A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(7)

“I could …” His voice trailed off again as he stared into those wide, lovely, innocent eyes. No. No, he really couldn’t.

It simply wasn’t in him, no matter what the papers said. And if the only respect left to him was his self-respect, Toby would cling to it. Grayson had already taken his bride and his reputation. He’d be damned if he’d surrender his last shreds of honor, too.

Besides, he liked this girl. She deserved better treatment than that.

“I could escort you back inside now,” he said at length. “Or fetch our hostess, if you prefer. Or perhaps you’ve changed your mind and would like some refreshment?” Smiling, he covered her gloved hand with his. “Can I be of no service to you?”

“Perhaps there is a way you can help me.”

“Anything, my lady.” He knelt at her feet, mimicking a gesture of fealty. “You’ve only to say the word.”

“Sir Toby,” she whispered, her fingers clutching his. “Find me a husband.”

“A husband?” He cocked his head slightly and quirked one eyebrow. “You want me … to find you … a husband?”

Bel’s stomach flipped. In some unjust, inexplicable way, confusion rendered him even more handsome. If she did not recall her priorities quickly, she was in danger of forgetting them altogether. “Yes,” she replied. “A husband. Tonight, if possible.”

“Tonight?” He laughed. “What a mission you’re setting me. You’re determined to net a husband this very evening?”

“Well, I do not expect a proposal tonight. But I would like to identify a suitable candidate for marriage. Why else would I attend a ball?”

“Oh, I don’t know. To enjoy yourself, perhaps?”

“To enjoy myself?” Bel suddenly realized she was still holding his hand. She released it abruptly.

She had not thought herself the sort of woman who would be susceptible to seductive, charming rakes… but here she was with one. Alone. On a darkened terrace. The warmth of his skin still dancing on her fingertips …

“It’s not such a preposterous suggestion,” he said. “These events are typically considered enjoyable, I believe.” He rose from his knee and sat on the bench next to her—too close for Bel’s comfort. The masculine scent of his cologne surrounded her, intrigued her. Oh, dear. She could close her eyes to his handsome face, but how could she block out his scent? Much less close her ears to his rich, soothing voice.

“Come now,” he said. “Can you honestly tell me you have not enjoyed yourself at all this evening?”

She wilted in silence. They both knew she could not.

He inched closer on the bench. “I know I’m finding the night more enjoyable by the minute.”

Not good, not good at all. Bel shot to her feet. “I have but one purpose in attending this ball,”

she insisted as much to herself as to him, “and that is to find a husband. I must marry a lord.”

“You must marry a lord?” he echoed from the bench. “Don’t tell me. Your brother’s bartering you for connections? I would believe it of him.”

“No, no.” She briefly wondered how Sir Toby had formed such an ill opinion of her brother, when Sir Benedict Grayson was London’s current cause célèbre. Evidently he did pay little heed to rumor. “Dolly has given me an obscenely large dowry, expressly so I might select a husband without regard to title or fortune.”

“Dolly?” Sir Toby chuckled.

Bel cringed at her mistake. She knew her brother hated the pet name, but how could she erase her habit from girlhood? “Shortened from Adolphus, his middle name. I know everyone calls him Gray. At any rate, Gray wishes me to marry for love, as he did.”

“I see. As he did.”

Did she detect bitterness in his tone?

“Marrying a lord is my own wish,” she rushed on. “Not just any lord, mind, but a worthy one. A man of honor and principle.” She gestured toward the ballroom full of elegant guests. “But how can I discern a gentleman’s moral character in this setting? Dancing, cards, gossip, and drink—a ball is all vice, and no virtue.”

She turned back to Sir Toby, who was wearing his becoming expression of puzzlement once again. “I’ve only recently arrived in England, but you have lived among these people all your life. You know their titles, their characters, their spheres of influence. So long as you’ve spirited me out onto the terrace, you can assist me in identifying a suitable match.”

He stared at her intently. It seemed an age before he finally spoke. “You have the most intriguing accent. I can’t place it at all.”

“My … my accent? My mother was Spanish. She was our father’s second wife.”

“Ah. That explains it, then.”

Still he stared at her. Bel grew self-conscious. “Is it so hideous to the ear?”

“No, not at all. I find it enchanting. I could listen to you all night.”

“Oh.” Now “self-conscious” did not begin to describe her state. Heat built low in her belly, melting her center of gravity. She felt unsteady on her feet. “So, will you help me?”

He rose from the bench. She had not remembered him being so tall.

“Why don’t you wish to marry for love?” he said.