Fran Baker Read Free Page A

ruralize for a bit.”
    Colin gritted his teeth at this, prompted by his resentment of such advice to reply, “As a matter of fact, it is on the earl’s directive that I am here. He wishes me to take a wife—something I fear I cannot do by remaining at the Keep.” He leaned toward Maret, who was scanning the crowds through his beribboned glass. “Have you seen any prospects yet, Jacques? If we spend all night looking for my bride, we’ll not have time for a game of piquet at White’s.”
    “What is this?” Baldwin looked from one to the other with a grave frown.
    “Maret is being so obliging as to find me a likely chit,” Stratford offered as bait. He was rewarded, for his cousin’s mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in dismay.
    “You cannot be serious!” he protested. “Marriage is not a matter for such levity.”
    The viscount shrugged and said with a wide yawn, “Why not? One petticoat is much like another. It makes no odds to me which of them shares my name.”
    “Colin, if this is your idea of a joke—” Daniel began.
    “Unless I mistake,” Maret cut in, “a thing which I am not prone to do, that little beauty will utterly destroy the current fashion for blondes.”
    The two followed Maret’s gaze and saw a lovely vision in white satin and lace sitting delicately on a gilt chair across the room.
    Miss Helen Lawrence was a petite brunette of breathtaking beauty. Had she been named for Helen of Troy it would have been no less than her due. Beneath a crown of glossy chestnut curls was a finely structured oval face in which two dainty brows were arched over sparkling blue eyes and a small straight nose was centered above a pair of red heart-shaped lips. These features came delightfully together in her creamy face to such effect that all three men were, for a lengthy pause, awe-struck. Her figure, too, was such as must please even the most discriminating, being small, graceful and proportioned exactly.
    “She appears a suitable viscountess,” Colin said at length. “I commend you, Jacques. Your taste, as always, is impeccable.”
    Maret continued to eye the lovely girl as she laughed with a cheerful blonde seated next to her. “What do you wager, Stratford?” he asked.
    “A hundred guineas that she’s mine within a fortnight,” Colin promptly answered.
    “Are you that uncertain of your charm? I should say five hundred would be nearer the mark,” his friend said as he dropped his glass and faced him, amusement stamping his face with a faint tinge of color.
    “My god!” Baldwin exclaimed in horror. “You cannot place a wager upon Miss Lawrence as if she were some horse!”
    “Observe, Maret, how the fates smile upon your choice. My good cousin knows the beauty. Introduce us, Daniel.”
    “No,” said that worthy flatly. “I will not be made a party to this improper charade.”
    Stratford studied his cousin with an amused glint. “My dear Maret,” he began sweetly, “did I ever tell you of the time I called upon Cordelia Glover in her private boudoir only to find my cousin—”
    “Colin,” Daniel interrupted, “you cannot wish to tell that tale.”
    “On the contrary, cousin. I shall enjoy relating that little incident to everyone here—including, I perceive, your dear mama. Unless, that is, you introduce me to Miss Lawrence.”
    “But that’s infamous!”
    Colin laughed outright at this, then turned to Maret. “Five hundred it is, Jacques. To be doubled if I have her within the week.” The terms were accepted with a half-bow and Stratford directed a curt command to his cousin. “Daniel, lead us on to the future Viscountess Stratford.”
    “I must protest this entire disgraceful proceeding. Your behavior is scandalous.”
    “I do hope so,” the viscount drawled, giving his cousin a gentle nudge toward the beauty.
    The trio crossed the room in silence, arriving at their destination as the strains of the waltz being played came to an end. Pushing through a knot of