“Do you want me to join you?” My aunt asked.
I most definitely did not. A moment of peace was what I was after. Listening to more dreadful gossip or facts, whatever it may be, about the ton would only cause me further duress. “No, that won’t be necessary. I will be just there if you need me,” I told her then walked past the lemonade for fear she would take my pause as a chance to catch up to me.
The briskness in the evening air was refreshing, but not enough to make my future appear brighter. The warmth inside was just as stifling as the people surrounding me. So many people and so much talking. I didn’t know a time where I’d been required to talk so much about nothing at all of importance. I was not talented at appearing meek, gentle, or demure and it would seem that was the basic list for a gentleman’s search for a wife.
“I’m not known to attend the gatherings of London society, but I’m within the circle enough to be certain, I have never had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. A new face, especially one as beautiful as yours, isn’t forgotten,” the voice was smooth, refined and masculine. I had come outside to escape talking and it seemed as if it would now follow me out here.
I turned to see who had interrupted my solitude. A one Mr. Compton stood before me with his hands tucked into his front pockets and his jacket slightly askew. A lock of his blond hair had come loose from the hair tie that was at the nape of his neck. The evening breeze caught it and I watched as it danced beside his cheek. His features, although similar to his brother’s, weren’t as harsh or cold. There was a welcoming softness to him that didn’t lessen his beauty, only making him more approachable.
“I didn’t come to interrupt your escape from the insanity inside. I just wanted to meet the lady who shut down my brother so effortlessly. Possibly shake your hand if I may be so presumptuous.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I replied, feeling accused of something that was completely incorrect.
“I’m sorry, I should have begun with an introduction. I am Nicholas Compton and Ashington is my brother, half-brother. We only share a father.”
As intriguing as I was sure he meant for that small clarification to be, I was already aware of who he was and his relationship to the rude Earl of Ashington. However, pointing out my prior knowledge was of no consequence.
“Mr. Compton, I did not shut down Lord Ashington. I merely corrected him. You see he is not on my dance card this evening and allowing him to take another’s spot was rude. I am not rude nor do I condone rudeness.”
Mr. Compton’s mouth turned up at one corner into a crooked grin of sorts. He seemed to find my response amusing and as attractive as he was, I didn’t see how his behavior was much better than his brother’s. They may both be devastatingly handsome, but I wouldn’t be drawn in by something as shallow as appearance. Beauty was truly only skin deep. As for Mr. Compton, he may not be arrogant like his brother, but the wicked gleam in his eyes did not commend him to me at all.
Chapter Four
Mr. Nicholas Compton
This was not why I had come but then beauty had always been my unfortunate weakness. My intentions were inside the ballroom, currently being charmed by my older brother. If I were to accomplish humiliating him, I had to stay focused on the plan. However, I was a man who enjoyed beautiful women and the one before me was not only stunning but the challenge in her eyes called to my basic instincts. The only thing better than a beautiful woman was a challenge. She was both but she was also not why I was in London for the season. I couldn’t lose my focus because of beauty. Revenge was far greater an emotion than lust or desire.
“I’m trying to decide if Fletcher is feeling empowered by the experience or terrified of any future dealings with Ashington,” I said, ignoring her protest that she had done nothing to Ashington. Her refusal on the subject meant nothing. She had, in fact, turned her nose up at his interest and that couldn’t be denied, no matter how lovely she might appear trying to do just that.
“I am sure Mr. Fletcher is neither empowered or terrified. He was a smart man of few words and a competent dance partner,” she said in defense of Fletcher. There was no flutter of lashes or gentle manner in which she spoke. Instead, there was a fire behind her remarkable eyes and I was drawn to it. Reckless of me indeed, but it couldn’t be helped. She was a rare find.
“In other words, he is boring. I quite agree. Fletcher loves nothing more than his hunting hounds. If you want him to talk then mention the beasts and he won’t shut up.” I spoke poorly of Fletcher just to get more of that spark behind her spectacular expressions. She would not fawn over me like most ladies here tonight while I spoke to her, and I found it was quite enjoyable.
“And what of you? If you are such an excellent conversationalist, what would you talk about to a lady you have just made acquaintance?”
I could not recall a time when a female had chosen not to flirt with me, especially while in London. This was an odd experience for me, but if I were being honest, it was … refreshing. I oft began a conversation with ladies prepared for them to use their feminine wiles to draw me in. This one not only had an opinion, but she was openly curious about mine. If she was in London to find a husband, she was not going about it the right way. I daresay even her beauty could not distract from her sharp tongue and mind. At least not in this setting.
“I would show interest in her and find out what makes her smile. Listen to her words and not blabber about my own. If I am to spend a moment dancing with a lady then I want to remember her by the things that delight her not simply by who she is,” I replied honestly.
Her sapphire eyes widened slightly; however, she didn’t smile coyly or soften, but then had I truly expected her to? If simple words had broken down the fortress she had built around her then she would be no true challenge at all.
“I see,” was all she said then she glanced back at the ballroom. “I’ve been gone long enough. I must return.”
She was running away and we both knew it. “It was a pleasure, Miss Bathurst,” I said with a genuine smile.
Her eyes narrowed then as she studied me. “I do not recall giving you my name.”
I gave a small nod. “I asked of you the moment I witnessed you refuse my brother.”
She sighed then, as if reminding her of how she’d treated Ashington was cumbersome. “Again, I did nothing to your brother but correct him. A title means nothing if you wield arrogance and power because of it.”
“Unfortunately, the rest of London doesn’t agree,” I replied. Nor would the eligible gentlemen of this season fancy hearing such. She was a treasure indeed.
Miriam Bathurst flashed a small sad frown as if I’d snatched away her last hope that the ton wasn’t as shallow as they seemed. Watching her walk away from me, I felt an odd sense of guilt for being the one to inform her of such a truth.
I watched her as she stopped to get a glass of lemonade and yet before she could leave the table, three men had surrounded her. I knew their faces and none of them were verbally ready to handle Miriam Bathurst. She would require much more than a young man who fancied himself in love with her beauty. Her mother must have allowed her into the library instead of forcing needlework upon her or other silly involvements. Miriam Bathurst was clever.