“Lord Denton. He’s very well appointed, and a marquess.”

“And doesn’t fail to mention both the money and the title at any opportunity.”

“Arrogance isn’t a terrible trait in a male, Alexandra.”

“It is when the male in question is a crashing bore as well.”

The duchess sighed and flipped to a new card. “Simon, Lord St. Marks.”

“Mother, I will not be matched with someone who is a half a foot shorter than me.”

Another sigh from the duchess. “Lord Wentworth. He’s first in line for a dukedom.”

“So is Will; I wouldn’t marry him either.”

“What about me? Good God. Is it a funeral?” Alex was saved from her mother’s quelling look by the arrival of Will, whose dry question earned him the irritated glance.

Alex popped a strawberry into her mouth and chewed thoroughly before speaking. “No, although that might be preferable to what it actually is.” She spread her arms and indicated the flowers throughout the room. “These”—she paused for theatrical emphasis—“are all from my adoring fans. It seems I’m quite the rage.”

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste, Scamp.” Humor laced Will’s tone.

Alex threw her older brother a scowl and would have held it to increase the drama of the moment had she not been interrupted by the arrival of Lord Blackmoor. While most of London would have agreed that it was highly improper to pay a house visit before noon, Gavin was more family than guest, and his entry garnered no surprise. Smiling at the duchess and bowing low over her hand, he remarked wryly, “Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t arrive with flowers—they would have tipped this room’s décor into the realm of the excessive.”

The duchess returned his smile as Will and Alex laughed aloud. “Your presence is ever so much more a treat, my lord,” Her Grace said, “although I will venture a guess that you’re here for breakfast more than you are for a glimpse at Lady Alexandra.”

Gavin went to the sideboard and began filling a plate for himself. “Indeed, it seems that the rest of London’s male population has courting Alex well in hand, and so I find that breakfast is what’s left to me.” He cast a sidelong grin at Alex, who was sifting idly through calling cards, pretending not to be moved by his teasing.

And, in truth, it wasn’t his teasing that did move her. That, she was used to. Instead, she was reminded of the previous evening and the whirlwind of confused emotions she had felt around him, Gavin, with whom this kind of verbal sparring was the status quo. By the light of day, she realized, the graceful, looming, discomfiting male was gone, and left was her old friend. His hair was still damp from his morning ablutions and, despite his impeccable waistcoat and breeches and the perfect knot in his cravat, he was back to being his relaxed and casual self.

It seemed that last night was an aberration and all those peculiar thoughts she had had were simply that—peculiar. And past. Thank goodness.

Returning from the food, plate in hand, Gavin paused just behind the chaise where Alex was ensconced. Looking over her shoulder at the cards in her hands, he spoke. “Of course, Lord Douglass sent you an invitation to ride this afternoon. He’s up to his eyelids in gambling debt. You’re not seriously considering accepting, are you?”

The manner in which he spoke, laced with superiority, crawled up Alex’s spine, making her want to defy him even though she was well aware of the Viscount Douglass’s shortcomings. Tamping the fiery response that sprang to her tongue, she offered a graceful shrug and flipped to the next card.

Blackmoor gave a snort of laughter. “Crane? He’s an imbecile. You’d have him for breakfast.”

Alex cast him a sidelong glance and remarked coolly, “Lord Blackmoor, I hadn’t realized that you had taken such an interest in my suitors.”

“I’m simply pointing out that all these flowers are for naught if the likes of Crane and Douglass are your options. There must be some men worthy of consideration in the group, no?”

As Alex opened her mouth to respond, she was interrupted by the duchess. “I must speak with Cook about the menu for the evening meal. Alexandra, you have at least fifteen invitations to ride along the Serpentine this afternoon. I expect you to accept one of them before I return.”

At his sister’s groan, Will laughed. “I wish I could stay and watch your torment, Alex, but I must be off to the War Office.” Turning to Blackmoor, he offered a lopsided grin. “I assume you’ll at least stay until you’ve finished breakfast? Keep track of anything worthy of teasing for me, will you?”

Blackmoor settled back into a nearby settee and extended his legs in front of him, crossing his ankles casually. “Indeed.” Turning a friendly look on Alex, he offered, “Who is next on this unfathomably impressive list of marriageable males?”

Recognizing his sarcasm, Alex rolled her eyes in irritation. “Mother…don’t leave me with him.”

“Actually, I believe that Lord Blackmoor might be the perfect person to help you sort through these offers, Alexandra. He knows enough about the eligible men of the ton to be able to separate the scoundrels from the gems.” Meeting the young man’s eye, the duchess nodded in approval and offered a parting comment as she left the room with Will: “I shall approve the decision upon my return.”

Left alone in the room with Gavin, Alex let out a sigh. “I fear I won’t be able to find a way out of this. How did this even happen? I went out of my way to avoid attracting suitors last night.”

Leaning back in his chair, Gavin leveled Alex with a serious look. “You’ve learned your first lesson, Minx. Men chase that which seems unattainable.”

“No. What I learned was that men are gluttons for punishment. Why ‘chase’ me when they could catch any number of eligible young females from last evening?”

“Silly girl…because chasing you makes for more of a challenge—and more of a reward.”

Alex offered an amused snort. “I assure you, my lord. Considering my feelings about being ‘caught,’ I would provide little, if any, reward.”

While his body remained relaxed, his eyes narrowed on her and his voice deepened as he responded, “On the contrary, Alex. Your resistance to marriage would make the reward of successfully courting you that much sweeter. Turning your desire for spinsterhood into a desire for something else would be quite a coup for any man. Which is why all of these men”—he indicated the room with a lazy wave of his hand—“have thrown their hats in the ring.”

Feeling slightly unnerved by Blackmoor’s words, Alex stood and moved to the sideboard to pour herself a cup of tea. With her back to him, she spoke. “Surely not all men feel that way. After all, Penelope Grayson made her…availability… rather plainly known last night, and you didn’t seem to shy away from it.”

“No, I didn’t.” The response was unapologetic.

“And I suppose you sent flowers to her house this morning, just as all these men did to me?”

“Actually, I didn’t. But if I had, I can’t see that it would matter. Why are you so interested, Alex?”

She turned from the sideboard, stirring her tea. “I find I’m rather fascinated by the whole ordeal, to be frank. Who knew one night at a ball could wreak such romantic havoc on so many men at one time?” Settling herself back on the settee, she resumed reading the stack of cards and invitations that had arrived that morning.

“Lord Fairfax thinks that my hair is the color of the eastern sky at dawn.”

“Lord Fairfax is your father’s age.”

“Granted, but it’s a flattering sentiment.” At his harrumph, she continued, “Oh, my. The Marquess of Jonesborough requests I join him for a ride in his phaeton this afternoon; only he fears that my beauty will blind his horses.” The end of the sentence was swallowed by Alex’s own disbelieving giggle. “Surely he can’t think I would take that seriously.”

“Considering how seriously Jonesborough takes himself, I can’t imagine how he would think otherwise.”

Shuffling through several more cards quickly, Alex rolled her eyes to the ceiling and groaned, “What am I going to do? I actually must go riding with one of these dolts!” Leveling him with a glance, she queried with a sparkle in her eye, “You don’t write such tripe to the women you hope to interest, do you?”

“I should hope not,” he responded indignantly. “Good God, I have much more originality. These men clearly aren’t thinking about how best they can interest you.”

“What does that mean?”

“Quite simply, you’re not the type to be wooed with poetry or false compliments.”

“I’m not?” Now she was interested. “But I like poetry.”

His reply brooked no rebuttal. “No, you don’t. Not like this. They haven’t got it right at all.”

“Enlighten me, Lord Blackmoor, how should I be wooed, as you put it? I am intrigued by your obvious expertise.”

He was quick to respond, “You’re too vibrant for them. Too strong. You have a sharp mind and an exciting personality and an unexpected sense of humor. If these men were half the man you deserve, they would have already recognized all those things and they would be romancing you accordingly. They would be working to intrigue and amuse and inspire you—just as you do them. And they would know that only when they have won your mind will they even have a chance at winning your heart.”

The room felt much warmer all of a sudden, and Alex resisted the urge to fan herself, trying to ignore the rapid increase in her pulse as color flooded her cheeks. In the silence that followed his impassioned speech, Gavin stood and walked over to her. A cocky grin spread across his face. “That’s how I write to the women I hope to interest, Alex.”

She attempted a cool response. “Perhaps…” Her voice caught and she cleared her throat, beginning anew. “Perhaps you should consider holding classes. I am acquainted with quite a few men who could do with some training. More than forty of them, it seems. Lord save me.”

He chuckled as he removed the pile of calling cards from her hand and set them on a nearby table. Offering her a hand, he pulled her up to stand in front of him. “There’s only one way to save you from them today.”

“Oh?” The single syllable was all she could manage. Had he always been this broad? This tall? Had his eyes always been such a dark, smoky grey?

“Come riding with me.”

eight

Alex sat tall in the high, two-seated carriage, one hand keeping her bonnet from flying off as the fleet-footed team of horses trotted down Park Lane toward Hyde Park. She smiled up at Blackmoor from underneath the wide-brimmed hat, green eyes flashing. “I certainly prefer riding with you, my lord.”

“I thought you might.”

“May I drive?”

“You think I’d consider handing over the reins of this remarkable equipage?” He replied with feigned superiority. For generations, the Earls of Blackmoor had prided themselves on having the most current and impressive modes of transportation. The most recent earl was no different, and the brand-new curricle in which they were riding was certain to be the envy of many.

“Indeed. I think you’d enjoy the experience of teaching me how.”

“I’ve had this curricle for less than a week, Alex. You’re not driving.”

Alex replied with a comic pout, “I shall convince you otherwise, my lord. I warn you.”

“Indeed? Well you are welcome to try, my lady.”

He flashed a broad grin at her and called to his team as they turned into the park, offering a quick “Hold on!” to Alex. The carriage tilted slightly, and she grabbed the seat beneath her, yelping as they slowed to a crawl, waiting to take a place in the mass of people walking and riding along the Serpentine that afternoon. Turning a lazy smile on her, he inquired, “All right?”

“Fine, now that I’m not in danger of toppling out of the curricle!” She cast him a sidelong glance and caught his snicker. “You meant to terrify me!”

“Never!” he defended himself, the portrait of innocence. “I suggested you hold on, did I not?”

Exasperated, she rolled her eyes, turning to look around them. The ride along Rotten Row in Hyde Park at this, the fashionable hour, was one of the most revered traditions in London aristocracy. It was a chance to see and be seen, to display one’s position in society, and, more than anything else, to witness—and perpetuate—the latest gossip of the ton. The path was packed with members of the beau monde, in open-air carriages, on horseback, walking along the sandy path, men with their walking sticks, women with their silk bonnets and pale linen parasols. Alex smiled brightly at the Countess of Shrewsbury, as the older woman tipped her head and reached out a hand to greet her.

“Lady Alexandra, Lord Blackmoor,” the countess said politely as Blackmoor tipped his hat. “‘Tis a fine afternoon for a ride, is it not?”

“Oh, indeed, my lady,” Alex replied, “and such a pleasure to find you here!” She lowered her voice, adding in a nearwhisper, “I wasn’t sure what I would discover!”

The countess, ever the portrait of propriety, replied with all decorum, “I’m certain Blackmoor will protect you from anything overly unusual, my dear.”

Alex looked at her companion and tilted her head, pretending to consider the statement before turning back to the countess. “I suppose he’ll have to do.”