As soon as the coach rolled to a stop, a footman was opening the door. Harteley disembarked, his curiosity piqued. This could not be the residence of an unmarried lady, even if she did refer to herself as “Miss”. She was either married and in want of an affair, or her father was off tending to business and she was taking advantage. Then another thought occurred to him: perhaps she was an aging spinster, in want of a bit of fun while she was still able to enjoy it. He wasn’t bothered by the possibility. In the dark, the particulars of a woman were left to a man’s imagination. And he’d always possessed a grand imagination.
“If you’ll come along with me, milord,” the footman said.
He followed the footman up the steps and into the impressive manor. He had an eye for the finer things, and this home was filled with them: marble floors, candles flickering in crystal chandeliers, well-made furniture, statues, flower-filled vases, paintings created by the masters.
A butler stepped forwards and bowed slightly. “Milord, the mistress awaits you in the morning room.”
The morning room. Not the bedchamber. Was it possible that she truly was interested in only sharing dinner? He suspected not. She no doubt wanted to be charmed out of her clothing. While he’d begun the adventure with a bit of scepticism, he found he was suddenly very interested in this woman of mystery.
As the butler led the way down the wide hallways, Harteley took in his surroundings. Everything was perfection, nothing was overlooked. Yet he couldn’t help but feel that the elaborate surroundings were all for show, as though someone were striving to be impressive, to deflect interest away from something else. Considering what he’d inherited, he could certainly understand that desire. He’d held on to artwork as long as possible simply because it allowed him to feel civilized. As he’d been forced to sell each piece, so he’d felt as though he were whittling away at the core of who he was. He’d always known his place resided in the upper echelons. Falling from it was a painful and belittling process.
He had moments where he despised his father for his gambling habits, for his preference for selfish pleasures. But then Harteley was not so very different. It was the very reason he’d accepted the invitation. For a night of expected pleasure.
Another footman — good Lord, how many servants did she possess? — opened a door and the butler ushered Harteley inside. One wall and a portion of the ceiling were all glass. Moonlight whispered inside to shimmer along the figure standing near the far windowed corner. Her back was to him, but he was struck by the paleness of her hair, which rivalled the moon. It was caught up in a simple style that revealed the long, slender slope of her neck. He decided he would kiss her nape first and then trail his mouth along her delicate shoulders.
“Miss Vernon,” the butler said, reminding Harteley he was not yet alone with her, “Lord Harteley has arrived.”
She turned from her observation of the gardens, and he nearly stepped back from the unexpected beauty of her. And her youth. She was far too young for a man as jaded as he. Yet he could not deny the appeal of her innocence or the desire to regain his youth that swept through him. She reminded him of an earlier time when his life was filled with choices — and he’d chosen poorly. Why of a sudden these bothersome reminiscences when he’d astutely avoided them for years? Something about her was familiar. The high cheekbones, the delicate chin. He knew her, but from where?
“My Lord.” Her voice was that of a nightingale and so enthralled him that he almost didn’t notice her curtsey.
He couldn’t recall ever being so mesmerized. He bowed. “Miss Vernon. Tell me, have our paths crossed before?”
“We ’ve not been introduced.”
Which was not exactly a proper answer to his question. “You remind me of someone.”
“Do I? Who?”
He shook his head. “I’m not quite sure.”
She released a slight laugh. “Well, when you remember, I do hope you will share.” She indicated a round lace-covered table at the other end of the windows. “Please, let us not delay. Dinner awaits.”
“You’re very young, Miss Vernon.”
She was only momentarily flummoxed by his seemingly random statement. “Two and twenty,” she responded with her chin angled high. She possessed a great deal of pride. Perhaps as much as he once had.
“And I am not so young,” he pointed out, rather unnecessarily.
“Two and thirty.”
He fought not to reveal how it bothered him that she would know his age. It was a small thing, no secret, but he sensed she knew quite a bit more than that. Her next words confirmed it.
“Don’t look so surprised, My Lord. I know a great deal about you.”
“Then you must also know that I prefer women of experience.”
He recognized disappointment in her expression, and it made him feel like a cad. It had been a good long while since he’d given any care to another’s sentiments. Why did he care about hers?
“You are quite presumptuous, My Lord, to think my invitation included anything more than dinner.”
“The hour is late, Miss Vernon. A certain amount of secrecy accompanied my arrival here. It has all the makings of a clandestine meeting.”
She acquiesced with a slight nod. “I’d not expected you to object.”
“Then I have correctly discerned your purpose in sending for me.”
“Hardly. You see, My Lord, I am in need of a champion.”
Arianna could barely suppress her disappointment. He didn’t remember her. Not that she’d truly expected him to. It had been ten years. And she’d been a child. All of twelve. While he’d been a young man searching for an evening’s delight. He’d spoken to her only in passing, but it was enough to win her heart.
He’d been so dashing, so joyful, so handsome. Tonight he was less so on two counts. Still handsome, he now possessed a weariness. While they sat at the table as her butler, Jones, directed the servants who were arranging their dinner, she had an uncanny urge to reach across and massage the furrows from Harteley’s brow. His hair was the black of a moonless night, his eyes the blue of sapphires, rich and deep. Through the years, it had become her favourite gem because it reminded her of him.
If she lived to be a hundred, she’d never forget sitting on the stairs, waiting for her mother to finish with business so they could go to the theatre. He’d been on his way up, following a tart named Satin when he’d spotted Arianna and smiled. The wide grin, so white in the dark face that spoke of a man who possessed a preference for the outdoors, had caused her childish heart to gallop wildly in her chest.
“You’re a bit young for this establishment, aren’t you, poppet?” he’d asked.
She’d been so taken with him that her voice had refused to work. He’d laughed. A soft laugh, a comforting sound, as though he understood why she was so flummoxed. She amused him. Even then, she’d had little doubt that he was accustomed to attracting the attentions of the ladies, that he knew he was too handsome for his own good. He’d cast his spell over her.
“Come along, milord,” Satin had urged, rubbing her silk-clad body against his.
That was all it had taken for Arianna to lose his attention. She was determined not to lose it now.
“I’m hardly the champion sort,” he finally grumbled, after the servants left and Jones took his place across the room, in front of the door. She knew her butler didn’t favour her plan, and that he wouldn’t leave her alone with a man “the likes of Lord Harteley”.
“I believe you underestimate yourself.”
“I know myself very well, Miss Vernon.”
She watched as he wrapped long, tapered fingers around the bowl of his wine glass. That hand possessed strength, and she knew with little enough effort, he could crush the crystal. But instead he held it with a feigned gentleness. She could see in his eyes that he was not happy with this turn of events. He’d expected something quite different from her invitation. But then she’d known he would. It was the reason she’d sent it. The reason she’d not doubted that he’d come here tonight.