Gentlemen Prefer Heiresses Read online

  Like a dull girl. An exciting girl would look after herself. Gina shook off the morose thoughts. She was not going to allow Lord Andrew Mabry to dwell in her mind.

  Tillie hugged her again. “We’ll be back next week.”

  Gina squeezed her tightly. “I know.” They’d gone over the plans a thousand times. Seven nights at Kingsbrook Park; then she and Tillie would move into Rexton’s home, while Landsdowne Court sat unused. It seemed a waste. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  A few minutes later, along with all the other guests, she was tossing rose petals at Tillie and Rexton as they clambered into his waiting coach. Swallowing hard, fighting back the tears, she watched as they drove off.

  People began wandering inside, but she seemed unable to move from the spot. Tillie had always been the one constant in her life.

  “Here.”

  Glancing down, she looked at the pristine white handkerchief Lord Andrew was holding out to her. Only then did she become aware of the tears rolling along her cheeks. But she was not about to take any assistance from him. She sniffed, realizing too late how unbecoming that sounded. Nor did she want him to see her swiping at her tears.

  “I don’t know why women get sad at moments like this,” he said quietly, gently patting his linen to her cheek, one side, then the other.

  “I’m not sad. I’m happy. I’m happy that Tillie’s happy.” Her ability to converse intelligently seemed to have deserted her. “Aren’t you happy for your brother?”

  “Absolutely. His marriage takes the pressure off me to provide an heir.”

  She wanted to shake her head in frustration but that would cause her to move beyond reach of his tender ministrations. Only the two of them remained in the drive now. His attention was riveted on her face as though he’d only just discovered tears were wet and warm. “Aren’t you pleased he’s found happiness?”

  “I suppose.” He moved back, shrugged. “All right. Yes. I’m pleased he seems not to mind the shackles of marriage.”

  She heaved a sigh. “Considering your penchant for being involved with actresses, I erroneously assumed you to be a romantic.”

  He laughed out loud. “What do you know of my penchant?”

  “I’ve heard things.” The night she’d met him, Rexton had insinuated Andrew had been at the theater because of his interest in an actress. “In order to bring excitement to my life, I also read the gossip sheets. Otherwise, it’s just so dull.”

  Taking satisfaction in his grimace, she started up the steps.

  “You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he called after her.

  “Give some thought as to how it was that I did.” She glanced back over her shoulder triumphantly. “Without you even knowing I was there. I suspect, my lord, there is a good deal about me that you underestimate.”

  And with that parting shot, she disappeared into the residence.

  Chapter 3

  Andrew had planned to make his way to the card room and play a few hands before making a discreet exit from the affair and heading to the gaming hells. As a general rule he avoided balls. So he was quite perplexed as to the reasoning behind his now standing off to the side in the grand salon and watching as Gina was swept over the dance floor by one fellow after another.

  Not that he, himself, was lacking for company. Several young ladies had approached him, fans waving, eyelashes batting, remarks teasing. He’d smiled and carried on as though he were completely engrossed by their presence, when in fact he seemed incapable of diverting his attention away from Gina.

  He owed her an apology for what she’d overheard on the terrace. Most of his words had been designed to get his brother to leave off. If he’d admitted to spending a good deal of his time thinking about Gina, Rex would have hauled him off to Kingsbrook Park with him and his bride. He very nearly shuddered at that thought. His brother in love was a bit much to endure. He did wish him happiness; he just didn’t think Rex needed to be quite so demonstrative with his affections.

  The last lady took her feathered fan and fluttering eyelashes off in search of someone more likely to ask her to dance. He’d waltzed with a spinster, a widow, and a debutante but those forays onto the dance floor had been several tunes earlier. While he’d enjoyed his time spent with each partner, something had seemed to be missing. He probably just needed more scotch.

  “You should dance with her.”

  He very nearly leaped out of his skin at his mother’s quietly spoken words. Raised on the streets, a pickpocket in her youth, the Duchess of Greystone still had the ability to quietly sneak up on people, especially when it was one of her children up to no good.

  “Lady Edith is in want of a husband,” he said, referring to the woman who had just left his side. “It would not do to give her any encouragement as I’m not the marrying sort.”

  “I wasn’t referring to her, and I think you damn well know it.” His mother didn’t parse words and still had a bit of the street in her. Her hair, once a vibrant red, was now muted with gray. He had little doubt he was responsible for most of it. “I meant Gina.”

  “Her dance card is filled.” He’d managed to catch a fleeting glance at it during one of his forays onto the dance floor. Not that he’d been considering asking her for a dance. He’d simply been curious. He knew from discussions with Rex that earlier in the Season she’d had a devil of a time garnering any attention, but with her scandalous sister now married to a marquess, it seemed she was being embraced by all of London. Although his sister, Grace, Duchess of Lovingdon, might have also had a hand in that recent acceptance. She and her friends had apparently taken up Gina’s cause to find a husband. Women were such a conniving lot, holding fast to the false assumption that every man was—if not in want of a wife—at least in need of one.

  “Your father claimed her next waltz, but he’s a bit tired. Perhaps you’d dance with her in his stead.” Even his own mother was devious. Or perhaps it was his father. He was rather surprised the duke had asked Gina for a dance. For years his eyesight had been deteriorating. He and the duchess seldom attended balls, but when they did, the duke only danced with his duchess.

  “Your older son warned me to stay clear of her.”

  “When have you ever heeded his orders? Besides, it’s only a dance, Andrew. We want to ensure she feels welcomed into the family.”

  “Family obligations are so tedious.”

  She patted his arm affectionately. “But you’ll do it.”

  “I suppose if I must.”

  “Don’t sound so put upon. You don’t fool me. You have an interest in the girl.”

  “We’d never suit.”

  “I once thought the same thing about your father. Yet here I am.”

  Chuckling, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I am not proper husband material, Mother. All your machinations will not get me to the altar.”

  “I want merely to see you happy.”

  Happy seemed to be the word of the day. “I am. Very much so. I’ll be even happier when I can slip away into the night, which I shall do as soon as I’ve taken on the obligation of Father’s dance.” She opened her mouth, and he gave her a stern look. “I’ve already stayed longer than I intended, and I have much merriment awaiting me elsewhere.”

  “You need a purpose, Andrew.”

  “I have one. To have a jolly good time.” He lifted his eyebrows as the music faded. “And it appears this dance has come to an end. The next is Father’s waltz. I must see to my duty.”

  Laughing lightly, she shook her head. “Go on and enjoy the dance, then depart to have your fun elsewhere.”

  “Oh, I plan to.” And he left her to go in search of his dance partner.

  Frannie Mabry, Duchess of Greystone, felt the hand close lovingly on her waist and the soft kiss on the nape of her neck.

  “Are you sure it’s wise to encourage him to have an interest in the girl?” her husband whispered near her ear, his warm breath fanning over her cheek.

  “Never before
have I seen him look as though he has spied something he cannot have.”

  “And if he hadn’t been willing to take my place—after you put my name on her dance card—what then? You are well aware the only one with whom I’m comfortable dancing is you.”

  “We’d have worked something out,” she assured him. “But I know my children. Andrew comes across as a bit of a rapscallion, but he has a good heart.”

  “Unfortunately I’m not quite certain it’s whole, Frannie, darling.”

  “I fear it won’t be until he opens himself up to loving again.”

  For a good part of the Season, Gina had lamented the scarcity of suitors and dance partners, not fully convinced Tillie’s reputation was to blame. This evening, however, she’d already changed her slippers twice because she’d worn out the soles. Every dance had been claimed. She was looking quite forward to the next one—her waltz with the Duke of Greystone. Knowing of his failing eyesight, which few did, she was rather certain she’d be able to convince him to sit this one out or at the very least step out onto the terrace for a bit of fresh air.

  Although standing at the edge of the dance floor, searching for him, she was beginning to wonder if perhaps he’d forgotten about the dance he’d claimed—or rather that his wife had claimed for him. She was fairly certain signing the small dance card would no doubt have been a challenge for him.

  When she saw Andrew striding in her direction, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from stiffening. Silly girl. No reason to believe he was actually going to approach her. His next dance partner was no doubt in the vicinity. She fought not to care or to wonder who she might be. His partners thus far had surprised her as two had been older and the third was on the verge of receiving a marriage proposal if rumors were to be believed. Not the sorts in whom she’d expect him to take an interest. The flamboyant seemed more his style.

  While he smiled and nodded at several ladies, his gloved hands remained at his side, did not reach out for a partner. Perhaps he was merely heading for the terrace, although there was a more direct path.

  Her stomach tightened as she realized his gaze was homed in on her. His blue eyes seemed to glow with amusement as he came to a stop in front of her and held out his hand.

  “My father has grown weary. Perhaps you’d be willing to allow me to dance in his stead.”

  No, no, no. They’d danced once before—at the ball where Rexton proposed to Tillie—so she was well aware that being held by Lord Andrew caused strange flutterings to take up residence throughout her body. Yes, yes, yes. Because those flutterings were quite pleasant indeed.

  Based upon what she’d overheard earlier on the terrace, she should rebuff him and his overtures. Before she could work out the exact words for the caustic remark that would put him in his place, she heard herself say, “If that would please the duke.”

  With an arched brow, he glanced down at his extended hand. Reluctantly she placed hers in it, trying to ignore the warmth seeping through the kidskin as he closed his fingers around hers. The first strains of the tune began to fill the air as he led her to the center of the dance floor.

  When his hand landed gently on her back, she was at once grateful for the low cut of her gown and wishing it went all the way up to her hairline. As she placed her hand on his arm, near his shoulder, she was as astounded by the firmness of his muscles as she’d been the first time they’d danced. While he was lean, he was strong and fit. Placing her other hand in his, she tried to ignore how very close they were. And the fact he was quite possibly the most graceful partner she’d ever had.

  “I noticed you danced twice with Somerdale,” he said.

  “I’ve danced with a lot of gents.”

  “Not twice.”

  She took some satisfaction in knowing he was not only watching but counting. Especially as, to her mortification, she’d been doing the same thing with him. “I would dance with him more often than that, but dancing with a gentleman more than twice is scandalous. Having survived Tillie’s scandal, I have no wish to deal with one of my own, so alas I must limit my dances per gentleman to two. However, I am flattered you noticed.”

  “Do you fancy him?” he asked.

  “I don’t really see that’s any of your concern.”

  “He’s a spendthrift.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “I don’t lose at the gaming tables.”

  “Well, that’s certainly a trait every woman highly covets in a man.”

  “It should be if it’s your money with which he’s gambling.”

  “Your brother is advising me. I don’t need you to do it as well.”

  “My brother doesn’t move about in the same … questionable circles that I do.”

  “Yet Somerdale does?”

  “On occasion.”

  “Why do you care?” she asked, not bothering to hide her irritation.

  “You’re part of the family now. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fully capable of taking care of myself. Any gentleman who seeks to make a fool of me will find himself regretting it.”

  He grinned broadly. “Oh. And how will you accomplish that? By writing a stern letter to the Times, calling him out?”

  “By shooting him someplace he’d rather not be shot.”

  He laughed. “With a pistol?”

  “Or a rifle. My family is in the firearms business. Surely you’re not surprised to discover I’m proficient in using both.”

  “Perhaps I am a little. I’d never really given it any thought.” His eyes warmed. “What other things don’t I know about you, Miss Hammersley?”

  The pressure on her back was subtle, yet she was very much aware of the fact that they were a little closer. She should have objected, but she welcomed the nearness. From the moment she’d been introduced to him at the theater, he’d intrigued her. “First, tell me something I don’t know about you.”

  “That I can see the thrumming of your pulse at your throat and would very much like to feel it against my tongue.”

  Chapter 4

  Christ. Had he really just said that? Rex was correct. Andrew needed to stay not only away from her, but far, far away from her. She was too innocent for the likes of him, and whenever he was near her, he seemed to misplace all rational thought.

  Those beautiful green eyes of hers widened and her pale pink lips parted slightly, but the distance between them was narrow enough that if he lowered his head, he could press his mouth to hers and slip his tongue inside without meeting any resistance. Unless, of course, she was carrying a pistol upon her person. He very nearly asked.

  “You’re attempting to shock me,” she said tersely.

  Dear God, how he wished that was all it was. Instead he wanted to lift her into his arms and carry her up to his old bedchamber, lay her out on his bed, and ravage her until dawn. He wanted to know the taste of her, every inch. Her mouth, her throat, her breasts, the sweet haven between her thighs. He yearned to sip them all at his leisure, to take her slowly and wickedly, to hear her sighs and moans filling his ears. He’d told Rex he found her dull when in truth she was the furthest thing from dull he’d ever known.

  “Does Somerdale not make such claims?” he asked lightly.

  “Of course not. He is a gentleman.”

  “A boring one at that, then.”

  “You know, my lord, if I didn’t know better I’d almost think you were jealous.”

  He scoffed, a bit too loudly, as the couple nearby glanced over at him. “I’ve never been jealous in my life. That particular emotion is reserved for those who seek permanence in a relationship.”

  “You’ve never been in love?”

  The question caused his stomach to tighten, the sadness in her eyes made him want to lash out. He fought back the urge by making his voice as frigid as possible. “Have you?”

  She shook her head. “No, which to be quite honest I find a bit disheartening. At the ripe old age of nineteen, it seems that at
least once I should have fallen in love, possibly had my heart broken.”

  “A broken heart serves no use. Trust me on that.”

  “Have you had your heart broken?”

  Not in any manner to which he was willing to admit. “I have heard musings on the subject of broken hearts from those who have.”

  She studied him as though she suspected him of attempting to divert the discussion from his own past. After all these years, he still couldn’t admit the truth regarding the naivete he’d shown in his youth. The music ended. Thank God. They’d begun traveling down a path he did not wish to follow, one that would lead to the resurrection of memories best left buried. Holding her gaze, he brought her gloved hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to her fingers. “You will find love, Miss Hammersley. I’ve no doubt of that.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Gentlemen prefer heiresses. You shall have a slew of beaux from whom to choose. Don’t settle on Somerdale until you’ve seen the other offerings.”

  “Do you prefer heiresses?”

  One in particular but she was far too dangerous, too alluring. “Only the ones who are already married.”

  “Why are you so opposed to marriage?” she asked, disappointment registering in her eyes. He kept his face a mask so as not to reveal that he detested disappointing her.

  “The same woman every night for the remainder of my life? Why give up the feast for porridge every day?”

  “You have a cynical view that does you no good. Even porridge needn’t always be served the same way. I find your thinking lacks imagination if you don’t see that.”

  “Trust me, Miss Hammersley, my imagination isn’t at fault here.” But damned if she didn’t make a good point. He suspected every day with her would be filled with surprises.

  A clearing of a throat had him glancing over at Lord Manville.

  “I believe the next dance is mine?” the viscount asked hesitantly as though he wasn’t quite certain Andrew would give up his claim on the lady.

  What could she possibly see in the gap-toothed man? Still Andrew was not going to become jealous of a gent who barely reached his shoulder. He bowed slightly, only then realizing he had yet to release his hold on her hand. “Of course.” He turned his attention back to her. “Thank you, Miss Hammersley. It was an enlightening conversation.”