Chapter 1
There may be a rare occasion when a young lady is wrong, but a gentleman must never resort to pointing out that fact to her.
A PROPERGENTLEMAN’SGUIDE TOWOOING THEPERFECTLADY
SIRVINCENTTYBALTVALENTINE
Through a hazy drizzle, the stately, two-story house came into view. Sloane Knox, the Duke of Hawksthorn, stopped at the top of a rocky knoll. It was already late in the day. On such a dreary afternoon it would have been nice to see a welcoming light in one of the front windows, hear the warning bark of a dog—anything to keep the massive stone structure from looking so forlorn. The only visible sign of life was a barely discernible plume of grayish-white smoke ascending from a chimney top and quickly dissipating into the moist air.
Hawk had never been a patient man, and today had stretched his limit further than he thought possible. That his current situation was his own impulsive fault didn’t help his grumbling spirit. On this cold but bright February day, he’d thought to save time and make the journeyfaster by leaving his carriage behind and leasing a horse from the inn where he’d lodged for the night. Now, several hours later, not only had the horse gone lame so that Hawk had to walk the poor creature, but the directions he’d been given to Mammoth House were severely wrong and he’d had to retrace his steps more than once. On top of that, a damned chilling rain had been falling on him for the last half hour.
However, if Mr. Quick accepted Hawk’s offer and agreed to make a match with Adele, it would all be worth it. Hawk’s search for the right man had not been impulsive. Quick was the nephew of an earl, more than average height, and even though Hawk considered him on the lean side, he assumed most young ladies would consider the man handsome enough. And the fellow seemed to always have a smile on his face and a bounce to his step.
What more could his sister want in a husband?
Still confident his plan for Adele was a good one, Hawk hunkered further down into his cloak and continued his slow trek toward the house, leading the limping horse behind him.
After all the trouble his friend Griffin had gone through with his sisters last year, Hawk wasn’t going to take any chances with Adele’s future. He wasn’t one to stand around and wait for something to happen. He was taking matters into his own hands. And as he’d hoped, his sister had agreed.
The Season was still more than two months away and alreadyMiss Honora Truth’s Scandal Sheetwas fueling gossipmongers all over London about Adele’s debut in the spring. What the tittle-tattle writers didn’t know was that Hawk intended to have his sister’s betrothal already settled before the first dance of the Season began. That would fool them all, and there would be no opportunities for mischief from anyone who might be seeking to exact revenge on Hawk by pursuing his sister with less-than-honorable intentions.
A gust of icy wind whipped across Hawk’s face as he tethered the animal to the hitching post and then strode up the three steps to the door. Knowing someone from inside the house could send a groom to take care of the mare, he rapped the iron knocker before peeling off his damp leather gloves and stuffing them into his pocket.
After a few moments, the door opened slowly. A round-cheeked woman’s face appeared. “May I help you, sir?”
“I’m the Duke of Hawksthorn,” he stated. “Mr. Quick is expecting me.”
With dark, distrusting eyes, she looked him up and down as if she couldn’t believe a duke was standing before her wearing a drenched cloak and a dripping hat. She then perused the landscape past him, no doubt wondering where his carriage and entourage were hiding.
“I am alone,” he added, removing his hat and dusting off the excess rain.
“You’d best come warm yourself by the fire,” she said.
That would be most welcome, he thought, swinging his cloak from his shoulders and giving it a good shake.
The woman opened the door and stepped back, giving the customary curtsy to Hawk as he passed the threshold and into the spacious, cavernous vestibule. It must have been a grand entrance at one time, but now it was hardly more than a large empty room. A worn settee was backed against one wall. Opposite the small sofa stood an ornately carved table with an unlit lamp sitting on one end and an unused candlestick on the other. He couldn’t help but think the inside of the house looked as forsaken as the outside, but then he caught the aroma of bread baking in an oven and knew this was a lived-in home.
He handed off his cloak and hat to the short, rotund woman with a ruffle-edged mobcap covering her hair. She laid them on the table and said, “Follow me.”
She preceded him down the wide corridor and into a drawing room that was furnished only a little better than the vestibule. Two floral-patterned settees faced each other in the center of the room, and a table barely large enough for a tea tray had been placed between the two. Matching armchairs upholstered in a brown-and-gold-striped fabric were arranged near the fireplace. Against the far wall by a window stood a highly polished secretary and chair. Little else filled the drafty room.
“Wait here,” the woman said and left.
Hawk walked over to the fireplace. The flame was hardly more than a few sizzling embers, and while the heat immediately warmed him, it would do little to help dry out his boots or wet collar and neckcloth. Kneeling down, he grabbed the poker and stoked the fire before adding wood to the grate.
“Your Grace.”
At the sound of the soft feminine voice, Hawk rose to his full height and turned. A tall, slender young lady was standing near the entrance to the room. She curtsied when their eyes met. She looked pure, sweet, and completely untouched by masculine hands. A sudden, deep rush of desire flamed through him, and the rhythm of his heartbeat changed.
She wore a modest dress of pale-blue wool, void of bows, lace, or any of the embellishments usually sewn on to enhance the common fabric. No jewelry hung around her neck or dangled from her ears. Her light-blond hair was pulled up on each side, but he couldn’t see how far down her back it hung, or if there were satin ribbons or fancy combs to hold it in place. What struck him instantly abouther was that he’d never seen such a beautiful young lady so unadorned by frivolous accessories meant to enhance her beauty.
“I am Loretta Quick, Your Grace. How can I help you?”
Mr. Quick’s younger sister. It should have dawned on Hawk that he might see her, but quite frankly it hadn’t. He’d been too caught up thinking only about his own sister. He knew Miss Quick’s story, of course. Everyone in Society did. As he studied her lovely face, he was certain they’d never met. He would have remembered those dark-blue eyes that seemed so steady, yet wary. He would have remembered the strong surge of sensual awareness that seared through him at the sight of her.
“Miss Quick,” he said with a nod. “I’m here to see your brother.”
Her slightly arched brows furrowed with an uneasy expression, and she took a tentative step toward him. “Is something wrong?”
