Beauty And The Brooding Lord. Sarah MalloryЧитать онлайн книгу.
his ignominious departure from the rose garden, she was not surprised to learn that he had gone home, but she felt no sympathy for him. She wished he had come to blows with the rude stranger and knocked him down rather than walking off and leaving her to endure a most unpleasant encounter. However, when she recalled the size of the stranger, she doubted Sir Timothy would have got the better of him.
* * *
The evening was proving to be exceedingly tedious and after a couple of dances Serena excused herself and went in search of her sister-in-law.
‘What, you wish to leave, before the dancing is ended?’ Lady Hambridge gave the loud, irritating laugh that announced she had enjoyed too much wine this evening. She shook her head at Serena and said playfully, ‘This is most unlike you, Serena! No, no, we cannot go yet, for you are engaged to stand up with Lord Afton. I should be failing in my duty if I were to take you away before he has danced with you.’
Viscount Afton was the highest-ranking bachelor at this evening’s ball. Serena thought him dull, pompous and old enough to be her grandfather, but it would do no good to say as much to her sister-in-law, so when the time came she pinned on a smile and went off to dance the quadrille. As the dance ended she spotted a familiar figure at the side of the room. She touched Lord Afton’s arm.
‘Tell me, my lord, do you know that gentleman, the large man talking to Lord Grindlesham?’
‘What’s that, m’dear?’ The Viscount looked about him and gave a disdainful grunt. ‘Do you mean that great bear of a man? That’s Lord Quinn. Damned unpleasant fellow. No one likes him.’
She was pleased that Lord Afton shared her opinion of the stranger from the rose garden, but curious, too.
‘If that is the case, why is he invited?’
‘Rich as Croesus,’ he replied shortly. ‘He don’t often show his face in town, but Grindlesham is selling off his art collection and that will be the reason he is come. Rufus Quinn is considered to be something of a connoisseur, I believe.’ He huffed. ‘Well, he can afford to indulge himself.’
There was a bitter note in the viscount’s tone, but since it was well known that Lord Afton had little fortune, it did not surprise Serena. As he led her back to join Dorothea and Henry, she took the opportunity to study Lord Quinn from a safe distance. In the blaze of candlelight, it was clear to see that he was no arbiter of fashion. His coat of dark blue superfine fitted well enough across his impressive shoulders, but no servant was needed to ease him into it and the simple arrangement of his neckcloth would not rouse envy in the breast of any aspiring dandy. His brown hair was not brushed into artful disorder; it was positively untidy. His face was rugged, his nose not quite straight and his brow fierce. He looked impatient and she already knew his manners were abominable. All in all, Serena decided, he was a man not worthy of her attention.
* * *
At last the evening was over and Serena accompanied her brother and sister-in-law to the hall. It was crowded and noisy, and the servants announcing whose carriage was at the door were obliged to bellow over the chatter of the guests. There was much pushing and shoving and Henry guided his ladies to one side, away from the throng.
‘It’s like a dashed cattle market,’ he muttered. ‘Whatever persuaded Grindlesham to invite so many? And that reminds me.’ He turned a frowning gaze upon Serena. ‘I saw you talking to Forsbrook earlier. Who introduced you to him?’
Serena spread her hands. ‘I really cannot recall, but it is impossible to avoid such introductions in town.’
‘I suppose you are right,’ he agreed grudgingly, ‘but he’s a dashed Lothario and you’d be advised to stay away from him.’
‘Indeed, you would,’ added Dorothea. ‘He has the most unsavoury reputation.’
‘What of it?’ Serena countered. ‘Most gentlemen in London have an unsavoury reputation. Even Russ, before his marriage.’
Henry scowled. ‘That was different. Forsbrook is an out-and-out libertine. Russ was never that.’
‘The pity of it is that such men are so attractive to a large number of our sex,’ declared Dorothea repressively.
‘Well, they would have to be,’ reasoned Serena. ‘One can only conclude that they are experts at making love to a woman.’
Henry spluttered and Dorothea said in a scandalised voice, ‘Serena, hush. You cannot say such a thing—it is most unladylike.’
Serena begged pardon and closed her lips upon any more unwise utterances. Clearly it would not do to admit that she thought she might like to marry just such a man. She had been out for two years and was still unmarried. Oh, she had had offers, but all the men Henry and Russ considered eligible were so very dull. In fact, Serena was finding life in town rather dull, too.
It had not been so bad when she had been staying with Russ, for although he was ten years her senior both he and his wife were lively and quick-witted. But Russ had taken Molly to the north to await the birth of their second child and Serena was now living in Bruton Street with Henry, who was her guardian and eldest half-brother. Having married off their own daughter very successfully two years ago, he and Dorothea were keen to find a respectable husband for Serena.
She understood perfectly the reason for this. The Russington family history was tainted by scandal and they were anxious to avoid adding to it. Good birth was considered essential, a title an advantage, but respectability was prized higher than a fortune and Serena was kept well away from any gentleman whose reputation was less than spotless, with the result that she had not yet met any man whose company she enjoyed for more than a very short time. Naturally, she wanted her husband to be handsome, but she also wanted a man of wit and intelligence. An educated man with a sense of humour, with whom she might enjoy lively conversation.
Finally, she wanted him to be skilled at pleasuring a woman. Not that she knew a great deal about what went on in the marriage bed, because young ladies were not supposed to be interested in such things. What she had learned was all very confusing. If Dorothea was to be believed, it was a wife’s duty to accept her husband’s attentions with fortitude, whereas Molly had told her that the union, when a husband and wife truly loved one another, could be beyond wonderful. It seemed that love was the answer, but none of the suitors presented to Serena had roused the faintest flicker of interest. She had therefore decided she must take a hand in her own destiny. Russ had been considered a rake before he had married his beloved Molly and Serena thought such a man would suit her very well.
Therefore, whenever she could escape Henry and Dorothea’s watchful eyes at any ball, breakfast or assembly, she sought out the rakes and gentlemen of more dubious reputation. The problem was that it was so difficult to be alone with any gentleman in town. Her flirtation with the dashing Lord Fyfield, for example, had been going well until they were spotted by one of Dorothea’s bosom friends in Green Park and Serena had to account very quickly for being alone with a gentleman. Word of the assignation had soon reached Bruton Street and Henry had lost no time in putting an end to Lord Fyfield’s attentions before he had even kissed her.
It was all most unsatisfactory and Serena’s spirit rebelled against being so confined. She wanted to marry, but not one of the milk-and-water sops that her family put forward. No, she wanted a man who could hold her interest. One who knew how to make love to a woman. Was that too much to ask? Her musing ended when a servant announced Lord Hambridge’s carriage.
‘At last,’ said Henry. ‘Come along, my dears, let us get home.’
Serena followed as he pushed his way towards the door with a word here and there to clear the path. A large, commanding figure stood in their way. Serena could only see his back but she immediately recognised Lord Quinn’s tousled head. A word from Henry and he stood aside, but there was no smile, no word of apology. His rugged face was stony and although his gaze moved over Serena, she had the impression that he was looking through her. However, she did note that those eyes, which had laughed at her so insolently in the rose garden, were a warm brown, the colour of fresh hazelnuts.
*