Page 3 of Never a Bride
“Let me guess—a spinster,” Alex said with groan.
Edmund’s smile showed almost every tooth in his head. “I am certainly going to relish taking your money.”
“You haven’t won yet, my good man. There is not a woman born I can’t cajole. It will be easy to elude one sister in pursuit of the other.”
Edmund gave him a formal bow. “Then I wish you luck, sir—you’ll need it. Shall we begin?” He took himself off without a backward glance.
Alex’s gaze returned to the two sisters, now standing together near the banqueting table. Blythe’s smile was lively as she listened to her sister’s obviously serious words. Emmeline had none of Blythe’s vivaciousness, and her dark hair had a reddish tinge to it. Perhaps if she smiled occasionally, she would have ensnared a man by now.
Yet she was the daughter of a marquess—surely men must be lining up at her door, if only for a share of her wealth. So why had she never married?
Hell, he didn’t have to care about the sister; he only had to outwit her. And for that to succeed, he had to win the younger sister’s cooperation.
So he began to follow Blythe about the room, sending longing glances her way, ready for the moment their eyes would meet.
It came as she was talking to Emmeline, whose back was to Alex. Over Emmeline’s shoulder, Blythe glanced up and saw him there, not ten paces away, watching her. He held her gaze and gave her a slow smile tinged with a slight wickedness. It was something he was naturally good at.
Blythe smiled back, and her cheeks pinkened delightfully. She returned her attention to her sister, but she eventually glanced at him again. He inclined his head, and this time her entire face reddened. He beckoned with one hand—a miscalculation, for her smile faded, and she looked away.
Very well, he had tried the easy method, and was relieved that Blythe would be more challenging. The moment Emmeline left her side, Alex was there, bowing before Blythe. That lovely blush returned to her face.
“Lady Blythe,” he murmured, reaching for her fingers and kissing them. When he didn’t immediately let go, she disengaged her hand from his.
“Good evening, sir,” she said, a reluctant-looking smile on her face. “Have we met?”
“No, my lady, but how can any man not know your name? I am Sir Alexander Thornton, and I would gladly pay a king’s ransom to dance with you.”
“An exchange of coin is not necessary, Sir Alexander,” she said, followed by a spirited laugh. “Dancing is such a joy that I’ll gladly indulge you for free.”
And then he whirled her out into the crowd.
~oOo~
Lady Emmeline Prescott had once again misplaced her sister. She wanted to stomp her foot in frustration, but even in childhood that had never gotten her her way, especially after her mother had died. Emmeline had learned at an early age that her father expected her to rely on herself, but watching over Blythe tested her very intellect and patience.
Emmeline sighed. Her sister was a good girl, just high-spirited, and seemingly unaware that her dowry and her beauty made her a worthy prize to men.
Surprisingly, a dowry alone did not seem to matter, since Emmeline, a wealthy heiress in her own right, seldom had male callers.
But she preferred not to dwell on what could never be. She had Blythe’s happiness and romantic success to worry about. Emmeline was determined that her sister would have the husband she herself never would. She would be a part of Blythe’s family, a dear aunt to Blythe’s children, and know the peace of seeing her sister happy.
If only she could keep Blythe from mischief, and help her to settle on the perfect man.
Then she saw her sister in the midst of the dancers. Who was she with? Every time Emmeline almost caught a glimpse of the tall, dark-haired man, someone stepped between them. She skirted the edges of the hall, keeping out of the way, until she could finally see the couple.
Her sister’s partner bowed as the dance ended. When he straightened, Emmeline felt a jolt of awareness. She had seen him from a distance at court. He was broad-shouldered, with a litheness that made him an excellent dancer. Short black hair framed a face distinguished by olive skin and the only clean-shaven chin in the hall. When he smiled at Blythe, his white teeth were blinding. A pearl earbob dangled from one ear, above a brocade doublet well-tailored to his impressive chest and a short cape that hung back from his shoulders. Oh, he was too handsome a man, perhaps even of foreign birth.
Suddenly he looked directly at Emmeline, and she managed to meet his unsettling gaze with a cool nod. He laughed and swept Blythe into the next dance, leaving Emmeline to feel strangely thwarted. Which was absurd.
It was easy to discover his identity among her acquaintances. Sir Alexander Thornton, the younger son of Viscount Thornton. She was quickly informed of his half-Spanish heritage and his dubious reputation. Her acquaintances made clear that he was not interested in marriage, that he was a favorite of the queen, and actually kept mistresses.
Mistresses!
Sir Alexander wasnota man Blythe should be trifling with.
Her sister usually reserved her flirting for young men close to her own age, and Emmeline knew a stern warning would only make Blythe do the opposite. Surely there had to be another way to keep Sir Alexander away from her sister.
Just then the man had the gall to meet her gaze over her sister’s shoulder and grin at her, leaving her flustered and all the more determined.
