Forgotten Fiancée (London Ladies Book 3) Read online

  She jerked back, startled not by his words, but by her reaction to them. All of her life she’d always found the men in the books she read infinitely more attractive and interesting than the ones she met in person. Except for Doyle Flynn. He was different, and despite the warning bells ringing in her ears she found herself intrigued.

  “Do you often propose to women you have only just met?” she asked, lifting a brow.

  “No,” he said, and before she could decide if he was lying through his teeth he added, “I decided long ago I would only ever ask one woman to marry me, and that one woman would become my wife.”

  Most men would have sounded ridiculous making such a claim, but the easy confidence in his tone made every word Doyle spoke ring true. He honestly believed what he was saying, Harper realized with a start, no matter how ludicrous it sounded. She wondered if he was a bit off in the head, and felt a stirring of pity. “I am sure you will meet her one day,” she said kindly.

  Doyle cocked his head to the side. “Meet who?”

  “The woman you are meant to marry.”

  “Betsy,” he began, and when he saw Harper’s expression he grinned and said, “You haven’t given me your name which, to be quite honest, is a bit rude on your part, but who am I to judge? I must call you something, however, and you have the look of a Betsy about you. Plain. A bit simple. Sweet, without being too intelligent.”

  “Sweet without being too intelligent?” Harper repeated in outrage. Her hands curled into fists and she actually took a step in Doyle’s direction before she drew a deep breath and calmed herself. The man was obviously trying to get a reaction out of her which she refused (mostly on principle and a little bit because it would cause a scene) to give him. “My name,” she said through gritted teeth, “is not Betsy.”

  “It isn’t?” Doyle said, all wide-eyed innocence. “How shocking. What is it then?”

  “None of your bloody business!”

  The curse, spoken a tad too loudly, earned Harper a disapproving glare from an older woman standing a few yards away and a grin from Doyle. “Careful,” he warned, wagging a finger at her, “you do not want to upset that one. Rumor has it she is going to be a new patroness at Almack’s.”

  Almack’s Assembly Rooms, governed by seven Lady Patronesses from the most influential families in all of England, hosted an exclusive ball every Wednesday night. Only the best of the best received invitations, and once you were off the list… well… no amount of begging or bribery would get you back on. Harper personally did not give a fig whether she was disinvited or not, but she knew it would disappoint her brother if he discovered his sister’s debut season had come to a crashing halt before it ever truly began.

  “How do you know that?” she demanded as she cast a surreptitious glance at the woman in question. She’d moved across the terrace and was now standing with a small group of similarly aged women, all of whom were dressed to perfection with nary a hair out of place. They could all be lady patronesses.... or they could just be exceptionally well dressed ladies. Who was she to decide? More than that, who was Doyle to decide? Although, all things considered, he would most likely know better than she given that this was her first ball and aside from her fellow wallflowers she’d not yet met anyone else.

  Except for Doyle.

  “I will tell you… if you take a walk with me. Just a short one,” he said when her eyes narrowed. “One turn around the gardens. A small price to pay for a bit of knowledge. A bargain, really.”

  “I would rather take a walk with a pig.”

  “Sweet and charming.” Doyle pressed a mocking hand to his chest. “Be still my heart.”

  “What do you want?” she asked in exasperation.

  “I believe we have been over this already. I want you to marry me.”

  “That is absurd,” she scoffed. “I am not going to marry you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I do not even know you!” And this, she added silently, is officially the oddest conversation I have ever had in my entire life. Stretching up on her toes, she attempted to look over Doyle’s shoulder in search of Miles but saw nothing save a growing swarm of unfamiliar faces crowding the terrace as more and more people, their red faces covered in sheens of perspiration, stepped outside. “I need to go,” she said, but when she attempted to step around Doyle he blocked her path, his tall, muscular body proving to be a formidable obstacle.

  “Go where?”

  “That is-”

  “None of my business. You keep saying that.”

  “Because it is true! Oh,” she exclaimed in frustration when she attempted to dart to the other side and he blocked her yet again. “You are the most infuriating man I have ever had the displeasure of meeting!”

  “Thank you,” he said, dimple flashing as he grinned.

  Stepping back until she bumped into the wrought iron fence, Harper sucked on the inside of her cheek as she quickly reconsidered how to get out of her current predicament. For whatever the reason, Doyle seemed insistent on bothering her. Perhaps if she gave him what he wanted he would finally grow bored and leave her free to continue her search for Miles. It wasn’t a good plan, but at the moment it seemed to be the only one she had.

  “Very well,” she conceded reluctantly. “I will go on a walk with you. But” - she held up a finger - “this does not mean I have any interest in marrying you and we will walk inside, not out in the gardens. I am a bit cold and do not want to catch a chill.”

  The lie tumbled easily off her tongue without a flicker of guilt. In truth, Harper had never felt hotter which was why, if she had to remain in Doyle’s company, she thought it wiser to do so under the watchful eyes of the remaining guests. The man may have been an ass, but he was a handsome ass and though she would never admit it - especially to him - Harper wasn’t as immune to his charms as she would have liked to be.

  His smile turning a bit wicked, Doyle extended one arm in a gallant flourish. “Inside we go, then.”

  Together they walked back into the ballroom, jostling past the steady stream of people fighting their way out. Inside the music still played, but the number of couples swirling about had diminished by more than half.

  “Dance with me,” Doyle said quietly.

  Harper turned her head, a rebuttal already forming on her lips, but when she met Doyle’s gaze the strangest thing happened. The music dimmed. The people surrounding them faded. Time itself seemed to slow until there was only him and there was only her standing alone in a vast ballroom with their eyes locked together. “Yes,” she heard herself say faintly. “I will dance with you.”

  He held her closer than he should have; one hand splaying across the small of her back while the other lingered at the nape of her long neck, fingers toying with the dark tendrils that had slipped loose from their coiffure. Their gazes continued to hold, and as Harper felt herself being drawn deeper and deeper into the depths of his brandy colored eyes she couldn’t help but wonder how they were moving so gracefully in time with the music when the only thing she could hear was the uneven stutter of her breaths and the pounding of her own heartbeat.

  “Beautiful,” Doyle murmured huskily, dipping his head so she felt the word like a silky caress across her flesh. “If I were not holding you in my arms I would think you a fairy queen, stunning as the sun and substantial as air.”

  The hand on her back began to trail scandalously low, following the delicate bumps of her spine. She tensed, looking up at him in bewildered confusion as she felt a foreign heat beginning to unfurl inside of her, the source of it centered between her thighs.

  “What… what are you doing?” she gasped.

  “Touching you.” His mouth skimmed along the curve of her ear and she shivered when she felt the damp slide of his tongue against her lobe. “Tasting you.”

  The temptation to melt into him, to let him do to her whatever his heart desired, was all but overwhelming. Inexperienced in passion, Harper could not identify the swirl of wicked sensations
that made her want to press herself against Doyle. She knew only that she wanted more, and was teetering dangerously on the brink of begging. More, she wanted to cry. Give me more.

  As though he could read her wanton thoughts, Doyle’s mouth curved into an arrogant smile. “Did you like that?” At her hesitant, bashful nod he whispered, “Tell me your name and I will do it again.”

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  Had he dumped a bucket of ice water on her head Doyle could not have freed Harper from the lust filled haze she’d succumbed to any faster than those ten words did. A shock of awareness jolted through her, and with a hiss of disgust she jerked out of his arms. “My brother warned me about men like you,” she spat.

  Seemingly unperturbed, Doyle folded his arms across his chest and sank back onto his heels. “Did he now?” he drawled, one corner of his mouth settling into a smirk. “I cannot say he was wrong to do so. Too bad you didn’t listen.”

  “You are a cad,” Harper fumed. “A black hearted, soulless cad!” And she was a fool to have let her head be turned by a handsome face and charming smile.

  Eyes gleaming with wicked suggestion, Doyle leaned towards her. “You didn’t seem to think so a moment ago.”

  “Oh! You… You…”

  “Black hearted soulless cad? You said that already.”

  Harper’s entire body vibrated with anger. “Get away from me.”

  Doyle opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips as he looked over Harper’s shoulder and his entire countenance darkened. “We will have to continue this another time, princess.” And without another word he brushed past her and strode purposefully away without so much as a backwards glance.

  Well, Harper thought silently, how do you like that?

  Left with a vague feeling of emptiness, she did a slow turnabout, expelling a long sigh of frustration as she realized she was no better off now than she’d been an hour ago. Miles was still nowhere to be found, which meant she was still stranded without any conceivable means of getting back home.

  “Harper! Harper, do you know who that was?”

  Spinning around at the sound of her name, Harper found herself face to face with Lady Edna Vaine, a pretty, albeit plump wallflower her own age she’d thought left hours ago. “No, and I do not care to. Edna, what are you still doing here?”

  The brunette waved her hand dismissively. “I spilled a bit of sauce down the front of my gown and had to go home and chance into another. I’ve only just returned, and thank goodness! I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this for the world. Honestly, you don’t know who that was?” Her brown eyes flitted in the direction Doyle had gone before she refocused on Harper. “You’re jesting.”

  “I know his name is Doyle Flynn. Beyond that, I really don’t care. Edna, do you think you might be able to take me home? I seem to have lost my brother and-”

  “Yes, yes,” Edna said impatiently. “Certainly. I cannot believe you do not know who you were dancing with!”

  “Whoever he was all I know is I never want to see him again.” Bringing the back of her hand up to her mouth, Harper muffled a yawn. “These things are so exhausting. I have no idea why you would ever willingly come back to one, although I have to say I am glad you did. Do you think we would be able to leave soon?”

  The tightly wound curls on either side of Edna’s ears bounced up and down as she nodded her head. “I will go find Mother. I am glad we will be sharing a carriage! That way you can tell me everything about him.”

  “Everything about who?” Harper said absently, her thoughts once again on Miles and his mysterious disappearance. She hoped he’d had nothing to do with the commotion earlier in the evening. She didn’t know precisely what had happened, only that someone had been shot and subsequently arrested while attempting to rob one of the guests. Only one thing was certain: wherever Miles was, it wasn’t here. The ballroom was but empty, and the swell of voices on the outside terrace had dulled to a low murmur as guests began to depart by the dozens.

  “Why, Doyle Flynn of course!” Eyes bright with excitement, Edna took Harper’s hand and squeezed tight. “The Duke of Greenwood and the most eligible bachelor in all of England!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Thomas Readington came to call the day after the Farcott Ball at precisely half past two in the afternoon. Dianna received him in the front sitting parlor and they began a stilted conversation over tea and scones that danced ever so delicately around the events of last night.

  “Is your family well?” she asked after self-consciously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Having slept in well past her normal hour of rising, lulled to sleep by the soothing patter of rain against the windows, Dianna had only just gotten dressed after her mother burst into her bedroom waving Readington’s calling card in the air as though it were a banner. Her first instinct had been to burrow beneath the covers and accept Readington’s card tomorrow, but her mother had been too insistent and she too groggy to put up much of an argument.

  Two maids, both with soot smeared across their faces after having lit every fire in the townhouse to ward off the chill brought on by the rain, pulled Dianna out of bed, stripped off her underclothes, and dressed her in a gown of pale yellow embroidered with white lace while she stood shivering with her arms held obediently above her head. One brushed her hair while the other, under the watchful eye of Dianna’s mother, selected a pair of earrings.

  “No, not those,” Martha had said, rolling her eyes. “Those! Yes. The pearls.”

  She went on to ask her daughter a flurry of questions about Readington, none of which Dianna could answer. Looking rather perturbed, Martha had pinned a hand to her hip and said, “Well, his calling card is written on heavy stock, which is a good sign. Pity he is only landed gentry rather than nobility, but I suppose beggars cannot be choosers, can they?”

  “I suppose not,” Dianna had said dryly while inwardly she wondered if her mother even realized she’d delivered an insult.

  By the time she had made her way downstairs Readington had already arrived and been ushered into the front sitting parlor. He had introduced himself to Dianna’s mother and the two exchanged pleasantries before Martha excused herself and slipped from the room, leaving a rather awkward silence in her wake which Readington and Dianna did their best to fill.

  “My family is quite well,” he replied. “Your mother seems quite delightful.”

  “She’s certainly something,” Dianna muttered under breath.

  “I am sorry,” he said politely, “but I fear I did not quite catch that.”

  “I said she absolutely is.”

  Another silence followed while they both added more sugar to their tea, even though neither one of them had yet to take a single sip.

  Readington looked properly handsome, Dianna noted as she did a quick study beneath her lashes. His brown hair was a bit pressed down from the hat he’d worn to protect himself from the rain, but his chin was freshly shaven and he smelled pleasantly of bergamot, the same scent her father wore. If his jaw was a bit weak and his eyes a bit small, well, no one was perfect, were they? Any physical attributes Readington lacked he more than made up for with his gentlemanly manners and kind nature. And if their conversation was uncomfortably formal, at least he’d had the good grace to come and see how she was faring.

  Unlike someone else she knew.

  What had happened in the carriage still felt like a dream. Were it not for the tiny red mark on her throat - thankfully which both maids and her mother had missed - Dianna would have thought it to be exactly that. Nothing more than a dream, one not unlike several others she’d had since Miles returned. Dreams filled with dark, dangerous pleasures best left unspoken in the light of day. Dreams that had no place in her mind while she was sitting across from another man.

  Drumming her fingers on her lap, Dianna lifted her head and smiled at Readington. He returned the smile and they both looked away, feigning interest in the paintings hung on the w
all depicting various flowers.

  “It appears as though it will rain all day,” she said, keeping her gaze trained on a bouquet of pink roses hanging above Readington’s right shoulder.

  “Indeed it does.” He cleared his throat. “Do you, ah, like the rain?”

  Recalling her night spent huddled beneath a willow tree, Dianna frowned. “Not particularly.”

  “Neither do I. Although I suppose it is a necessary evil for without the rain we would not have grass or leaves or trees. Or,” he added, nodding to a painting of blue bells that hung over the fireplace, “beautiful flowers.”

  “Yes.” Another smile bent her lips, this one just as feigned as the last. “I suppose.”

  Looking rather sheepish, Readington set his cup of tea aside and said, “Dianna I do hope you will accept my sincerest apologies. I never should have left you. It was an act of cowardice on my part and-”

  “No, Thomas.” Touched by his apology, Dianna set her cup of tea aside as well and leaned forward. A proper amount of distance (and a mahogany sofa table) separated them but she reached forward nevertheless, gloved fingertips stretching until they touched his knee. “You did the right thing going for help,” she said earnestly. “I am very grateful that you were there.”

  Cheeks flushing a dull red, Readington shifted his weight further back into the chaise lounge he was sitting on and tugged at the lapels of his puce colored waistcoat. “Yes, well, I… I was happy to offer my assistance although I must admit I am rather confused.”

  “Confused?” she said carefully. “How so?”

  “I do not mean to pry or be too forward in my questioning, but I must know. What happened to you?” Readington asked, his brow creasing in bewilderment. “After I heard the gunshot I feared the absolute worst, but when I returned with help you were… well, you were gone.”

  “After the robber was shot, I fear I became distraught. A friend who had been walking in the gardens came over to see what had happened and was kind enough to accompany me home in her carriage.” It was the same story Dianna had told her mother when Martha came rushing into the house late last night, shrilly demanding to know where Dianna had gone and whom she had gone with. “I am sorry for not waiting, but as I said I was quite distraught and did not want to be seen in such a state.”