L. Effington
“I ’ve got her right where I want her, Marcus.” Reggie watched Miss Effington and her current partner over the rim of his champagne glass and tried to keep a too satisfied smile from his face.
“Does she know you have her exactly where you want her?” Marcus said idly, his gaze following his friend’s.
Miss Effington laughed and flirted with her partner for the quadrille in the midst of the other dancers at Lady Puget’s annual ball. Her blonde hair glowed in the candlelight, and there was a blush on her cheeks from the dance and unrestrained enjoyment. Her gown was a lovely greenish-blue color that suited her eyes and reminded him of seawater. Indeed, she could well be a nymph from the sea or a mermaid come to land to enchant mere mortals.
“Reggie?”
“She has no idea,” he murmured, his gaze still focused on Miss Effington. Cassandra. He did so love how her name sounded on his tongue.
She was nothing sort of magnificent, and he was annoyed with himself that he had never especially noticed her before and annoyed on her behalf with every other man in existence who hadn’t snapped her up long before now.
“Nor would she be overly pleased to hear such a thing. Besides,” Reggie watched her execute a difficult step flawlessly, “she’d deny it.”
“And where, precisely, is it that you have her?” Marcus’s words were measured.
“She’s confused, off balance, uncertain. And even better,” Reggie grinned at his friend, “she likes me. I can tell. She doesn’t want to like me, but she does. And she likes me quite a bit more than she expected.”
“How very interesting,” Marcus said thoughtfully. “A scant few days ago, you said you and she had agreed to be friends.”
“We did. We are. I’ve never been friends with a woman before, not really, but it seems an excellent place to start.”
The dance ended and Cassandra’s partner escorted her off the floor. Reggie pushed aside a twinge of jealousy at the way she gazed up at him. He knew full well that her flirtatious manner was little more than a game she and everyone else played at functions such as this. Nor was the gentleman any particular threat. He was certainly no Lord Perfect.
Although it would take something far different than mere perfection to engage the affections of Miss Cassandra Effington. She simply did not yet realize it. Yet. It would take the fifth Viscount Berkley, although she did not realize that yet, either.
“Dare I ask what has changed between our last conversation and tonight?” Marcus chose his words with care. “You swore to me you were not falling back into old habits. You said you would not permit it. You said this time would be different.”
“This time is different.” Reggie drained the last of his wine.
“You said that too. In fact, you’ve said that many times before.”
“This time—”
Marcus raised a cynical brow.
“This time,” Reggie said firmly, “it is different. She is different from any woman I’ve ever met before. And I, old friend, am different.”
Marcus snorted in disbelief, signaled a passing waiter, and exchanged their empty glasses for full ones.
“And exactly how are you different? This time?”
“I know you’re skeptical, and you, of all people, have every right to be, but I have given this a great deal of consideration.” Reggie searched for the right words. “In the past, I have always offered my affections with-outthinking and far too soon. I have never taken the time to truly know a lady before declaring myself. In doing so, I have made one mistake after another.”
“So you are being cautious with Miss Effington?” Marcus studied him carefully. “You are not rushing in without due deliberation? You are cultivating patience rather than surrendering to impulse? You are thinking before you act?”
“It sounds rather daunting when you put it like that, but yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“Good God, I stand corrected.” Marcus shook his head. “This is different.”
Reggie sipped his champagne. “And it’s bloody well difficult to do, too, I tell you. It goes against my very nature.”
He turned his attention back to Cassandra. Yet another partner was leading her onto the dance floor.
“I’ve never known a woman who annoys me quite as much as she does.”
“Oh, that’s an auspicious beginning,” Marcus said wryly.
Reggie ignored him. “Sparks, Marcus, there are sparks between us, and not merely of irritation. They’re glimmers of recognition or acknowledgment or something. I don’t know what exactly, but there’s definitely something between us. I knew it the moment we met. As if we were fated to be together. It’s quite remarkable.” He shook his head. “She is the woman I have been waiting for.”
“You have not exactly been waiting.”
“That’s why it’s fate.” Reggie glanced at the earl. “Don’t you think it’s odd, given my eminently eligible status, my title, my wealth, all of those things women allegedly want in a match, that by this point in time one of the women I fancied myself in love with—”
Marcus raised a brow. “Fancied yourself in love?”
“Come now, Marcus. One can perhaps fall in love as quickly as I have on occasion—”
“On occasion?”
Reggie shrugged off the question. “But I have always recovered with remarkable speed.”
“It has been damned impressive,” Marcus murmured.
“Therefore I was obviously not truly in love.”
Marcus’s brow furrowed. “And this is fate?”
“No.” Reggie shook his head. “Fate is the reason why none of the numerous ladies I have turned my attention to in the past has returned my interest. Fate was saving me for the right woman.” He raised his glass in triumph. “Miss Cassandra Effington.”
“I see.” Marcus paused to consider Reggie’s words. At last he shook his head. “You do appear to have given this a great deal of thought and, as much as I hate to admit it, it makes a certain amount of sense. Very well.” Marcus blew a resigned breath. “What now? And what is my part in it?”
Reggie laughed.
“I assume you have some sort of plan in mind to win her affections? If indeed you are serious about pursuing her.”
“I have never been more serious.”
Reggie watched Cassandra move through the steps of the dance. He resisted the urge to stride out onto the dance floor and take her in his arms. It was exactly what she would expect from the infamous Viscount Berkley, but it would not serve his purposes at the moment. It was hardly the first rash impulse he had to quash since meeting her, and he suspected it would not be the last. But he would not play this game with her as he had with others in the past. He would not lead with his heart instead of his head. The stakes were far too high.
Cassandra laughed at something her partner said and Reggie’s stomach clenched. He ignored it. He could not show so much as a hint of jealousy. As far as she was concerned, they were nothing more than friends. For now.
Reggie knew Marcus was hard-pressed to believe his claim that his feelings for Cassandra were different from any he had known before. It was difficult to explain how, precisely, but there was an intensity, a sense, as it were, of permanence and importance and, yes, destiny. It sounded absurd, of course, and how could he possibly expect his closest friend to comprehend his feelings when Reggie himself didn’t quite understand?
It struck him that regardless of how many times he had thought himself in love up to now, this was the first time he had actively planned any sort of concerted campaign. He would win Miss Effington’s heart, and the difficulties that entailed would simply make the prize all the more worthwhile.
“The plan is already in motion,” Reggie said coolly. “She and I have placed a wager that we can each find the perfect match for the other. She is looking for the perfect man.”
“As are most women, I assume.”
“Oh, but Miss Effington is quite adamant. I am to find her Lord Perfect—”
Marcus choked back a laugh. “Lord Perfect?”
“Her requirements are quite specific, as are mine.” Reggie grinned. “She is to find me Miss Wonderful.”
“Lord Perfect and Miss Wonderful?” Marcus laughed. “I suppose they are as good a match as the infamous Lord Berkley and the eccentric Miss Effington. So how does this plan of yours work?”
“It’s brilliant in its very simplicity.” Reggie slanted the earl a smug smile. “I shall give Miss Effington exactly what she wants.”
“You will give her Lord Perfect?” Marcus shook his head. “I don’t understand. If you’re not Lord Perfect, and indeed you couldn’t possibly be, as she does not want a man of your reputation—”
“Not yet.”
Marcus’s brows pulled together. “Now I am confused.”
“She doesn’t want me now, but once she meets Lord Perfect, she will discover perfection is not for her and she will realize she cannot spend the rest of her days living with a man with no imperfections.” He leaned toward Marcus confidentially. “Miss Effington is most creative and quite enjoys the improvement of things. Houses in particular, but I am betting such impulses will extend to a spouse as well. She strikes me as a woman who would derive a great deal of satisfaction from reforming a man.”
He straightened and smiled smugly. “She simply doesn’t know it yet.”
“And you do need a great deal of improvement.”
“That goes without saying.” Reggie shrugged modestly. “With my infamous reputation, I am ripe for reform.”
“Not to mention all your other flaws.”
“I am perfect for her.” Reggie grinned. “I am the proverbial house waiting to be refurbished.”
“I can certainly see that, but,” Marcus shook his head, “where are you going to get a Lord Perfect?”
“I don’t actually need to come up with a real Lord Perfect, at least not immediately.”
“You don’t?”
“I’m not sure that endless discussions about Lord Perfect as I conduct my search won’t be enough to convince Miss Effington that this is not the kind of man she really wants. And, during the course of our conversations, and the redecoration of my house, our friendship will grow until she will realize that the one man she can’t live without isn’t Lord Perfect but me.” Reggie pulled a long swallow of his champagne, the wine a perfect accompaniment to his sense of satisfaction. Marcus stared, dumbfounded.
“Well?”
The earl shook his head slowly. “That’s either the most ridiculous idea I have ever heard or it’s brilliant.” He thought for a moment. “What happens if she insists that you produce a Lord Perfect? Or worse yet, finds a Miss Wonderful?”
“Ah, but Miss Wonderful is in the eye of the beholder. I shall simply not accept whomever Miss Effington offers. As for producing a Lord Perfect, I have no idea.”
Reggie drew his brows together and pondered the question. “But you’re right. There could indeed come a time when I might actually need to come up with a Lord Perfect. She might well become suspicious otherwise. It could be most awkward.”
Marcus snorted. “Awkward?”
“Possibly more than awkward.” Reggie thought for a moment. “I could hire one, I suppose. An actor, perhaps?”
“I think not.” Marcus shook his head. “Should this plan of yours collapse around your head, and I think the odds on that are fairly even, you do not want Miss Effington to know you hired an actor to be her perfect match. Women do not take that sort of thing at all well.”
“Perhaps not.” Reggie glanced around the room, then nodded at several gentlemen engaged in an animated discussion. “What about Lord Chapman? He could be Lord Perfect.”
“Chapman is entirely too, well, pretty for a man. I daresay most women don’t like men who are prettier than they are. In addition, he thinks he’s perfect, which in and of itself is most irritating.”
Reggie scanned the crowd. “Lord Warren is a possibility.”
“Warren too believes he’s perfect, and his reputation is no better than the one we created for you. No, he won’t do.” Marcus shook his head. “Besides, you need an unknown Lord Perfect. Someone she couldn’t possibly have met. Someone from the country, perhaps, yet with a certain amount of sophistication. Honest, humble, handsome—”
Reggie scoffed. “Such a man could not possibly exist.”
“Of course not, but should such a paragon exist,” Marcus grinned, “I can’t imagine he wouldn’t drive a woman like Miss Effington stark raving mad.”
“That’s the idea.” Reggie smiled wickedly.
“This plan of yours might actually work.” Marcus heaved a resigned sigh. “I know I shall regret this, but do allow me to do my part. You may concentrate your efforts completely on your pursuit of Miss Effington, and I shall find a Lord Perfect for you.”
Reggie chuckled. “I knew I could count on you.”
“I have always been something of an idiot when it comes to partaking in one of your schemes, but they do always sound so plausible. I am drawn irresistibly to them like a moth to its fiery doom.” Marcus grinned, then sobered. “You do understand you are treading a dangerous course here. There is always the possibility Miss Effington will find Lord Perfect is indeed what she’s always wanted.”
“It’s a risk, but I’m confident it’s slim.” Reggie’s gaze slipped back to Cassandra. “The eccentric Miss Effington could never be satisfied with Lord Perfect.”