Page 12

Their coloring was similar, both possessing raven-black hair and vivid blue eyes. But as far as Mathias had observed, that was where the resemblances ended. Scarborough generally lingered on the periphery of social functions, watching—if he attended at all. Nicolette, on the other hand, was always in the middle of whatever excitement was occurring.

Not that Nicolette Twistleton couldn’t—and didn’t—regularly take a man down a peg or two. She’d perfected her wintery blue-eyed stare to an art, and cutting ripostes and witticisms easily rolled off her tongue. Wearing a winsome smile, she verbally filleted any dandy or swain who overstepped.

Mathias, thus far, had been spared her displeasure, despite the numerous occasions they’d been in mixed company together. Well, except for yesterday when the vixen had pinched him. And that merely proved that she wasn't impervious to him.

A pleased grin tilted his mouth as he briskly rapped upon the ruby-colored door.

The flush pinkening her ivory cheeks and the plump pillows of her pretty mouth pursed in annoyance couldn’t hide the spark of interest in her stunning gaze. Her big, almond-shaped eyes were, in a word, exquisite.

Indeed, the most mesmerizing eyes Mathias had ever seen.

He quite lost himself when he looked into them. Which belied explanation, as he’d gazed into many beautiful women’s eyes and enjoyed the feminine charms of several willing women, as well.

Framed by a fringe of lush ebony lashes beneath winged brows, Nicolette’s eyes were a shade somewhere between forget-me-nots and periwinkle. And always a hint of distrust, betrayal, and pain shadowed their enigmatic depths, although she veiled her emotions well.

Nevertheless, they were noticeable if one was discerning and took the time to probe beyond the various barriers she’d erected.

It pleased him no end to discover Nicolette wasn’t as resistant to masculine regard as she affected. Well, his regard, that was. Mathias certainly hoped to God it was only his attention that rattled her composure. He’d been biding his time for so long, patiently waiting for her to notice him as her heart and spirit healed.

The alternative made his blood sing with something somewhat dark and unpleasant. Something foreign and possessive and alarming in its intensity. Why Nicolette should be the sole woman to ignite whatever this thing was, he didn’t ponder. He only knew the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to be with the winsome woman.

Much like a tippler and his gin.

She could easily become an addiction, and then what was he to do?

She had felt something as he carried her, too, though he’d wager she’d bite off her tongue before admitting to any such thing.

Mathias knew, of course, of her broken betrothal. Also knew her reputation for flirting and teasing and then eviscerating any man stupid enough to show more than a passing interest in her. Hence, he’d studiously stayed on the perimeter, safe and unthreatening.

Nicolette enticed men into her web, and then when they were caught, much like a spider’s attack, she stabbed them with her rapier-sharp tongue.

She was a contradictory, fascinating, and wholly beguiling mélange.

Rather than put him off, it intrigued the hell out of him.

It helped that he understood and even empathized with her jaded attitude and behavior.

Prior to inheriting the dukedom four years ago, he’d also experienced a broken betrothal. By a woman who wasn’t satisfied with becoming the lowly Mrs. Mathias Pembroke, even if his purse had jingled quite nicely back then.

Thanks to several lucrative investments, including acquiring three ships, said purse clinked much, much more so now.

Victoria had coveted a title before her name, and had flung him off with the same disregard one did the contents of a tosspot when the middling-aged Viscount Calbraith had come sniffing around the young beauty.

Mathias had been her back-up plan; in case she couldn’t catch a bigger fish her first Season—a peer to be precise. And he’d been ignorant of her machinations until he’d caught her in an indelicate situation with Calbraith at a house party.

Soon after she’d married the viscount, Mathias came to appreciate he’d escaped a dreadful life sentence. His infatuation with Victoria gradually faded into disdain and, to a degree, pity for her husband, who had seemed to genuinely care for the fickle chit.

She was rumored to have had one affair after another since becoming a viscountess. Apparently, her aging husband couldn’t satisfy her needs.

Fate most definitely had a wickedly perverse sense of humor.

For now, Mathias was the well-respected and popular Duke of Westfall, and Viscountess Victoria Calbraith was a widow living on society’s fringes. If chitchat was accurate, her pockets were to let, as well, and she urgently sought a wealthy husband to remedy that condition.

Evidently, once she’d settled her quest for a title, she’d decided money was rather a necessity, after all. Calbraith might’ve had a respected centuries’ old title, but he’d been living on credit for years and was reputed to have been a pinch-penny.

Recently, Victoria had approached Mathias at a rout and had shamelessly offered to renew their relationship. “We can take right up where we left off, Mathias, darling,” she suggested while skimming her hand across his groin with a practiced touch. He sincerely doubted she’d come by her expertise with her doddering, decrepitude of a husband.

Even now, Mathias’s mouth filled with distaste at the notion of bedding her.