Authors: Rules of Engagement
“Why, for the dance. The music has ended.” Magnus released her and gestured to the silent orchestra. All at once, he found himself strangely regretting the loss of feeling her hand in his.
Eliza gave an embarrassed laugh. “So it has.”
Her eyes sparkled with vitality and Magnus realized how different she was from any woman he’d ever met. Though she’d been in his company only a handful of minutes, she already affected him like no other.
Perhaps finding a suitable wife, of
his own
choosing, wasn’t going to be so difficult after all. He looked down at her and smiled. Aye, not so difficult at all.
“Would ye care to take a respectable turn about the ballroom? I am certain yer aunts would agree to it.”
“No doubt,” Eliza replied, shifting her gaze to the two old women, who stood chatting with two young bucks. Then, if he wasn’t mistaken, he heard her sigh.
“I would be most pleased to join you,” she said, fashioning a smile for him. “After all, the moment I return they will simply start their matchmaking games again.”
Magnus nodded to her aunts, who waved their fans enthusiastically as he and Eliza circled past, making him feel like a child on a merry-go-round. “Matchmaking, you say?”
“Sadly, yes. They are bent on seeing me engaged before the season’s end.”
“Forgive me, Miss Merriweather, but I seem to recall yer sister mentioning that ye have no intention of marrying.”
“You are correct, my lord. Unfortunately, my aunts see my painting as a frivolous amusement that occupies my time until they can secure a husband for me. I, however, hold my art above all else, and have no intention of giving up my painting aspirations to marry. Hence the need for these.” She reached into the hidden placket in her gown and withdrew several cards, edged in red. She handed one to Magnus.
Thank you for not calling on Miss Merriweather.
Magnus looked up from the card and met her proud smile. “I dinna understand.”
“Really? ‘Tis quite simple.” She snatched the card from his hand and shoved it back into her pocket. “I need these to help repel potential suitors.”
“Your aunts do not know of yer … cards, I assume.”
“Of course not. I have been quite careful with my distribution. I am not so naïve as to believe they will never learn of the cards, though by the time they do, I shall likely have passed out enough to reduce potentials by half or more.”
Magnus stared at her, considering the odd young miss. “Why are ye so armed against marriage, lass? ‘Tis hardly the usual stance for a woman of yer position.”
“Well, sir, mine is hardly the
usual
position.” Sparks of light seemed to flicker in Eliza’s eyes. “You see, if I can remain unattached through just one mandatory season, I can claim my inheritance and use it to finance my studies abroad.”
“Is that so?” Magnus lifted an amused brow.
“ ‘Tis.” Eliza shined a bright smile at him. “I needn’t marry to claim the money, as I’d first feared. I found a loophole in my father’s will. It’s all quite legal, I assure you,” she proudly added.
Magnus curled his lips upward as he slowly guided her around the perimeter of the room. “Ye’re most…
unconventional,
Miss Merriweather.”
Eliza smiled back at him. “Why, thank you, Lord Somerton.”
As they neared the crowd mingling before the orchestra, the closeness of the room amplified.
“Such a crush tonight.” Eliza snapped open her fan and swooshed before her face. “I do wish our hostess would have limited her guest list so those attending might be able to draw more than a single breath.”
Magnus laughed in agreement then gestured to the glasspaned doors leading to the garden terrace. “Shall we step outside, perhaps?”
Eliza glanced uncertainly across the ballroom at her aunts.
Magnus stopped. “Oh, fergive me. Ye require a chaperone.”
“A chaperone? Heavens no.” Eliza swept him with a vertical glance. “Though you are the burly sort, aren’t you? Nonetheless, I think I can trust you.”
“Can ye now?” He tipped her a sardonic grin as they stepped into the refreshing night air.
Eliza narrowed her eyes teasingly at him. “You are not planning to ambush me with an offer are you, Lord Somerton?”
“Why, no. Not
tonight
anyway.”
She smiled at that. “Good. Because an offer from an earl would complicate matters—my aunts, you see.”
Eliza flashed a quick smile then walked to a flickering Chinese paper lantern, dangling from the far end of the balustrade. She touched it with her fingertips and slowly spun it around. “No, I do not need
any
offers this season.”
Magnus pondered her statement. “What will ye do if a genuine offer is made?”
Eliza’s hand halted abruptly over the bobbing lantern. She spun on her heel and approached Magnus cautiously. Stopping only a breath away, she looked him in the eye with all seriousness. “That simply will not happen.”
“Why not? I noticed several of London’s finest watching you as we danced,” he countered.
“No one will make an offer. Once they learn of the pitiful state of my portion they will be off to hunt doves in grander fields.”
Pitiful state of her portion?
Magnus felt the bite of disappointment keenly. She had no money. Despite sterling appearances, she was not the chance solution to his financial problem. He should have known. It had all been too perfect.
She
had been too perfect. Too easy to become attached to.
“Ye believe that, do ye?” he asked.
“Oh, most certainly. You see, my sisters and I were not born into wealth as you were,” she told him. “Though our mother was wellborn, our father was a commoner, as are we. But, after we mourned the passing of our parents, our great aunts kindly took us in and introduced us into Society.”
Magnus regarded her closely as she spoke. She really was an uncut gem. Just how old was she, he wondered. Two and twenty, perhaps? She appeared quite young, but displayed a confidence the other debutantes he’d met sorely lacked.
“Oh, yes, we may don the finest gowns and wear brilliants in our hair, but we are still fresh from the countryside.” She looked up at him and laughed, then dropped a low curtsey. “So here I am, mingling with the ton with dirt under my nails and barely a penny to my name. Well, save a few quid I’ve managed to save for my passage to Italy.”
Magnus applauded her performance. “’Tis a great pity ye’re penniless, Miss Merriweather, but there are those who might make an offer despite yer financial state.”
“True,” she sighed, but as she leaned her back against the balustrade her eyes brightened mischievously. “But with just a bit of effort, I believe I can ensure that not one suitor my aunts deem worthy will make an offer.”
“Not one suitor?” Magnus said. “Were I in a position to do so, Miss Merriweather, I would challenge that brash remark. But alas, my fortune is also somewhat wanting at the present.” He turned and looked up from the topiary garden into the night sky.
"Truly?” Eliza moved beside him. “You are no threat at all? But, why not, may I ask?”
Magnus looked down into her curious eyes. “Verra well. ‘Tisna as though polite society is not already acquainted with my situation.” He swallowed hard and began. “When my brother died, I inherited not only the earldom, but his debts as well.”
“Oh, dear.” Eliza innocently patted his coat sleeve and looked up at him with sincere compassion.
Magnus glanced quickly at her hand on his arm, then inexplicably at her moist lips. He turned away and drew in a cleansing breath. “If I canna cover his notes by the end of the season, all that I own, including my home, Somerton Hall, will be lost.”
She peered up at him with her huge doe eyes. “So you must marry well or lose everything.”
“Not entirely, but it may come to that,” he replied.
Eliza gave a frustrated groan.
At her odd response, Magnus looked up and noticed that her attention was no longer focused on him, but inside the ballroom. Turning around, he saw that her aunts watched them from behind a potted palm just inside the door.
“Just ignore them. It’s what I’ve decided to do. Attention will only encourage their antics.” She turned away to rest her hands on the marble rail. “My, what a pitiful, penniless pair we are, my lord.”
Magnus moved beside her. “Pitiful indeed—ye with yer matchmaking aunts and I in want of a wealthy bride.” He exhaled into the night. “ ‘Tis a shame we are not able to help each other solve our problems.”
“Help each other?”
Eliza snapped her head around to fully look at him. “Yes … help each other,” she repeated.
As though lost in thought, Eliza played her gloved fingertips across her pink lips, making Magnus want to taste them all the more. He felt a stir below.
Damn it all.
Where was a stiff chill breeze when he needed one? “We should rejoin the others,” he said, opening the door.
She raised a digit in the air. “A moment, if you will.” She looked at Magnus once again, studying him. “I believe I might know a way we
can
help each other.” Her eyes glinted with excitement.
“Really? How so?”
A sly smile spread across her face as she drew him away from the doors. And her prying aunts. “I want to discuss an
arrangement
with you.”
Employ diversion to distract opposing forces from the true objective.
Lord Somerton eyed Eliza speculatively. “What sort of
arrangement?’
Before she could reply, there was a sudden squeal of moving hinges. Eliza swung around. The French window doors to the terrace, which had been left only ajar before, were now wide open.
Narrowing her eyes, she focused beyond the threshold at the wavering potted palm and the two pairs of faded blue eyes blinking through its waxy leaves. Eliza exhaled.
“Not here,” she whispered, taking the earl’s arm. “Let us return to the ballroom. Between the music and conversation, it’s less likely we’ll be overheard.”
With a wary nod, Lord Somerton escorted Eliza through the open door and past her aunts, who still watched them secretly through the leaves of the potted greenery. At last they stepped onto the expansive dance floor, where they joined a dozen other couples waiting for the music to begin.
Standing so near, it was difficult for Eliza to keep her eyes from her partner’s glossy ebony hair, from searching out the lean cords of muscle disappearing beneath his coat.
But the artist in her yearned to see more. She swallowed deeply.
Oh perdition.
She should just paint his portrait and be done with it. Get him out of her head! Then perhaps her mind would be her own again.
“Ye spoke of an arrangement,” he said, almost impatiently.
Eliza glanced up. “Oh, err—yes.” Gathering her composure around her like a shawl, she set her eyes casually on the orchestra and leaned close to Lord Somerton so she wouldn’t be overheard.
“As circumstances would have it, I am in need of a diversion,” she told him. “A feint, if you will, to draw my aunts’ attention and divert them from their matchmaking activities.”
The earl’s brows nearly slammed into his hairline. “And ye would like
me
to be that distraction?”
“Yes, I would.”
“And why would I consider taking on such a role?” he asked softly.
“Because I am in a unique position to help
you.”
“Help
me?
With what exactly?”
“With finding a wealthy wife, of course.”
Lord Somerton’s eyes widened just as the music began. He missed his step, faltered, and crushed Eliza’s left slipper with his heavy foot.
Eliza winced, but continued with her offer as they danced. “Being a debutante myself, I shall be able to investigate possible marriage candidates for you.”
At that, Lord Somerton’s firm hand caught hold of her arm and he led her promptly from the dance floor where he deposited her upon the damp floorboards before the punch bowl.
“What exactly do ye mean?” he demanded. While his eyes conveyed seriousness, his mouth smiled agreeably for the obvious benefit of the other guests.
“It’s quite simple, really,” she replied, taking the lemonade he offered her. “I will learn which young lady is most amiable and whose countenance,
and purse,
are most suited for a man of your position.”
Lord Somerton considered her words. “Interesting notion.”
“If you desire, I will go so far as to befriend her to discover the exact amount of her dowry.”
He lifted a brow.
“You doubt me?” Eliza raised her chin. “Young ladies often share information that men deem too private to discuss. I assure you, Lord Somerton, you will never learn as much about a potential bride’s family as you would through me.” Eliza smiled brightly. “Join me in this arrangement and together we can save Somerton.”
“A most intriguing proposition, Miss Merriweather.”
Eliza held her breath in anticipation of his answer. The seconds passed slowly. Too slowly. Why wasn’t he answering?
All he had to do was pretend interest and her aunts would have no need to bombard her with potential suitors. Hadn’t she positioned it well enough? Was this not the perfect solution for them both? Evidently not.
She had to think of something else. Had to sweeten his prize. Then, Eliza came upon the perfect solution … for them both.
“I will paint your portrait,” she added.
“My portrait?” He rubbed the hazy beginnings of stubble on his chin.
Was that a hint of intrigue in his voice?
“I am quite a skilled painter,” she proudly told him.
Eliza studied his reaction. From the look on his ridiculously handsome face, he was mulling over her offer. “I am certain your heirs would want a portrait of the fifth earl— the man who saved Somerton for future generations.”
He chuckled dryly. “Ye’ve figured me out already, have ye? Aren’t ye the clever one?”
“Yes, my lord.” Eliza turned her face up to his and smiled. “Come now, you must realize that spending time with me would benefit you in other ways as well. Look around you. I count at least six marriage-hungry mammas ready to thrust their daughters at you the moment I leave your side.”