Nicole Jordan - To Seduce a Bride

“I can admire a rebel,” he said, his tone edged with amusement. “You are very different from your sisters, are you not?”

His observation earned a sharp look from Lily. She regarded Claybourne suspiciously, unable to tell if he considered the difference favorable or not.

Not that she minded if his judgment of her was unfavorable. Nor did it bother her that she always fell short in comparisons with her sisters. Both Arabella and Roslyn were remarkable beauties with fair hair, creamy complexions, and tall, elegant figures.

Lily couldn’t match their height or aristocratic bearing-in addition to having dark hair and eyes and a rosy coloring that made her seem a changeling in her blond, blue-eyed family. Moreover, her sisters were the epitome of grace and ladylike gentility, while her own high spirits and stubborn aversion to conforming to the absurdly stuffy precepts of the ruling elite regularly led her into trouble.

But Lily had no intention of apologizing to his lordship for her subversive tendencies. Indeed, to her mind, the less conversation she had with him the better.

He, however, did not appear inclined to take her hint and keep silent. “Did you enjoy the wedding ceremony this morning, Miss Loring?”

That topic was an extreme sore point with her also, although she managed to hide her wince. “Arabella made a beautiful bride,” she said carefully.

“But you don’t approve of your sister marrying my friend.”

Lily’s frown returned as she scanned the ballroom for the bridal couple and found Arabella and Marcus laughing together as they waltzed. “I fear she may be making a mistake, wedding so suddenly. They have known each other for barely two months.”

“And yet they profess to be madly in love.”

“I know,” Lily said morosely. Watching the tender looks Belle and Marcus shared as they glided together in the dance, she had to admit they seemed very much in love. “But I worry that it won’t last.”

Claybourne smiled. “You sound very much like my friend Arden.”

Arden, Lily knew, was Marcus’s other close friend, Drew Moncrief, the Duke of Arden. The three noblemen-Danvers, Arden, and Claybourne-were as thick as thieves. “His grace did not want them to marry, either?”

“No, and for your same reasons.”

“What about you, my lord? What is your opinion of their union?”

Claybourne’s eyes glimmered with amusement. “I am reserving judgment for the time being, but I’m inclined to approve. They look remarkably happy now, don’t you agree?”

“Yes. And I truly hope it continues. I don’t want Arabella to be hurt.”

That seemed to catch his attention. “And you think Marcus will hurt your sister?”

“That is what noblemen tend to do,” Lily muttered under her breath, although his lordship evidently heard.

His gaze turned curious. “Not all noblemen are villains, Miss Loring.”

“No…in all fairness, they are not.”

At his mention of villains, she studied the marquess measuringly. He was a powerfully-built man, broad-chested and muscular. The top of her head barely came to his shoulder.

Ordinarily she was wary of powerful men. She tended to measure them by how they treated women, a habit ingrained in her when she was a mere girl. Yet surprisingly Lord Claybourne did not make her apprehensive. At least not for the usual reasons, because he was bigger and stronger than she.

He looked very strong, yet he didn’t seem to be the kind of man who would use his strength against someone weaker.

Perhaps it was his easy smile. Or perhaps it was because of the tales she’d heard of him. The Marquess of Claybourne was legendary for the way women adored him.

He was said to adore women in turn, just not enough to marry any one of his numerous conquests. Which made it surprising that he didn’t object to his friend Marcus’s unexpected marriage.

“I trust you don’t mean to condemn me out of hand,” Claybourne observed, interrupting her intent perusal. “At least not until we are better acquainted.”

Lily clamped down on her wayward thoughts. “There is no need for us to become better acquainted, my lord,” she said lightly. “We don’t move in the same circles, and as soon as the wedding celebrations are over, I plan to resume being a hoyden and never set foot in another ballroom except under pain of death.”

His laugh was husky and charming-and quite disarming. “Marcus warned me you were unique.”

Lily had a mutinous desire to resist that effortless charm. Tearing her gaze away from his amused one, she focused on a distant point over his shoulder.

She didn’t want to admit her attraction to Lord Claybourne. He made her feel delicate and fragile and feminine-and she did not care for the sensations at all. Indeed, the sense of power, of vitality, about him, was overwhelming.

But oddly, his allure was due to more than his handsome features and masculine form. There was an aura about him that hinted at excitement. He looked like a bold adventurer. A traveler, an explorer. As if he should be captaining a ship, sailing the seven seas, or leading an intrepid expedition, probing the secrets of unknown lands.

Lily didn’t know if he owned a ship, but she knew he was a sportsman. The stories of Claybourne’s sporting exploits were repeated in all the drawing rooms. And Winifred had been singing his praises the entire day, attempting to rouse Lily’s interest in targeting him for her husband.

She had absolutely no desire to marry the marquess, however, or any other man for that matter. Even though she was forced to admit that Claybourne was the most compelling man she had ever met-which was an ideal reason to keep away from him.

As soon as the waltz was over, Lily had extricated herself from his unnerving company.

She intended to leave the ball early in any case, to spend the night with her good friend Tess Blanchard, a genteel young lady who was also a teacher at the Freemantle Academy.

After saying farewell to Arabella and then drinking two more glasses of champagne in quick succession-Lily had needed the libation for fortitude and to hold back her tears of sadness-she made her way to one of the rear stable wings, formerly used for broodmares, to feed Boots and check on her kittens. It was blessedly quiet here, set away from the rest of the yard.

Her head was still swimming from the overindulgence of champagne, along with her potent memories of Lord Claybourne. The feel of him as they’d waltzed-sinewy and powerful, all lithe grace-had uncustomarily flustered her.

“But I trust I will never see him again after t’night,” Lily muttered as she returned the black kitten to the box. “Or at least that I will never again be the victim of Winifred’s humiliating mash… match making schemes.”

It was then that Lily heard a faint noise from below, like a throat being cleared.

Wondering who had entered the stable, she shifted her position to look over the loft’s edge. Her heart skipped a violent beat when she spied the broad-shouldered Marquess of Claybourne leaning against a post, his arms folded, his head cocked to one side.

When her head suddenly started spinning dizzily, Lily drew back in haste. Oh, dear heaven. Had he overheard her lament that he was too charming? What other incriminating observations had she made about him?

Holding a hand to her throbbing temple, Lily slowly peered over the side again. “M-my lord, what are you doing here?”

“I saw you leave the ball and wondered why you would visit the stables.”

“You followed me?” Lily asked blankly.

Claybourne gave a bland nod. “Guilty as charged.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So you were shamelessly eavesdropping?”

“I was curious. Do you always talk to yourself, Miss Loring?”