Duel of Hearts

Also by Anita Mills

Devil's Match

Scandal Bound

Follow the Heart

Secret Nights

Bittersweet

The Rogue's Return

Autumn Rain

Miss Gordon's Mistake

Newmarket Match

Dangerous

The Fire Series

Lady of Fire

Fire and Steel

Hearts of Fire

The Fire and the Fury

Winter Roses

H
aving just been set down in front of Hookham's lending library in busy Bond Street, Leah Cole breathed the fresh, unseasonably warm air deeply before turning to her companion. “I cannot credit the weather—'tis lovely.” Directing the abigail's gaze toward the boxes of flowers that lined the street, she murmured, “I own the crocuses give promise of spring already, and I am glad of it. I hate the dreariness of winter.”

“Watch out!”

Leah scarce had time to look up before she froze. The street was crowded with carriages, curricles, and all manner of conveyances, and a young buck, impatient with the delay, was attempting to shoot the gap between a carriage and the curb, with disastrous results. He'd lost control of his horses when the wheel of his smart curricle had jumped the curb, glanced off a lamppost, and careened wildly. Now his ribbons trailed on the ground and the two-seater skimmed along the walkway toward them. Beside Leah, Annie screamed.

At almost the same instant Leah realized her peril, someone came from nowhere, barreled into her, and carried her to the ground. Both she and her abigail rolled to the pavement in a tangle of arms and legs as the curricle wheel passed over the edge of Annie's pelisse. Leah closed her eyes just before she felt the rattle of the axle inches from her head. She heard the crash, the sudden stillness, and then running footsteps and excited chatter. Gingerly she opened her eyes to discover they had survived.

She was pinned to the ground beneath the weight of a man, and she looked up into the brightest blue eyes she'd ever seen. And they were set in the face of an incredibly handsome man. Despite the fact that he was lying on her, she felt her heart beating rapidly, as much from the sight of him as from their narrow escape. Beside her, Annie lay motionless.

“I believe the danger is past,” Leah murmured, coming to her senses and struggling beneath him. “And you are on my person.”

Tony Barsett stared down into the most arresting pair of gray eyes he had ever seen, and as he too collected himself, he realized the young female beneath him was a beauty. She had lost her chipstraw hat when he had hit her, and it dangled loosely from grosgrain ties that miraculously still clung beneath her chin. Her hair, a glorious honey blond, tumbled in a profusion of curls that escaped from what had been a twisted coil at the back of her head. And her voice was pleasantly husky, the kind that always intrigued a man.

Reluctantly he rolled away and struggled to his feet. Leaning over to assist her, he asked quickly, “Are you hurt? Do you think you have injured anything?”

“Only my dignity,” she assured him, smiling. “But Annie …” She turned to her abigail, who sat up in a daze. Quickly fumbling in the reticule that dangled from the older woman's wrist, Leah found the vinaigrette, uncapped it, and waved it beneath her nose. The strong fumes seemed to revive the woman. “Poor Annie,” Leah clucked sympathetically, “you are unused to such excitement. But you are all right now.”

“Oh, miss—I thought we was killed!”

“There's no harm to anything but our clothes. Here …” Before Anthony Barsett could intervene, she'd lifted her companion and was busily engaged in brushing her off.

“My pelisse is quite ruined!” the woman wailed, noting for the first time where the curricle wheel had torn it.

“But you are alive. Indeed, our thanks to …?” The girl turned to their rescuer and extended her hand in an almost businesslike gesture. “We are grateful, sir.”

“Lyndon—Viscount Lyndon.” Even later, Tony was to wonder how it was that he'd used his title rather than his name. Perhaps it was because he wanted to impress her.

“And I am Leah Cole.”

Behind them, the youthful driver of the curricle was still disentangling himself from the wreckage where his vehicle had hit another iron lamppost and overturned. A crowd formed around him, its members evenly divided between loud censure and concern for his well-being. A tall gentleman, distinguished by a cold arrogance that set itself against his handsomeness, stepped down from the carriage that had been sideswiped to start the whole unfortunate affair, and walked toward them.

“Are there any injuries?” he inquired politely, his black eyes taking in the three pedestrians.

“Hallo, Marcus,” Tony acknowledged curtly.

“Lyndon.” Turning to Leah Cole, the newcomer unbent enough to introduce himself. “I am Rotherfield.”

“Leah Cole.”

For a moment the earl's interest was whetted by her lack of recognition and then his eyes were veiled. “The young fool scraped my carriage, but there's little enough harm done, I suppose. If any of you needs to be taken up, I shall be happy to oblige.”

“No …no.” Leah met his black eyes squarely, unaware that even the men of his acquaintance avoided them. “My driver will be back directly, sir, for we were but set down to borrow some books.” Turning back to Tony, she murmured, “But perhaps Lord Lyndon …”

“I was walking, Miss Cole.” He'd been watching her, noting her openness with Rotherfield, and a certain suspicion took root in his mind. He stared at her frankly now, his own eyes raking her with jaded experience, taking in the expensive gown she wore, lingering on her pleasing figure, noting her full breasts above her narrow waist, and traveling upward with a knowing smile. Leah Cole was as fine a fancy piece as he'd ever seen.

“Tell me, Lord Lyndon,” she asked with sudden coldness, “do you always inspect the females you meet?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

“I say, but I am sorry.” The redheaded driver, having managed to right his curricle and disentangle his horses, came forward to apologize. Noting the irate expression on the abigail's face and the coldness of the others, his face flushed. “Cow-handed of me, I know. Name's Hawkins—Christopher Hawkins, but I am called Kit.”

“Ought to be clapped up!” the older woman fumed at him. “Streets of Lunnon ain't safe with you on 'em— just look what you have done!” she demanded, holding up the tattered corner of her pelisse.

“Well, I thought I could handle 'em—could have, too, but for …” He stopped, aware now of Rotherfield.
“That is—”

“Precisely,” the earl cut in succinctly.

The boy's blush deepened, but with the characteristic self-centeredness of youth, he turned to Anthony Barsett. “How bad do you think it is? I mean, can it be mended, do you think?” he asked anxiously. “It ain't mine, you know—borrowed it from m'uncle, but he don't know it yet.” Heaving a heavy sigh, he looked at the pavement for a moment. “Daresay he will now.”

“Axle's broken,” Rotherfield observed dispassionately, sending another wave of color to the boy's face.

But Tony wasn't attending. His eyes never left Leah Cole as he speculated on his chances. She was turned out as smartly as he'd ever seen one, but if she had been wearing rags, it would have made no difference. Those smoky eyes of hers, that hair, and that voice were enough to turn any man's head. Almost as if she had read his thoughts, she stepped back.

“Come, Annie,” she ordered her companion. “As we are scarce presentable, I think we should forgo Hookham's today.” Without looking up at Tony again, she nodded. “Again I must thank you for your prompt assistance, my lord. Good day, gentlemen.”

“Perhaps I could call on you tomorrow to assure myself you are unhurt?” Tony asked, unwilling to let the delectable Leah go.

Her brief smile revealed the edges of fine, even teeth, but did not warm the smoky eyes. “That will be unnecessary, my lord.”

For the first time in his life, Tony had received a set down from a female, and he did not like it. In his experience, women from the lowest to the highest ranks cast out lures to him, loved him, and forgave him anything. And certainly he'd never been turned aside so definitely. Usually, at the worst of it, they said “maybe.” Recovering, he bent to retrieve his beaver-brimmed hat and set it at a rakish angle on his head. “Well, I daresay we shall meet again, Miss Cole.”

She appeared to consider the matter and then shook her head. “I should not think it likely, sir.” To Rotherfield she extended her hand. “Your offer of a lift was appreciated, my lord. And, Mr. Hawkins, I pray your uncle does not deal too harshly with you.”

The three of them stared after her as the two women walked to the corner. A carriage pulled into view and liveried footmen jumped down to assist them. Even from the distance of fifty or sixty feet, Tony could see the coach was sumptuously furnished inside.

“Gawd!” Hawkins breathed. “ 'Tis the most expensive thing I have ever seen.”

“She is that,” Tony agreed.

“Looked like a royal carriage without the crest, didn't it?”

“What? Oh, the coach.” Still staring after her, Tony shook his head. “Well, it was not, I assure you. It probably belongs to a nabob,” he guessed aloud.

“I have never seen the girl before,” Rotherfield murmured beside them.

“Who do you think pays her bills?” Tony asked.

“Why, her father, I should think.” Kit Hawkins looked from one to the other of them, and reddened anew at the sardonic gleam in the Earl of Rotherfield's black eyes.

“Hawkins, you are a green one.” Tony grinned. “No. I know every eligible female on the Marriage Mart these five years past, and Leah Cole is not one of them. 'Tis as plain as the sun shines that she is a Cyprian of the first rank.”

The elegant carriage disappeared around a corner several blocks down the street before Rotherfield murmured softly, “I wonder …”

“But wouldn't you have seen her somewhere then?”

“Not necessarily. A dress like that probably cost close to fifty guineas,” Tony hazarded knowingly. “Ten to one, 'tis an old man who keeps her, and that sort never parades 'em about—afraid a young buck'll outbid 'em.” Reaching to straighten the boy's hat on his head, he confided cheerfully, “Within the space of a month, Kit Hawkins, that exquisite bit of fluff will be under my protection.”

D
espite the fact that his coat and trousers were quite ruined, Anthony Barsett presented himself at Davenham House, prepared for the worst from his great-aunt. Although there was a bond of some affection between them, he resented her interest in his affairs. A
grande dame
of the
ton
for as long as he could remember, the dowager duchess had bestirred herself to exert her considerable influence to see him well-established amongst that select group, and she had managed the task well. But she would not leave it at that and continued to meddle in his affairs well past his majority, so much so that she was forever advancing candidates eager to become the next Viscountess Lyndon. And her continuous harping on the subject was fast straining his affection for her into irritation.

“ 'Tis about time that you deign to visit an old woman,” she greeted him sourly. “But then 'tis to be supposed that your other interests must keep you well occupied.” Her black eyes took in his ruined coat with a disdainful sniff. “In my day, Anthony, a gentleman did not pay morning calls dressed as a ruffian.”

He surveyed the old woman with exasperation as he crossed the room toward her. “Well, now I have come, Aunt Hester, despite a very near carriage wreck, and you find me all ears to hear the peal you would read me.” His fine blue eyes met hers steadily. “That is why you have summoned me, is it not?”

Hester Barsett Havinghurst, dowager Duchess of Davenham, rose imperiously from her thronelike chair, her gnarled and bony fingers gripping the chased-silver handle of her walking cane so tightly that the protuberant veins rose like dark cords across the back of her skeletal hand. Supporting herself with the stick, she reached to retrieve a folded newspaper from a chairside table. Her thin lips drawn tight with disapproval, her voice strong in contrast to her small, bent frame, she lifted the paper and waved it in his direction.

“This, Tony—'tis of this I would speak!”

Beneath his perfectly contrived blond Brutus, his brow furrowed and then lightened as he took the offending copy. “Oh that,” he murmured, suppressing a grin at how well he'd read her intent. “ 'Tis old news.”

“Old news! A fortune gone this week or last—'tis all the same, is it not?” Her birdlike black eyes flashed as she poked the back of the paper with a bony finger. “ 'Tis true enough, from all I have heard of it, Anthony—you have whistled the Lyndon fortune down the wind! Shipping!
Shipping!
” She shuddered with loathing at the word. “I know not how I shall bear it, Tony! ‘Twas more than enough for you to engage in trade—the first of our name ever! Four hundred years of Barsetts, and not a one reduced to such …such straits! I
told
you no good would come of such nonsense, did I not? But would you listen to an old woman? Of course you would not!”

“Aunt Hester—”

“Do not try to turn me up sweet, Anthony! If you think I mean to bring you about after you have steered your barque into chancy water, I assure you that I do not! No—you'll not lose one farthing of my fortune with your schemes. Trade! Humph!”

His amusement faded in the face of her tirade, and the muscles in his jaw worked to control his anger at being called to book like a small schoolboy. “I assure you I have no such intent, Aunt Hester,” he managed through clenched teeth. “My affairs are my own, and I intend to come about on my own.”

“How much did you lose?” she demanded, cutting to the heart of the matter. “I had it of Thornhill 'twas fifty thousand pounds, but he cannot have the right of that, for you never had that much at the outset.”

“I lost enough, but I am not done up,” he snapped irritably. “No matter what you may have heard, my pockets are not to let yet—and so you may tell your gossips.”

“Tony …Tony. What am I ever to do with you? You take no advice, you refuse my aid—”

“I was not aware that you had offered aid—quite the contrary, in fact,” he bit off precisely. “As for advice, I have had a surfeit of it. I am no longer in leading strings, you know.”

She knew she'd gone too far, that she'd angered him more than she'd intended. Nodding, she softened the tone of her voice. “All right then—how much did you lose? Perhaps I was overhasty, Tony. I'd not see the last Barsett in Newgate, no matter what the cost, and well you know it.”

“I have no wish to discuss it. The ship went down, taking all hands and all goods with it, and that is the end of the matter. I am not without resources despite the loss, Aunt Hester.”

“I see.” She sighed heavily, indicating that she neither saw at all nor believed what he said. “Very well, I will allow that you are a man grown, Anthony, and as such, you are not bound to follow my advice. You must forgive an old woman's desire to see the last of her blood settled and well-established.”

“Aha! And now we get to the true matter at hand, do we not? All right then—which long-toothed female is it that you would foist on me this time?”

“You would not be the first to mend your fortunes by marriage, Anthony,” she reminded him stiffly. “But I have long since left off meddling in that basket of yarn, I assure you. My fondest wish is merely that you should find a girl with sufficient character to curb your excesses.” Her black eyes were serious as she looked at him. “Do you think me unaware of how 'tis you amuse yourself? Do you think I cannot hear the gossip also? Well, I do, and I cannot like it. Opera dancers and gaming hells cannot bring you the satisfaction of a wife and an heir, despite what you seem to think. I fear that you will become naught but a confirmed rakehell, unable to settle down with one girl.”

Her anger dissipated, she reached for the bell-pull and nodded toward a damask couch. “You will stay for a glass of sherry, will you not? It helps the aches in my bones, you know, and I'd not drink it alone. Thankfully, Bucky's gone to visit a step-cousin or some such creature today, else I'd have to listen to her tell me spirits ain't the thing for a female.”

A smile played at the corners of his mouth and his brilliant blue eyes warmed. “You know, Aunt Hester, I think I preferred it when you were angry with me. Now 'twould seem you think to shame me into doing my duty to my name.” Nonetheless, he dropped his tall frame onto the couch and lounged easily against the well padded back.

“And what of that?” she demanded, gesturing to a footman to pull her chair closer to where her great-nephew sat. “Do you think I wish to be in my dotage ere I see the name I was born with carried on? If I do not remind you of your duty on occasion, I fear I shall be in my grave first.”

“I have never seen a female I could live with, Aunt,” he answered, taking the glass offered him. “And I've no wish to wed any of the insipid misses paraded past me. There are no more Hester Barsetts to be had, else I'd have had one,” he added affectionately.

“There's girls aplenty, Tony. Why, Maria Cosgrove told me that she'd never seen so many Incomparables as are out this year. And as for that farradiddle about me, well, be done with you. I ain't the sort to be turned up sweet by nonsense.”

“You want to hear about the girls out this year?” he asked wickedly. “I went to the Marchbanks chit's come out to look 'em over, and do you wish to know what I found? They are so afraid of not taking that they have no thoughts of their own, Aunt Hester! The first one would not even allow as it was hot in the place until she discovered if I thought it so. Do you think I want to spend my life having my opinions prated back to me? 'Tis no wonder that full half the
ton
keeps mistresses!”

“Well, they cannot all be like that, Tony. Maria's—”

“Ah, the Cosgrove chit! She does not even read so much as a scandal sheet—and God forbid she should look at a book!”

“Bluestockings are unfashionable,” the old woman reminded him.

“I accept that, but do you know what the chit said to me? I asked if she liked the classics, and she stared blankly through three full measures of the dance before she said, ‘Oh, I collect you mean my dress—yes, 'tis fashioned after the Empress Josephine's favorite one.' ”

“Well, at least you are looking.”

“No. Renfield persuaded me to go to the Marchbanks thing so that he could dangle after one of Lord Larchmont's spotted girls, but nothing came of it when he discovered she did not know a bay from a chestnut.”

“Perhaps you should try Almack's. I have heard—”

“Thank you, but at least the Marchbankses offered a creditable supper at their little affair. Almack's, on the other hand, has absolutely nothing but stale cakes and weak lemonade to recommend it.”

“Well, you will have to do something if you are to come about,” she reasoned. “Don't suppose you have thought to go to Bath to look over the heiresses?”

“I have no desire for a provincial bride.”

“All right,” she conceded. “I wash my hands of the matter. But if you should ever happen to discover the chit you'd have, I hope you have sense enough to come up to scratch. And 'tis hoped also that she has money.”

He set his glass down and reached across to cover her bony fingers with his own. “Do not worry about me, Aunt Hester. I promise you that I am not without resources. And if I ever discover a female who does not bore me beyond belief within a fortnight, I will wed her.”

She looked down at his strong, warm hand before answering. “I hope I live long enough to meet her, Tony.”