His gaze slid back to his black-clad aunt and cousins. “It’s tempting.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “Why throw them out? Find your own quarters.” As much as she loved her parents, Joan had always wished she might do this. Douglas had had his own rooms as soon as he left university, when he was barely older than she was now. But she would never be allowed to rent her own townhouse and live a merry life on the town. Tristan Burke should appreciate the advantages he had instead of dwelling on the troubles in his life.
His mouth twisted. “You don’t understand.”
Joan heaved a sigh. “No, of course I don’t. I could never possibly understand what it’s like to be a gentleman with my own fortune, able to do as I please with no one to say me nay. Heaven preserve me from such unbearable oppression.”
He looked at her, perhaps really paying attention to her for the first time. “You’re quite impertinent.”
She beamed at him, instead of smacking him across the face as her hand itched to do. “Thank you.”
Tristan Burke stared at her, and then he laughed. His deep green eyes lit up and a wide grin creased his face, sharpening a dimple in his cheek. He looked full of joy in that moment, and Joan’s smile faded away as she stared at him.
“I’ll remember you, Joan Bennet,” he said. “I like an impertinent girl.”
“Oh.” Her voice did not sound like hers, rather breathy and soft. “Really? You would be the first ...”
He laughed again, looking devilish and tempting. He leaned closer. “I’ll wager I won’t be the last.”
She almost forgot to breathe. He was not looking at her with amusement or even respect; there was something alive in his gaze as it wandered over her face and hair and even down her figure. Suddenly she wished she hadn’t eaten that extra muffin at breakfast. Was this how gentlemen would look at ladies—at her? If so ... Joan felt a tiny shock to realize she liked it, very much.
The third time Joan Bennet met Tristan Burke was eight years later. She had endured several infatuations, two broken hearts, and one near scandal, but no marriage proposals. She was perilously close to being a spinster on the shelf, while he was very likely the biggest rogue in all of London, grown every bit into the wild, reckless devil he’d promised to be. He had only to walk through a room for tongues to start wagging and ladies to start sighing, and Joan knew without a doubt he was a Dangerous Influence.
But this time, she fell in love with him anyway.
Chapter 1
London, 1822
As so often happens at the crucial turning points in life, it began with something very stupid.
“Lady Drummond informed me they will be attending the Malcolm ball tomorrow evening,” Lady Bennet announced at breakfast.
“Indeed,” murmured her husband without looking up from his newspaper.
“She will have her daughters with her, of course,” continued Mother.
“Hmm.” Papa was paying no more attention than Joan was. She thought it was little surprise Lady Drummond would be out, dragging her two daughters with her. Felicity was nice enough, but Helena had a vicious way with underhanded compliments. She always managed to say something that sounded as though it should have been kind, but instead made Joan feel overweight and old. She made a vague mental note to be on guard and avoid Helena at the ball.
“Douglas must attend.”
This did catch Joan’s attention. “Why?” she asked with a laugh. “Douglas never goes to balls.”
Mother sipped her tea. “He should be there. Felicity Drummond will be expecting him.”
“She will?” Joan stared. “Whatever for? Surely Felicity doesn’t expect—or rather, hope—or evendream—”
“Joan!”
She winced. “I’m sorry, Mother. I had no idea Douglas admired her, is what I meant to say.”
“It would be a fine match,” said Lady Bennet with a sharp look, “and Douglas admires her as much as he admires any lady. George, are you listening to me?” she suddenly snapped at her husband.
“Every word, my love,” said Papa promptly. He still hadn’t looked up from the newspaper.
“Do you not agree it would be a splendid match if Douglas were to marry the Drummonds’ eldest girl?”
“Superb.”
