Lord Westfield joining us tonight.” She glanced over at the men. “I think perhaps Cecil knew we’d be so involved in womanly chatter that he’d do well to have some masculine company. He’s a bit gruff and standoffish, Lord Westfield, but he has the best of hearts.”
“Is that so?”
“Without a doubt,” Emily replied, with seemingly implacable assurance.
Jane stole one more glance at the man, perplexed . If anything, he appeared cold and haughty at first inspection. Well, perhaps that was too judgmental, she corrected herself. He appeared arrogant, that’s all. Rude and arrogant.
Lord Westfield stood before the fireplace, one hand resting on the mantel . Her gaze traveled the lengthy route from the tip of his boots to the top of his head. His polished Hessians gleamed ebony in the candlelight, and tight-fitting fawn breeches accentuated muscular legs. A well-cut, dark jacket and striped gray waistcoat stretched taut across his broad chest. His snow-white cravat was tied intricately about a long, proud neck. Dark, wavy locks curled just below his ears, not a hair out of place. Everything about his form and dress exuded wealth, nobility, and exceptional taste. But those soft green eyes...
She dropped her gaze to her slippers, refusing to allow herself to be drawn back to his eyes . She shook her head, attempting to get her wits back about herself.
At that moment, the butler mercifully stepped in to announce dinner . Jane sighed in relief as she followed Emily out.
“Perhaps she’s waltzed through my front door instead, eh, Westfield?” she heard Cecil mutter under his breath to his companion.
Jane paused just beyond the door, curiously awaiting the earl’s response .
“I’m afraid not, Tolland,” a deep male voice answered . “She won’t do. Won’t do at all.”
Jane felt her cheeks burn . It took every last inch of her reserve to continue on to the dining room without turning and giving the insufferable man a severe dressing down, as he deserved.
She ‘wouldn’t do’, would she ? She’d make him regret those words. Two could play this game.
She tipped her chin in the air and schooled her features into the most cheerful of expressions before taking her seat at the long dining table . Directly across from Lord Westfield.
Bloody arrogant fool .
Chapter 2
Hayden stroked his chin as he observed Miss Rosemoor from across the width of the table . She chatted vivaciously with Emily, obviously doing her damnedest to avoid looking in his direction. When she did slip up and catch his eye, she favored him with a bright smile–a false smile, as it did not reach her eyes. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure the woman out.
She was dazzling, no doubt about it . As beautiful and alluring as any woman he’d ever seen. His instant physical attraction had caught him completely off guard. He’d reacted instinctively, made his face blank, unreadable, so as not to betray his interest. It was clear that Tolland requested his company tonight in order to parade his wife’s cousin before him, and he ruffled at the insult. Miss Rosemoor was no less than five and twenty, if his judgment was correct. A spinster, long settled on the shelf. Was her visit nothing more than a carefully orchestrated maneuver to snare a husband? One in desperate need of a wife, perhaps?
How had she avoided marriage, he wondered, unclaimed at such an advanced age ? She must have faults of character, he concluded. Serious flaws. He raised a brow as he considered the possibilities. Perhaps she was bookish, a bluestocking in the worst way. She did seem rather intelligent, although he found no fault with that. He preferred intelligence to silliness, no matter the current fashion. Maybe she hadn’t any accomplishments to recommend her, though not all men preferred accomplished women. He did, of course, but not all men. He shook his head, perplexed. He could only conclude that it was something more
“Is that so?”
“Without a doubt,” Emily replied, with seemingly implacable assurance.
Jane stole one more glance at the man, perplexed . If anything, he appeared cold and haughty at first inspection. Well, perhaps that was too judgmental, she corrected herself. He appeared arrogant, that’s all. Rude and arrogant.
Lord Westfield stood before the fireplace, one hand resting on the mantel . Her gaze traveled the lengthy route from the tip of his boots to the top of his head. His polished Hessians gleamed ebony in the candlelight, and tight-fitting fawn breeches accentuated muscular legs. A well-cut, dark jacket and striped gray waistcoat stretched taut across his broad chest. His snow-white cravat was tied intricately about a long, proud neck. Dark, wavy locks curled just below his ears, not a hair out of place. Everything about his form and dress exuded wealth, nobility, and exceptional taste. But those soft green eyes...
She dropped her gaze to her slippers, refusing to allow herself to be drawn back to his eyes . She shook her head, attempting to get her wits back about herself.
At that moment, the butler mercifully stepped in to announce dinner . Jane sighed in relief as she followed Emily out.
“Perhaps she’s waltzed through my front door instead, eh, Westfield?” she heard Cecil mutter under his breath to his companion.
Jane paused just beyond the door, curiously awaiting the earl’s response .
“I’m afraid not, Tolland,” a deep male voice answered . “She won’t do. Won’t do at all.”
Jane felt her cheeks burn . It took every last inch of her reserve to continue on to the dining room without turning and giving the insufferable man a severe dressing down, as he deserved.
She ‘wouldn’t do’, would she ? She’d make him regret those words. Two could play this game.
She tipped her chin in the air and schooled her features into the most cheerful of expressions before taking her seat at the long dining table . Directly across from Lord Westfield.
Bloody arrogant fool .
Chapter 2
Hayden stroked his chin as he observed Miss Rosemoor from across the width of the table . She chatted vivaciously with Emily, obviously doing her damnedest to avoid looking in his direction. When she did slip up and catch his eye, she favored him with a bright smile–a false smile, as it did not reach her eyes. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure the woman out.
She was dazzling, no doubt about it . As beautiful and alluring as any woman he’d ever seen. His instant physical attraction had caught him completely off guard. He’d reacted instinctively, made his face blank, unreadable, so as not to betray his interest. It was clear that Tolland requested his company tonight in order to parade his wife’s cousin before him, and he ruffled at the insult. Miss Rosemoor was no less than five and twenty, if his judgment was correct. A spinster, long settled on the shelf. Was her visit nothing more than a carefully orchestrated maneuver to snare a husband? One in desperate need of a wife, perhaps?
How had she avoided marriage, he wondered, unclaimed at such an advanced age ? She must have faults of character, he concluded. Serious flaws. He raised a brow as he considered the possibilities. Perhaps she was bookish, a bluestocking in the worst way. She did seem rather intelligent, although he found no fault with that. He preferred intelligence to silliness, no matter the current fashion. Maybe she hadn’t any accomplishments to recommend her, though not all men preferred accomplished women. He did, of course, but not all men. He shook his head, perplexed. He could only conclude that it was something more
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