Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord (2 page)

Are we not, then, the very luckiest of ladies, that our fair city boasts the best and the brightest, the charmed and the charming, a veritable treasure trove of bachelors—wealthy, willing, and wandering lonely through our streets, wanting only for a wife!

Finding these paragons of gentlemanliness is a daunting task, but never fear, Dear Reader! We have assumed the job for you—scoured the city for the lords most worthy of your invaluable, unbridled attention.

Consider, if you will, the first on our list of eminently landable lords …

Lord Nicholas St. John sank further into his seat, cursing under his breath. Who would have imagined that a superlative doled out by an inane ladies’ magazine was enough to transform London’s female population into clamoring fools?

At first, he’d found it amusing—a welcome entertainment. Then the invitations had begun to arrive. And when the clock in his St. James town house had barely struck two, Lady Ponsonby had joined them, claiming to have business to discuss—something to do with a statue she had recently acquired from Southern Italy. Nick knew better. There was only one reason for a viper like Lady Ponsonby to come calling at a bachelor’s home—a reason Nick was certain Lord Ponsonby would not find at all reasonable.

So he had escaped, first to the Royal Society of Antiquities, where he had sequestered himself in the library, far from anyone who had ever heard of ladies’ magazines, let alone read one. Unfortunately, the journalist—Nick flinched at the liberal use of the term—had done his research, and within the hour, the head footman had announced the arrival of four separate women, ranging in age and station, all in dire need of a consultation regarding their marbles—all of whom insisted that none but Lord Nicholas would do.

Nick snorted into his drink at the memory.
Marbles, indeed.

He had paid the footman handsomely for his discretion and fled once more, this time with little dignity, through the rear entrance to the Society and into a narrow, sordid alleyway that did little to enliven his disposition. Tilting the brim of his hat down to shield his identity, he’d made his way to sanctuary—to the Dog and Dove, where he had been ensconced in a dark corner for the last several hours.

Well and truly trapped.

Ordinarily, when a voluptuous barmaid made eyes at him, he was more than willing to consider her ample charms. But this particular woman was the fourteenth of her sex to have overtly considered
his
charms that day, and he had had quite enough. He scowled, first at the girl, then into his ale, feeling darker and more irritated by the minute. “I’ve got to get out of this damned city.”

The deep, rumbling laugh from across the table did not improve his mood.

“Do not doubt for one moment that I could have you shipped back to Turkey,” Nick said, his voice a low growl.

“I do hope you will not. I should hate to miss the conclusion of this entertaining theatre.” His companion, Durukhan, turned and looked over his shoulder, dark eyes passing lazily over the comely young woman. “Pity. She will not even consider me.”

“Clever girl.”

“More likely, she simply believes everything she reads in her magazines.” Rock laughed as Nick’s scowl deepened. “Come, Nick, how awful can it be? So the women of London have been publicly apprised of your—eligibility.”

Nick recalled the stack of invitations that awaited his return—every one from a family with an unmarried daughter—and took a long drink of ale. Setting the pewter mug down, he muttered, “How awful, indeed.”

“I should take advantage of it if I were you. Now you may have any woman you want.”

Nick leveled his friend with cool blue gaze. “I did perfectly well without the damned magazine, thank you.”

Rock’s response was a noncommittal grunt as he turned to wave the young barmaid over. An arrow shot from a bow, she arrived at their table with speed and purpose. Leaning low over Nick to best display her voluptuous curves, she spoke in a low whisper. “My lord? Do you have … needs?”

“Do we, indeed,” Rock said.

The brazen female seated herself in Nick’s lap, leaning close. “I’ll be anythin’ you want, luv,” she said, low and sultry, as she pressed her breasts against his chest. “Any-thin’ you want.”

He extracted her arm from its place around his neck and fished a crown from his pocket. “A tempting offer, to be sure,” he said, pressing the coin into her hand and lifting her to her feet. “But I am afraid that I want only for more ale. You had best look elsewhere for companionship this evening.”

Her face fell for a split second before she redirected her attention to Rock, considering his wide chest, brown skin, and thick arms with an appreciative gaze. “Care for a go? Some girls don’t like ‘em dark, but I think you’ll do just fine.”

Rock did not move, but Nick noticed the tensing of his friend’s shoulders at the blatant reference to his heritage. “Farther elsewhere,” the Turk said, flatly turning away from the barmaid.

She turned up her nose at their combined rebuff and left—to fetch more ale, Nick hoped. As he watched her make her way across the room, he felt the keen attention of the other women in the tavern. “They are predators. Every last one of them.”

“It seems only right that the
bulan
finally know what it is to be hunted.”

Nick grimaced at the Turkish name and the long history that came with it. It had been years since anyone had called him the
bulan
—the hunter. The name meant nothing now; it was a leftover of his days in the East, deep in the Ottoman Empire, when he’d been someone else—someone without a name—with only a skill that would ultimately be his downfall.

The irony was not lost on him. His time in Turkey had ended harshly when a woman had set her sights upon him and he had made the mistake of allowing himself to be caught, quite literally.

He had spent twenty-two days in a Turkish prison before he had been rescued by Rock and ferreted to Greece—where he had vowed to put the
bulan
to rest.

Most of the time, he was happy to have done so … appeased by the world of London, the business of his estate, and his antiquities. But there were days when he missed the life.

He much preferred being hunter to hunted.

“Women are always like this around you,” Rock pointed out, returning Nick to the present. “You are merely better attuned to it today. Not that I have ever understood their interest. You are something of an ugly bas—”

“Angling for a pounding, are you?”

The Turk’s face split in a wide grin. “Sparring with me in a public house would not be the appropriate behavior for such a paragon of gentlemanliness.”

Nick’s gaze narrowed on his friend. “I shall risk it for the pleasure of wiping that smile from your face.”

Rock laughed again. “All this feminine interest has addled your brain if you think you could take me down.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table between them, underscoring his bulk. “What has happened to your sense of humor? You would have found this vastly amusing if it had happened to me. Or to your brother.”

“Nevertheless, it has happened to me.” Nick surveyed the rest of the room and groaned as the door to the pub opened and a tall, dark-haired man entered. The newcomer paused just inside the room, scanning the heavy crowd, his blue eyes finally settling on Nick. One lone brow rose in amusement and he began to weave his way through the throngs of people toward them.

Nick turned an accusing gaze on Rock. “You are asking to be returned to Turkey. Begging for it.”

Rock looked over his shoulder at the newcomer and grinned. “It would have been rather unfriendly of me not to invite him to join in the amusement.”

“What an immense stroke of good luck. I confess, I had not thought I would be able to get near London’s Lord to Land,” a low, amused voice drawled, and Nick looked up to find his twin brother, Gabriel St. John, the Marquess of Ralston, towering above them. Rock stood and clapped Gabriel on the back, motioning that he should join them. Once seated, Ralston continued, “Though I should have expected to find you here …” He paused. “In hiding. Coward.”

Nick’s brows knit together as Rock laughed. “I was just pointing out that had
you
been named one of London’s Lords to Land, Nick would have taken immense pleasure in your pain.”

Gabriel sat back in his chair, grinning foolishly. “Indeed, he would have. And yet your mood seems less than cheery, brother. Whatever for? ”

“I suppose you are here to revel in my discomfort,” Nick said, “But surely you have better things to do. You do still have a new wife to entertain, do you not?”

“Indeed, I do,” Gabriel said, his smile softening. “Though, to be honest, she nearly pushed me out the door in her eagerness to find you. She is hosting a dinner on Thursday evening and is reserving a seat for you both. She does not want Lord Nicholas wandering wistfully through the streets that evening, wanting for a wife.”

Rock smirked. “It is entirely possible that he would have been doing just that without the invitation.”

Nick ignored his friend. “Callie reads the damned thing? “ He had hoped his sister-in-law was above such things. If she had read it, there was no escape.

Gabriel leaned forward. “This week? We have all read it. You’ve brought respectability to the St. John name, Nick. Finally. Well done.”

The barmaid returned then, setting another round of drinks on the table; surprise flashed in her eyes, followed quickly by pleasure as she looked to Nick, then Gabriel, then back again. Twins were rare enough that strangers tended to stare when the St. John brothers ventured into public together; Nick found he had no patience for her curiosity. He looked away as Gabriel paid the girl handsomely, saying, “Of course, those women who coveted me must be thrilled to have a second chance of sorts—title or no, you at least share my good looks. If a younger, lesser version of them.”

Nick’s blue gaze narrowed on his brother and friend, now guffawing like idiots. Lifting his ale, he toasted the duo. “May you both go straight to hell.”

His brother lifted his own tankard. “I do believe it would be worth it to see you so put out. You know, it is not the worst of things to be labeled an eligible bachelor, Nick. I can attest to the fact that marriage is not the prison I once believed it to be. It is quite enjoyable, I find.”

Nick leaned back in his chair. “Callie’s turned you soft, Gabriel. Do you not recall the pain caused by clamoring mamas and cloying daughters, all hoping to secure your attention? ”

“Not remotely.”

“That is because Callie was the only woman willing to have you with your history of wickedness and vice,” Nick pointed out. “My reputation is rather less tarnished than yours was—I am a far more valuable catch, Lord help me.”

“Marriage might do you well, you know.”

Nick considered his ale long enough for his companions to think that he might not reply. “I think we all know that marriage is not for me.”

Gabriel offered a small, noncommittal grunt. “I might remind you that the same was true for me. Not all women are like the cold bitch who saw you nearly killed, Nick,” Gabriel said firmly.

“She was merely one of a long line of them,” Nick pointed out, drinking deep. “Thank you, but I have learned to keep my women to the best of encounters—brief and unemotional.”

“I wouldn’t brag about brevity if I were you, St. John,” Rock said, flashing a wide grin at Gabriel before he continued. “Your problem is not the women who choose you, but those whom you choose. If you were not so easily wiled by those who play the victim, you might have better luck with the fairer sex.”

Rock had not said anything Nick did not already know. Since his youth, he’d had a soft spot for women in need. And while he understood it to be one of his biggest weaknesses—having brought more trouble than fortune upon him in his lifetime—he seemed unable to resist the trait.

So he kept his women at arm’s length. His rules were clear. No mistresses. No regular assignations. And, most definitely, no wife.

“Well, either way,” Gabriel said, returning lightness to the conversation, “I shall enjoy myself immensely while you run the gauntlet of this impressive superlative.”

Nick paused, drinking deep before finally leaning back and placing his hands flat on the table. “I am afraid I am going to have to disappoint you. I do not plan to run the gauntlet at all.”

“Oh? How do you expect to avoid the women of London? They are huntresses of the highest caliber.”

“They cannot hunt if their prey has gone to ground,” Nick announced.

“You are leaving? “ Gabriel did not look pleased. “To where? ”

Nick shrugged. “I have clearly overstayed London’s welcome. The Continent. The Orient. The Americas. Rock? You’ve been itching for an adventure for months. Where would you like to go? ”

Rock considered the options. “Not the Orient. A repeat of the last time we were there is not tempting. I would rather steer clear of it.”

“Fair enough,” Nick conceded. “The Americas, then.”

Gabriel shook his head. “You would be gone for a year at least. Have you forgotten that we have a sister just out and in need of a match? You will not leave me to deal with that sure-to-be-disastrous event simply because you fear the attention of a handful of ladies.”

“A handful!” Nick protested, “They are a swarm.” He paused, considering his options. “I don’t really care where I go … as long as there are no women there.”

Rock looked alarmed. “None whatsoever? ”

Nick laughed for the first time that evening. “Well, not
none,
obviously. But would it be too much to ask that there be no women who have read that ridiculous magazine? ”

Gabriel raised a dark brow. “Very likely so.”