The Reluctant Suitor (2 page)

s country. From what could be roughly ascertained, the fellow had been halted by the lady’s arrival in the manor, for his slowly exacting perusal seemed riveted entirely upon her.

No reasonable explanation could be found for the wolfhounds’ acceptance of this newcomer, at least none to which Roger was privy. Stalwart loyalty of the sort he was now witnessing was normally reserved for the immediate family, as had frequently been demonstrated by the dogs’ fierce devotion to the late lord. Roger had oft suspected and yet had never found viable proof to privately convict the marquess of abetting the hostility of his pets in order to deter the many suitors seeking Lady Adriana’s attention. Prior to Lord Sedgwick’s illness and death, the hopefuls had been wont to descend in droves on the neighboring country estates of Randwulf and Wakefield in their eagerness to be anywhere within close proximity to Adriana Sutton. Not only was the lady breathtakingly beautiful, but perhaps of more interest to some than to others was the fact that, upon her marriage, her groom would become the recipient of a dowry generous enough to greatly elevate his status from pauper to fortunate gentleman.

The hounds had belonged to the nobleman, after all, and if Lord Sedgwick had been of such a mind, he could’ve easily encouraged their aggression. Although outwardly he had seemed pleasantly amused by the gallants who had found themselves genuinely besotted with the lady, he had once decreed his own son should marry the lady, which in Roger’s mind had seemed reason enough for the elder to use crafty subterfuge in allowing the dogs to frighten off lovesick swains.

It was still a mystery to Roger why the hounds tolerated the servants, though some came and went, unless their uniforms somehow set them apart from visitors and strangers in the dogs’ minds. Having nurtured as many aspirations as the rest of Lady Adriana’s admirers, Roger had followed her to Randwulf Manor on more than a score occasions, and had concluded that Leo and Aris bestowed upon

her alone the same affection they extended to family members. Bearing that in mind and considering the dogs’ intolerance for outsiders, Roger was more than a little curious as to what connection this officer had to those living in the manor.

Unable to bring to mind any definite memory of such a man from previous visits to the mansion, Roger was put to task to figure out precisely who this newcomer was. If merely an acquaintance or a distant relative of the family, then why would the dogs accept him so readily? As perplexing as that question was, Roger couldn’t shake the impression that he had seen the officer somewhere before or at least someone who bore a close resemblance to him. Such a face was unforgettable. It had all the characteristics he had come to envy: strong, noble features and a handsomeness significantly more manly than his own fine, good looks, which in recent years he had begun to suspect would remain annoyingly boyish far into the future. Although he had recently passed his twenty and seventh birthday, he was continually vexed by people who mistook him for a stripling lad.

If the officer was indeed a guest in the house, Roger had to mentally revile the air of authority the man conveyed, which no doubt stemmed from a haughty attitude or perhaps even his military rank. He certainly couldn’t have commanded respect merely by his length of years. At the most, he looked no more than thirty and five.

The stranger’s imposing presence seemed highly inappropriate in the late marquess’s home. Having elevated a dark brow to a lofty height in some exasperation with the elderly butler, who at the moment seemed oblivious to everything but his own animated conversation with the lady, the officer gave every indication that he was expecting an introduction to the maid, as if he had some indubitable right to receive one. Perhaps, like his predecessors, he had become enthralled by her uncommon beauty, a premise that ofttimes had sorely nettled Roger’s mood when he found himself in the midst of her audience of aristocratic suitors.

Who the devil was this chap anyway?

That question was swept from conscious thought as Roger was jostled aside by the late lord’s only daughter. After falling well behind during their afternoon race, Samantha Galia Wyndham Burke had only just now arrived at her family’s country estate. Much in the manner of her closest friend, she seemed playfully intent upon eluding the man who had given chase, in this case her sandy-haired husband of nearly two years. In tossing a quick glance over her shoulder, she found him closing the distance between them at a rapid pace.

Perceval Burke’s height and long, leaping strides definitely gave him an advantage in his pursuit. Amid squeals of laughing protest, he gathered his wife in the crook of an arm and, with a devious chuckle, swept her around to face him. “Now I have you, my lovely.”

Dragging off her bonnet, Samantha peered up at her handsome husband through long, silky lashes as the corners of her soft lips curved coyly. “Should I believe I am in danger, sir?”

Sandy brows arched diabolically above gleaming blue eyes. “The worst kind, I fear.”

In sweetly contrived contrition, Samantha lowered her gaze as her gloved fingers toyed with the buttons of his suede waistcoat. Even so, her lips seemed inclined to twitch as she strove to restrain her merriment. “I suppose I must pay penance.”

“Aye,” her husband murmured huskily, squeezing her arm. “I shall see to it without delay upon our arrival home.”

The entrance of the third couple was considerably more dignified than the previous two. For some time

now, Major Lord Stuart Burke had been hindered by a particularly painful wound, which he had received in the left buttock during the Battle of Waterloo. Yet his courtliness remained above reproach.

Having drawn within his accommodating arm the daintily gloved hand of Miss Felicity Fairchild, a young, immensely fetching newcomer to the small nearby town of Bradford on Avon, Stuart escorted her into the great hall with all the gallantry of an officer and a gentleman, while she, with small, mincing steps and demure little smiles, glided along beside him.

Greatly encouraged by the arrival of the couples, Roger followed in their wake and sought to fortify his entrance further still by the example Perceval had set. Daring much, he dashed toward Adriana with every hope of catching her unaware, for if there was one thing at which he excelled, it was his speed and maneuverability. Having had to fend for himself and his mother amid the squalor of London streets prior to her death and his internment in an orphanage, he had learned the necessity of being swift at a very early age. It had either been that or have the stolen food stripped from his grasp by officials, an incident that had usually ended in a magistrate determining the fate of the thief.

The briskly advancing repetition of metal striking marble immediately claimed Adriana Sutton’s attention.

Recognizing it as a sound that normally accompanied Roger’s every footfall, she glanced around in some surprise. It was as she had feared: The rascal was coming toward her with all possible speed.

In spite of the destructive and painful havoc the metallic wedges had wreaked upon her slippers and feet in the past, Adriana was far more dedicated to the idea of keeping the apprentice at bay. An unwed maid, she would allow no man the same familiarity Perceval had recently evidenced with his wife. She had
yet
to find
any
man
that
engaging. However disappointed she had been earlier to find herself once again in the company of Roger Elston, she could not bring herself to discomfit him by demanding a halt to his antics in the presence of her highborn friends. Her mother had never been one to abide rudeness of any sort, even when it was bestowed upon one who frequently forced his company on others.

Challenged to defeat the purposes of her indomitable suitor, Adriana spun away from Harrison with a well-feigned, lighthearted laugh, managing by a narrow margin to avoid Roger’s outstretched hand.

Dedicated to the idea of staying out of the apprentice’s reach (as much as he would have had it otherwise), she continued her whirling dervish past the first several archways of the gallery, vaguely aware of Leo and Aris scurrying out of her way. Immediately on the heels of their flight, a wooden object rattled to the floor and then skittered across the marble somewhere ahead of her, making her wonder what the animals had inadvertently sent flying. She was just thankful she hadn’t heard an accompaniment of shattering glass. The metallic clacking, which had been nigh upon her heels, ceased abruptly as the hounds leapt from the gallery, where they had briefly sought refuge, into the hallway behind her, forestalling the apprentice’s advance. As for what the animals had actually overturned, Adriana’s curiosity went unappeased, for in the very next instant she came to a mind-jarring halt against an obstacle firmly rooted in her path, giving her cause to wonder if a tree had suddenly sprouted to soaring heights in the passageway. Taking into account her dazed senses, the notion seemed justifiable as she reeled away haphazardly.

The threat of falling seemed imminent as her booted toe struck the decorative molding at the bottom of an Italianate ornamented archway. Or was it a wickedly twining root over which she stumbled?

In the next instant, a long limb stretched forth from the seemingly oaken structure and clamped about her waist in an unyielding vise. Before her wits had time to clear, she was swept full length against a solid structure, which seemed far more human than any tree could have come close to duplicating. Once upon a time, she had plowed into her family’s portly cook in her haste to escape to the stables. The experience had been much like landing upon a pillow, a memory that now convinced her that whatever the nature of the one who currently imprisoned her, one fact was certain: The form was
definitely
not of feminine

origin!

Lady Adriana Elynn Sutton had grown up in her family’s ancestral home no more than a hundred furlongs away, the youngest of three female offspring and, from her earliest years, a companion and close confidant of Samantha Wyndham. Although in many respects she had always been her father’s darling, she had nevertheless caused her mother and sisters untold hours of despair. Not only was she dissimilar in appearance from the three, being tall, ebon-eyed, and dark-haired like her handsome sire, but in a variety of other ways too numerous to mention.

Her mother, Christina, was the quintessence of a lady who had tried to sculpt her three daughters in the very same mold. To some degree she had been successful. The elder two, Jaclyn and Melora, had heeded their parents’ counsel and, when it met their mood, could convey a genteel demeanor that observers found both pleasing and attractive, to the extent that Jaclyn was now married, living near London, and the mother of two children. Melora, the second born, was not long from being wed.

Adriana, on the other hand, had given every indication that she had been cast from an entirely different mold. Her siblings had even suggested that she was more like her paternal aunt than the family could bear.

Except for a contract of courtship and betrothal that had left her uncertain as to her future, Adriana considered herself as yet uncommitted and wasn’t at all eager for that circumstance to change. She was reluctant to assume lofty airs for the benefit of high-ranking guests and, in her mother’s opinion, had even seemed rebellious at times when, instead of donning her finest gowns, she’d appear before their visitors in riding attire, offer gracious excuses with enchanting smiles, and then flit out the door in a dizzying flash before any had the inclination to object.

Unquestionably her equestrian abilities ranked among the best in the area, especially when she rode the proud Andalusian stallion her father had had imported from Spain especially for her. But to achieve such skill as an accomplished rider, she had dedicated herself relentlessly to hours of training, something her fainthearted siblings had been disinclined to do soon after discovering they were not always safely ensconced in a sidesaddle. A tumble or two had made them keenly aware of that fact and abruptly turned their interests toward more ladylike activities.

Her mother had fretted untold hours over the tomboyish ways of her youngest offspring, who had proven far more adventuresome than her siblings, not only while racing Ulysses across the rolling fields or sending him flying over steep hurdles, but in her avid fascination with archery and firearms. Under her sire

’s doting tutelage, she had acquired a keen eye for both and, from a goodly distance away, especially with the Ferguson rifle he had bestowed on her, could take down a stag or some other game to relieve the monotony of the fare served at the family table or to deliver dressed-out portions to people in need, most often to a couple who had taken in a dozen or more orphans. It was the opinions of her tutors that her doting sire had found most satisfying, however. According to those worthy scholars, Adriana Sutton had an intellect keen enough to be envied by many a learned gentleman.

In spite of such lauding praises from her instructors, her
lack
of certain accomplishments had earned sharp disapproval from her dainty, green-eyed, flaxen-haired sisters, a condemnation greatly strengthened by the fact that she was totally lacking any skill with a needle. She was especially loath to sing or play the harpsichord, at which both Jaclyn and Melora excelled. She was also fairly selective in extending her friendship to those of her own gender, for she couldn’t endure twittering little gossips who were forever whispering snide comments in others’ ears about this or that young lady who just happened to be more appealing than the little tale-mongers. It seemed deplorable to her sisters that she had far more gentlemen friends than feminine companions. “Why, what would people think?” they complained.