Jacquie D'Alessandro (12 page)

“Yes. The invitations will be sent out tomorrow. And we can hope that by the evening after next, you will have found someone who appeals to you. Miss Chilton-Grizedale and I have made up a list of candidates that is certain to please you.”

A knot settled in his stomach. “Excellent. Now we can only hope that I am able to break the curse. For if not, it doesn’t matter how perfect a woman you find for me, I will not be able to marry her.”

Silence fell over the group like a shroud of fog. Finally Miss Chilton-Grizedale said, in her practical, brisk way, “I believe our best course is to remain hopeful. Nothing breeds bad luck more than a pessimistic outlook.” Her gaze wandered to the mantel clock. “Good heavens, I had no idea it was so late. I really must be going.”

“I must go as well,” Catherine said.

They all walked to the foyer, where Bakari called for both Philip’s and Catherine’s carriages.

After tying her bonnet beneath her chin, Catherine hugged Philip. “Thank you for a delightful evening. I’ve missed sharing meals with you.”

“Thank you for your help. If there is anything I can do—”

“You can continue searching for the missing piece of stone so that the wedding can take place.” Turning toward Andrew, she inclined her head. “A pleasure, Mr. Stanton.”

Andrew bowed over her gloved hand. “The pleasure was mine, Lady Bickley.”

Philip walked Catherine down the walkway to the waiting carriage. After seeing her safely inside, he returned to the foyer, where Miss Chilton-Grizedale and Andrew were sharing a laugh over something. An uncomfortable wave of jealousy washed through him. He forced a smile, then reached for his walking stick.

Andrew noted his walking stick and asked, “Going somewhere, Philip?”

“I am seeing Miss Chilton-Grizedale home.”

Her cheeks flooded with color. “That is not at all necessary, my lord. I would not wish to indispose you.”

“I insist. Whereas my sister lives just down the road and has two footmen in addition to her coachman to protect her, you live quite a distance from here, and there are all manner of criminals who lurk about at night.” He raised his brows. “You’ve harped on my lack of decorum, yet when I make a gentlemanly gesture, you argue.”

She appeared to bristle. “Harp? I prefer to call it reminding.”

“I’m certain you do.”

“There’s no point in arguing with him, Miss Chilton-Grizedale,” Andrew broke in. “Philip can be quite stubborn. Indeed, I suggest that you add ‘capable of putting up with pigheadedness’ on your list of qualities in his future wife.”

She laughed.
Humph.
He didn’t think Andrew’s comment was particularly humorous. Then an enchanting smile lit Miss Chilton-Grizedale’s face—a smile di
rected at Andrew—a fact which further tensed Philip’s muscles.

“I’ll add it as soon as I return home.” She held out her hand to Andrew. “Good evening, Mr. Stanton.”

Andrew raised her hand and bestowed a kiss upon Miss Chilton-Grizedale’s gloved fingers—a kiss that, even to Philip’s dim memory of all things decorous, lasted considerably longer than was strictly proper. “A delight, Miss Chilton-Grizedale. I’ve not been fortunate enough to spend the evening in such lovely company for a long time. I hope we meet again soon.” Turning toward Philip, he said, “I’ll see you in the morning.” With that he climbed the stairs, heading toward his bedchamber.

Philip escorted Miss Chilton-Grizedale to his waiting carriage, then settled himself on the velvet squabs directly across from her.

The instant the door clicked shut, Meredith questioned the wisdom of allowing Lord Greybourne to escort her home. Only hours earlier, this coach had seemed spacious. Now it felt as if the interior did not contain enough air to breathe. She had only to reach out her hand to touch him. Looking down, she noted that the bronze skirt of her gown brushed his breeches. It was difficult to see his features in the dim interior, but she felt the weight of his regard. The intimacy of this dark, close space sped up her heart in a way she found most disturbing. She closed her eyes, hoping to erase the image of him sitting just across from her, but there was no escaping the knowledge he was there. His masculine scent invaded her senses, that lovely aroma of freshly laundered clothing and sandalwood, mixed with a musky fragrance she couldn’t identify. He smelled like no other man, and she knew that even blind she could pick him out of a crowd of thousands.

“I thank you for your assistance this evening,” he said, his deep voice rising out of the dark shadows.

Opening her eyes, she forced a smile, hoping that the dim interior would keep him from noting just how forced it was. “You’re welcome; however, your sister deserves much of the credit. With my reputation in disfavor, the successful outcome of this dinner party would be dubious indeed. However, I am hopeful that we shall find you another bride as well suited to you as Lady Sarah was.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, Miss Chilton-Grizedale, but it is obvious that Lady Sarah and I were not well suited at all—at least
she
did not find
me
at all suitable. Or attractive in any way.”

“Lady Sarah was clearly daft.” Dear God, she had not meant to speak that thought out loud. Forcing her hands to remain folded on her lap as opposed to clamping them over her runaway lips, she stammered, “S-socially, you were suited in every way.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose we were. But when one’s heart is otherwise engaged, as Lady Sarah’s clearly was with Lord Weycroft, that muddies the waters.”

Relieved that he did not pursue her comment, Meredith raised her chin. “Actually, it does not muddy the waters at all, my lord. Lady Sarah’s affection for the baron would have faded with time once you and she were wed. It is simply a matter of mind over heart. The heart is willful and capricious. It does not know what is best, and, if listened to, will more often than not lead one toward an unwise path. The mind, however, is methodical and precise. Practical and sensible. When the heart and mind are at odds, one should always listen to the mind.”

“Such a pragmatic, unromantic statement from a woman whose occupation it is to arrange marriages.”

“The successful arrangement of marriages has nothing to do with romance, my lord, as I’d think a man in your position would know. My understanding of that concept is what has enabled me to be successful in my matchmaking endeavors. The advantageous combining of estates, po
litical aspirations, families, and titles is what is important. Couples can develop a fondness for each other over time.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then they should strive for civility, with each pursuing their own interests.”

“My interests lie in studying antiquities. In learning about people and civilizations from other corners of the world. I plan to be very involved with displays at the British Museum, and it is my intention to found a museum of my own. For me to pursue those interests alone sounds very…isolated. Lonely. As was much of my work abroad. I would much prefer a partner with whom I could share all things.”

His deep voice wrapped around her like a cloak, seducing her with its warmth. She moistened her dry lips, and noted that his gaze flickered briefly down to her mouth. “Are you saying that you wish for me to make a love match for you? Because you must remember that due to your father’s illness, our time is limited.”

“According to Andrew, it does not take long to fall in love.”

She raised her brows. “He is an expert in such matters?”

“I don’t know that I would call him that, but he
is
in love with someone.”

They passed under a gas lamp, and Meredith saw he regarded her with a speculative expression. “You look disappointed at that news, Miss Chilton-Grizedale.”

“I am, Lord Greybourne.”

“May I inquire why?”

She raised her chin a notch. “I’d hoped to offer Mr. Stanton my services to find him a bride.”

For the space of half a dozen heartbeats, the only sound was the squeak of the carriage making its way slowly down the street. Then, to her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. Whatever she’d expected his reaction to be, it certainly hadn’t been amusement.

Annoyance flooded her, an emotion that actually pleased her.
Good. Certainly I cannot find an annoying man attractive.

“I fail to see what is so amusing, my lord. Although it may not seem so to you, I assure you that prior to the debacle caused by
your
curse, my services as a matchmaker were highly sought after. Last year alone I arranged seven successful unions. The most notable of those, Miss Lydia Weymouth and Sir Percy Carmenster, was what convinced your father to seek out my services on your behalf.”

His laughter tapered off, and shaking his head, he said, “Forgive me. I was not laughing at you, dear lady. Indeed, I was laughing at myself. Laughing because your words made me happy.”

Meredith frowned. Happy? What had she said that could have possibly made him
happy
? She cast her mind back, but before she could reach an answer, he said, “With Andrew’s affections already spoken for, I’d say that means that you’ll simply have to devote all your attention to me.”

Unfortunately, Meredith did not think that devoting all her attention to Lord Greybourne would prove difficult.

And that scared her to death.

When Philip arrived back home, he was greeted by an empty foyer. “Hello?” he said, removing his hat.

A harrumph sounded behind him, startling him. Turning swiftly, he found himself facing Bakari. Damn, the man moved like a cat—silent and stealthy. It was a talent that had stood them in good stead during numerous adventures over the years—such as the time Bakari had furtively rescued Philip from that band of artifact thieves—but one that was quite disconcerting in the foyer.

Philip noted the man seemed a bit out of breath. “Is all well?”

Bakari grunted. “Dog.”

“Ah. I see.” Philip hid a smile. Apparently, under Bakari’s tutelage, the puppy, whom he’d yet to name, was recovering. Excellent.

The sound of footfalls upon the stairs drew Philip’s attention. Andrew, who still wore the same garments he’d worn to dinner, and whose face bore a slight sheen of perspiration as if he’d been exerting himself, joined them in the foyer.

Philip raised his brows. “I thought you’d retired—or are breeches, boots, and cutaway jackets a sleeping-wear fashion trend I’ve missed?”

“Not at all,” Andrew said. “I decided to wait until you arrived home, to see how your carriage ride with Miss Chilton-Grizedale went.” Tilting his head left, then right, he made a great show of studying Philip’s face. Then he shook his head. “Just as I suspected.”

“What?”

“Your time alone with her did not go as you wanted.”

“Meaning?”

“You did not kiss her.”

Bakari harrumphed.

Annoyance slithered down Philip’s spine. “First of all, how could you possibly know that, and secondly, why would you think I would do such a thing? Allow me to remind you that we are now in
England
—staid, proper, and all that. One simply does not go about kissing ladies. There are rules. Propriety.”

Andrew’s face was the picture of skepticism. “Since when are you such a stickler for rules and propriety? Need I remind you what happened the last time you strictly adhered to the rules?”

Bakari drew in a sharp breath and, waving his hands about, muttered some incantation. Then he shook his head. “Bad. Very bad.”

Philip raked his hands through his hair. “No, you need not remind me, and yes, it was bad.”

“
Very
bad,” Bakari insisted.

“I damn near drowned because you insisted we cross the river as the ancients had—in a damn tippy canoe,” Andrew said with a dark scowl, clearly ignoring the ‘you need not remind me’ part.

“Bloody hell, you should have told me you could not swim!
Before
we left the shore. Did I not pull you safely to land—in spite of your flailing arms and legs, which if I may remind
you
, inflicted numerous bruising blows to my body, several of them to very tender areas?”

“Got in a few good ones,” Andrew agreed. “But it was no less than you deserved. The entire incident shaved a decade from my life.”

“And would have been avoided if you’d told me the truth.”

“Saying he can’t swim is not the sort of thing a man goes around bragging about,” Andrew insisted. “And it wouldn’t have come up if you hadn’t insisted on following the ‘cross the river in the canoe’ rules.” His eyes narrowed. “And don’t be thinking you’ve changed the subject. I know you didn’t kiss her because, as I said earlier, I can read you very well, my friend, and that frustration I see simmering below the surface is not that which you would bear had you kissed her. And second, I thought you would do such a thing because it is so clearly obvious you want to.”

Bakari harrumphed
and
cleared his throat.

Philip clenched his jaw. Damn, but it was irritating when Andrew was right. Bloody hell, he’d wanted to kiss her. Desperately. Why hadn’t he? It was just a simple kiss, after all. But the instant that thought entered his mind, he realized the answer—he hadn’t kissed her because some instinct told him that there wouldn’t have been anything even remotely resembling simple in kissing her. “And I suppose you would have kissed her.”

If Andrew heard the tightness in his tone, he ignored it. “Yes. If I were that attracted to a woman and was presented with the opportunity, I would kiss her.”

“And the fact that I am to—I hope—soon be married to someone else?”

Andrew shrugged. “You’re not married yet, old man. And that’s not why you didn’t kiss her, and we both know it.”

Philip narrowed his eyes. “I’m certain there’s a ship departing for America within the hour,” he said—a comment about which Andrew looked completely unconcerned.

“Should kiss girl you want,” Bakari said softly. “Girl might want you, too.” Then, after a low bow, Bakari left the foyer heading toward his chambers, his soft leather slippers silent on the marble floor.

Girl might want you, too.
Bloody hell. Bakari normally only spoke on average a dozen words a month. Which meant he’d already surpassed his usual quota with that speech. Excellent. Philip was not anxious to hear anything else.