Romancing Lord Ramsbury Page 4

  “Ladies against gentlemen, of course,” Harriett said.

  “Yes,” Grace agreed. “How else will we prove our superiority at whist?”

  “You will not prove anything,” Lord Ramsbury said, taking his seat beside Grace and across from his brother. “Because you will lose.”

  “I accept your challenge.” Grace smiled. To beat Lord Ramsbury in a game of whist would bring enough satisfaction to hold her over until he proposed and she could reject him. If he proposed.

  He turned his head to look at her. “If we win, you must allow me to call upon you tomorrow morning.”

  Shocked by his request, Grace forgot her charade for a moment, her eyes rounding. “Tomorrow morning?”

  “Indeed.”

  “And if you lose?”

  Half his mouth lifted in a smile. “Then I shall wait most impatiently until the afternoon.”

  Grace wondered if her ears had deceived her. Lord Ramsbury had shared a ballroom with her on many occasions, but he had never paid her any notice since her first ball. Why now?

  She glanced at him from beneath a sheet of fluttering lashes. “It seems we have a bargain.”

  “But we shall not call it that,” he said. “You know it is not proper for a lady to make a bargain.”

  Grace exchanged a glance with Harriett before returning her attention to Lord Ramsbury. “A proper lady does not condone outrageous flirting either, yet you have convinced me to allow both.”

  He placed one elbow on the card table, leaning closer to her. “I am known to be quite persuasive.”

  “Shall we begin the game?” Mr. Beaumont said in a quick voice, casting his brother a look of exasperation. Lord Ramsbury straightened his posture, taking the deck of cards in his hands. Amusement welled up inside Grace. It was as if she and Lord Ramsbury were attempting to outdo the other in flirtation. Little did he know that she was only pretending to enjoy his company. The fact that he wished to see her the next day filled her with hope and dread at once. She had a fair chance at winning her wager with Harriett, but it meant she would have to spend more time controlling her urge to drag her fingernails across Lord Ramsbury’s perfect face.

  “Would you like to deal the cards?” He extended the deck to Grace and she took it, making sure to brush her fingers over his. The touch brought far too much sensation to her own skin, leading her to pull the deck away fast, snatching it from his hand.

  She dealt the cards around the table, ignoring the heat on her cheeks. “For trump...” she flipped the last card of the deck, placing it in the center of the table. “Hearts.”

  “My favorite,” Lord Ramsbury said, fanning out his cards as he studied them. Grace glanced across the table at Harriett, hoping to get a hint of the quality of her hand. Grace studied her own cards, keeping them close to her so Lord Ramsbury couldn’t sneak a glance.

  As the game progressed, the Beaumonts managed to lead by four points. Grace continued her flirting and teasing banter with Lord Ramsbury, who returned it readily. She was impressed with his wit, but nothing more. He was every bit as pompous as she remembered, fully aware of his affecting smiles and gazes, and the way his whispered voice beside her ear sent her heart into a frenzy. How, after all the hatred she had built against the man, did he manage to affect her? Could she still inhabit feelings of attraction toward him? She demanded that it was impossible, closing her heart and mind to the possibility.

  By the fifth round, Grace and Harriett scored five points, winning the game. Grace turned to Lord Ramsbury, unable to help herself from flaunting her victory.

  He sat back in his chair, a pompous smirk on his face. “We intentionally allowed you to win.”

  Grace scoffed. “You did not. Even with your sincere effort, our victory was easily won, was it not, Harriett?”

  Her sister stared at her with wide eyes, as if unwilling to contribute to the verbal sparring with Lord Ramsbury.

  “Well, I have won either way.” Lord Ramsbury reclined in his chair. “For I will have the privilege of seeing you, Miss Grace, again tomorrow.” He winked. “Even if I must now wait until the afternoon. I shall call upon you then.”

  Grace brought a simpering smile back to her face. “I look forward to it most eagerly.”

  After flashing her another grin, Lord Ramsbury and his brother stood, leading the ladies back outside. Grace politely declined the offer to ride their horses back to Weston Manor, claiming that she enjoyed the exercise of walking.

  She had never been more deceitful in her life than she had today.

  When the men rode away, leaving Grace and Harriett by the doors of the assembly rooms, Grace turned to her sister. “Well, that was certainly unexpected.”

  Harriett giggled before her smile quickly turned to a frown. “But you will not win.”

  “And why not? He seemed quite interested in furthering our acquaintance.”

  “Yes, but is that not how he behaved last time? I suspect he will not even call upon you tomorrow as he promised.”

  Grace bit her lip. Could her sister be right?

  “He enjoys flirting, as you know,” Harriett said. “And you proved yourself to be just as much of an outrageous flirt as he. You are providing him with a bit of fun. Soon he will grow tired of you and move along to the next woman that can tolerate his company.”

  “It is possible.” Grace puzzled over Harriett’s words. “But it is also possible that he will not grow tired of me this time.” How could she make certain his feelings for her grew enough to elicit a proposal of marriage? Men like Lord Ramsbury did not settle for one lady. Now that she had his attention, she would need to be perfectly charming, polite, and accepting of his flattery. She would need to be entertaining and humorous and subtly romantic. She had flattered him too much now to lose her chance to reject him. There would be no turning back.

  Part of her burned with guilt, but she pushed it away. He had treated her like a game once, so now she would do the same. An eye for a stunning blue eye, a tooth for a sparkling white tooth.

  Or something of the sort.

  “You were correct about one thing, Harriett,” Grace said as they began their walk. “Flattering him is torturous.”

  Harriett tossed her head back with a laugh. “But your act was so convincing! I’m certain you have him fooled.”

  “Was it truly?” Grace had felt like a complete ninny trying to be so coquettish.

  Harriett nodded, bursting into laughter. “Mama and Papa would be appalled if they had seen it.”

  Grace covered her mouth, suddenly embarrassed as she thought of all the things she had said to Lord Ramsbury. “He enjoyed my words so very much, didn’t he? I might be ill.” She pretended to gag, intensifying her sister’s laughter.

  “You must admit he is handsome.”

  “He is,” Grace volunteered. “There is no question. But he knows it, and he flaunts it, which makes him much less attractive. Good heavens, he is so infuriating! He thinks he can win any woman in the world with a few charming words. It will be beneficial to his pride to be rejected by me.”

  Harriett raised a scolding finger. “He has not made any offer yet.”

  “That is true.” Grace chewed the nail of her index finger as they walked. “But Harriett, even if I do lose, will you please consider Mr. Harrison?”

  “Grace!”

  She smiled, keeping her mouth closed as they finished the long walk home.

  Chapter 4

  “Well done, brother,” Henry said, slapping Edward on the back as they dismounted at Clemsworth. “I will never question your ability again.”

  Edward had spent the ride in deep thought, considering his next plan of action. The moment he had seen Miss Grace he had chosen her. Mostly because she was closer in proximity to him than the other Weston daughter, who was also quite beautiful. But he had always had a preference for brown eyes. And Miss Grace certainly possessed a stunning pair of eyes.

  Something about her had seemed familiar. He was fairly certain they had
met once before, but he couldn’t place the time. She had readily accepted his compliments and offered an array of her own, something he had never experienced from a woman. He found it fascinating, if not slightly frustrating.

  He had once been drawn to Miss Buxton because of her resistance to his flattery. He had enjoyed the challenge, and had ultimately lost. Perhaps a woman like Miss Grace was just what he needed. No challenge at all to win her favor. Since he had been rejected by Miss Buxton, he no longer felt inclined to undertake a challenge.

  “To consider that I could have been father’s heir,” Henry said, shaking his head. He gave a teasing smile. “But I’d rather have you keep what is rightfully yours.”

  Edward gave a small smile—his time with Miss Grace had exhausted his storage of wide ones. “Are you really so certain she will have me?”

  “Her attention toward you strongly suggested that she would.” Henry chuckled. “Every woman desires to be married to a future earl.”

  Edward’s skin prickled. “If I weren’t to receive a title… do you suppose she would still favor me?”

  “That is doubtful. Why do you suppose I am still unattached?”

  Edward laughed, but didn’t feel it. He shouldn’t have hated his title so much. He was going to marry to keep it, after all. But he often wondered what it would be like if he didn’t have one. He wouldn’t feel the persistent need to maintain his public image. He wouldn’t have to wonder if every woman he met cared for him or only for his possessions.

  They walked through the front doors of Clemsworth, stopping in the entry hall. “Where do you plan to take her tomorrow?” Henry asked.

  Edward rubbed his jaw, still unaccustomed to the smoothness of it. “I will take her to see the royal pavilion and continue to convince her that she cannot live without me.”

  Henry bent over in laughter as he walked toward the opposite hall. “I wish you good fortune in that endeavor.”

  “I do not need it.” Edward grinned as his brother left the entry. The vast space filled with silence, and Edward drew a heavy breath. His act would need to be very convincing the next day. He could not grow lazy now. If he succeeded he would give Miss Grace what she was after, and secure the same for himself: his wealth and title.

  With emptiness in his chest, he walked toward his chambers.

  * * *

  As he had hoped, the next day brought warm weather—warm enough for a day out of doors with Miss Grace. When Edward had told his father about his plans to court her, he had been surprised that Edward had found a lady so quickly. Once he had recovered from his shock and masked censure, he had grudgingly helped Edward with the arrangements.

  Edward had requested that the servants prepare a grand meal for him to take in a picnic basket. By one of the clock, he departed from Clemsworth. His father was familiar with the Weston family, claiming that they had been in attendance at more than one of the balls they had hosted at Clemsworth. Edward had met so many people at those balls—so many pretty young ladies in particular—that he hadn’t recognized the Weston daughters. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten Miss Grace and her dark brown eyes, bronze hair, pleasing figure, and unblemished skin. Her smile was notable as well.

  When he arrived at her home, she met him in the drawing room. She wore a pale pink gown that draped over her curves becomingly, with two dark curls framing her face beneath her straw bonnet. Her expression lifted when she saw him, her cheeks coloring slightly as she studied his appearance.

  “Miss Grace, you look quite lovely this afternoon.” He extended his arm which she took with enthusiasm. He guided her toward the front door, staring down at the brim of her bonnet, waiting for his next glimpse at her teasing brown eyes.

  She tipped her head up, granting his wish. “The public would only expect to see beauty on the arm of Lord Ramsbury.” She cast him a smile, only half looking at him. Her hand was stiff around his elbow.

  “And they shall.” He touched the curl that hung around her face, brushing it aside. His movement only caused her hand to become more tense. Was she nervous to be in his company? How endearing. A sly smile pulled on his lips.

  She gave a quiet laugh as they stepped into the morning sun. “We must wait for my aunt.” She glanced back at the house expectantly. He followed her gaze to where a rather large woman descended the steps, a scowl on her reddened face.

  Miss Grace’s defined eyebrows tightening in look of concern. “She does not enjoy chaperoning.”

  He stole another look at her aunt as she trudged over the grass behind them. The image struck him as humorous, but he couldn’t decipher if Miss Grace thought the same.

  “Aunt Christine, please meet Lord Ramsbury.”

  The nettled woman greeted him with a huff, nodding for the sake of propriety. He straightened his posture, returning his gaze to the ground ahead. He barely caught the look of amusement in Miss Grace’s expression before it turned thoughtful. “Where are we going?”

  “To the royal pavilion. I thought you might enjoy a picnic in the public gardens nearby. The pavilion grounds are exquisite to look upon in the spring.”

  “How diverting,” she said. “I never grow tired of looking upon the pavilion. I can only dream of living in such grandeur. The Prince Regent is a very blessed man.”

  Edward’s brow twinged with annoyance. Henry was correct about Miss Grace. She aspired to great wealth, and Edward was her way of achieving it. He told himself not to care, but it frustrated him nonetheless. He cleared his expression before she could wonder if something was amiss.

  Edward offered to assist their chaperone onto the back seat of the barouche, but she refused, climbing up with great effort. He helped Miss Grace into the contraption before stepping in beside her, taking the reins in his hands. He turned toward her, moving the slightest bit closer, to the point where his leg rested against hers. “Tell me more concerning yourself, Miss Grace,” he said, flicking the reins and setting the horses in motion.

  Her eyes lifted to his, her head tipping to the side. “What do you wish to know?”

  “Well, you have already proven yourself to be in possession of a very intelligent mind through your strategy in cards. What other talents do you possess?”

  “You are inviting me to boast?” She gave him another of her flirtatious smiles.

  “A lady’s accomplishments are something to be readily declared to men, are they not? Tell me.”

  She laughed, deep thought evident in her eyes. “I love to rea—” Her mouth closed as if she were reconsidering her words. “Rehearse the pianoforte,” she said finally. “And I am a skilled harpist as well. And I am an artist. I stitch, crochet, and am fluent in French.” Her voice came out quick.

  He raised his eyebrows. “That is an extensive list. I am impressed.”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “I prefer not to waste time on unproductive activities.”

  “Such as?”

  She licked her lips, her gaze darting back and forth in thought. “Reading fictional stories.”

  “I enjoy reading fictional stories,” he said.

  Her eyes flew to his, wide with shock. “Truly?”

  “No.” He chuckled. He gazed down at her, surprised to see a look of disappointment in her expression.

  “I was only jesting. Did you believe me?”

  Her brow furrowed before becoming smooth again. She offered him a pleasant smile. “Yes. Your wit is unmatched, my lord.”

  He nudged her leg with his knee, pressing closer to her until their arms touched. She drew a quick breath, her gaze fixed straight ahead. He smiled. The tactic had never failed to gain a reaction. “I beg to differ. I believe my wit is well-matched by your own.” As they passed a small meadow, he shifted the reins to one hand, taking her hand from her lap, wrapping it up in his.

  Her gaze lifted slowly upward as she drew an audible breath. Her eyes flicked to their hands before coming to rest on his face. An endearing blush crossed over her cheeks. “But not if you continue to do things tha
t steal my wits from me.”

  He entwined his fingers in hers, tipping his face closer. “You have uncovered my nefarious plan.”

  She blinked, an inquisitive intelligence burning in her eyes before becoming replaced with a coyness that did not seem to fit. He slipped his hand away from hers to better control the horses, leading them toward the approaching gardens.

  “We have arrived.” Edward stepped down from the barouche after bringing the horses to a halt. They were stopped in front of the garden park neighboring the royal pavilion. He turned to offer his hand to Miss Grace, presenting her with his most alluring smile. She took his hand, threading her fingers around his arm once her feet touched the ground.

  The royal pavilion loomed nearby. The interior, Edward had heard, held the most grand furnishings in the county, and the exterior was modeled after the architecture of China and India, with large spires and ridged domes built in pale stone. The building donned countless windows, and the surrounding land had been groomed to perfection, with colorful blossoms adorning the trees.

  He led Miss Grace to the public gardens overlooking the pavilion, motioning for her to sit on a wooden bench surrounded by flowered bushes. She fit in quite nicely among the blossoms, their beauty unmatched by her own. Taking a seat beside her, he carefully deposited the picnic basket on the grass. Miss Grace’s aunt glanced lazily at her niece before finding her own place beneath a tree several feet away, withdrawing a ball of yarn and needles from her bag.

  He was pleased Miss Grace did not have an overbearing chaperone. It would make romancing her much easier.

  Edward uncovered the basket, tossing Miss Grace a smile over his shoulder. “I hope you are hungry.”

  Her pretty eyes rounded at the sight of the interior of the basket. Suspecting that she only desired his wealth, he had prepared the feast to showcase the grandeur she would be indulging in for the rest of her life if she married him. He didn’t mean to draw out their courtship longer than necessary, so he needed to employ every tactic at his disposal.