twice.

He lifted the glass to take another drink, then stopped with his arm midway to his mouth. There she was. Ready to descend the stairs and make her introductions to their host and hostess.

A smile crossed his lips. She looked even lovelier this evening than she had the last time he’d seen her. The gown she wore tonight reminded him of the way she’d looked the night he’d mistaken her for Lady Paxton. The style showed off her full bodice and narrow waist to perfection.

He remembered how perfectly she’d fit in his arms and how heavily her breast had rested in the palm of his hand.

Her neck was bare again except for the exquisite necklace of glowing emeralds that matched her dark green gown.
The lower half of his body tightened uncomfortably when he recalled his lips nuzzling her soft, delicate flesh. She was a challenge, far more complex than any other female he knew. But she was the last woman he would allow to trap him.

She was far too intelligent to manipulate, far too independent to control, and her tongue was far too sharp for his taste. It was obvious her expectations were high, and the man who married her would never be able to get by with even the smallest indiscretion. And because she was in attendance again tonight, rumors that she was serious in her attempt to find a husband were undoubtedly true.

The thought chilled his blood and sent a warning racing through him. Yet, for some reason he could not explain, she remained an enigma—an enigma with mysterious powers that drew him to her.

At every ball and social event held in the last two weeks, he’d approached her at least once a night to ask her to dance. He enjoyed seeing her shocked expression turn to anger. Just as he enjoyed every excuse she made as to why she couldn’t oblige him: her dance card was filled; she was tired and preferred to sit this dance out; she’d injured her ankle on the last dance; she needed to speak with her brother; or the excuse she most commonly used, she’d promised this dance to Lord Archbite, who followed her around like a love-smitten puppy.

It was more than a game to Joshua now. Taunting her was his answer to ease the boredom that suffocated him each evening. He loved to see her cheeks flush when he approached her, but even more, he reveled in the fire that flashed from her eyes when she was forced to acknowledge him.

Hell, she was a fiery thing. But at least she hadn’t slapped him again.

“On whom are you concentrating? Surely it can’t be the unapproachable Lady Allison again?”

Joshua turned to find his closest friend, Lionel Fortright, Earl of Chardwell, standing next to him. The two had formed a bond in their youth that had deepened over the years. Joshua welcomed Chardwell’s presence with his usual sense of relief, and smiled.

“She doesn’t appear to be happy tonight. Can you tell?”

“Take care, my friend,” Chardwell said, taking a glass from a passing footman’s tray. “The rumor circulating is that she must marry before her twenty-fifth birthday or lose a dowry that is the envy of every female in London.”

“Oh, I have no intention of being caught in
that
trap. But why do you think she hasn’t married before now?” Joshua asked. “Has she made no attempt to find a husband until this Season?”

“Don’t you remember? She was betrothed several years ago—to Viscount Bradley. The Earl of Puttingsworth killed him in a jealous rage after finding him in bed with his wife.”

“Ah, yes. How could I have forgotten that scandal? It was talked about for most of that Season. No wonder...”

“No wonder what?”

“Oh, nothing.” Joshua concentrated on Lady Allison and smiled. “Look, Chardwell. The pressures of selecting a suitable husband must be weighing on her.”

“How can you know that?”

“Look at the frown on her pretty forehead and the way her lips press together.” Joshua slowly sipped from his glass. “And see how she’s fisting her hands at her side?”

Chardwell shook his head on a laugh. “I think you’ve spent too much time studying the lady if you notice such small details, Montfort.”

“She’s an interesting woman to study.” He kept his gaze on her. He knew eventually she’d notice him. She always did. Their gazes somehow seemed drawn to each other. Then her cheeks would flush a vibrant, rosy hue and he would see another flash of fire in her eyes. Every nerve in his body tingled in anticipation.

“Are you going to ask her to dance again tonight?”

“Of course. The first waltz.”

“Aren’t you tired of being rejected?”

“I’ve become immune. Besides, I believe she’s weakening t
o my charms.”

“Weakening?” Chardwell laughed so loudly the couples standing close turned to stare.

Joshua gave his friend a sideways glance that contained more than a bit of humor.

“If anything,” Chardwell continued, his voice much softer, “she’s more resolved than ever to avoid you. She was barely polite when she refused you at the Codmore ball on Wednesday.”

“I think she did not feel well.” Joshua watched her make her way down the stairs behind her brother and his wife, the Earl and Countess of Hartley. “I wasn’t the only one she refused.”

“I noticed she didn’t refuse Archbite
his
two dances.”

Joshua didn’t respond, but watched as she greeted their host and hostess, then stepped into the crush of people. “I seem to have lost her, Chardwell. Do you see her?”

“You’d best be careful, Montfort. She’s become quite an obsession.”

He looked at his friend in shock. “It’s a game. I’ve never met a woman who took such an instant dislike to me. I’m used to unabashed adoration when I turn on my charm, not open hostility.”

“I can imagine what a blow she is to your ego.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I simply enjoy sparring with her. She’s a challenge. Nothing more.”

“I hope I won’t have an opportunity to remind you of that on your wedding day.”

“Bloody hell, man. You’ll never see me take a trip down the aisle. Can you imagine the pleasure half of London would get from seeing me leg shackled? I would never give them such satisfaction.”

“People who play with fire have been known to get burned. And rumor has it she’s attending the nightly round of parties because her twenty-fifth birthday is approaching. If she intends to keep her inheritance, she will have to marry before that date.”

“How interesting.” He cast a glance over the crowd and found the lovely Lady Allison as she reached a gathering of ladies against the opposite side of the ballroom.

“Don’t worry. I have no intention of falling into any woman’s trap. Fortunately, she has already decided I won’t do.”

He took note of her fiery copper hair and deep emerald gown and his breath caught. He couldn’t tear his gaze from her. Dear Lord, what a vision.

“If you’ll excuse me, Chardwell,” he said, handing his empty glass to a passing footman, “I think it is almost time for the orchestra to play a waltz.”

He ignored Chardwell’s hearty laugh and walked toward her. He kept his head high and wore a confident smile on his face. Her presence made having to be here almost enjoyable. He would miss her when their little game was over.

+++

The dull throbbing in Allison’s head grew more intense with each passing minute. She knew exactly when it had started. The minute her brother David had summoned her to his study again this afternoon to discuss her progress in choosing a husband.

Less than four weeks remained until her twenty-fifth birthday.

She’d tried again to convince him to allow her to remain single. She’d tried to reason with him but he wouldn’t listen to anything she said. She’d even promised she would remain in the country and not be a bother to anyone. But he’d refused to consider her suggestion. The more she argued that she didn’t want to marry, the more adamant he became. And the angrier. He even repeated his threat to choose a husband for her if she didn’t choose one herself in the next two weeks.

She fisted her hands. What was so terrible about a woman wanting to live her life without taking a husband? Surely she wasn’t the only woman in all of London who didn’t want to marry.