Authors: Pamela Labud

To Catch a Lady (30 page)

Read on for an excerpt from
A Most Delicate Pursuit

by Pamela Labud

Available from Loveswept

Chapter 1

“By the gods,” Beatrice Hawkins muttered. Her dress tucked up around her waist, she'd one leg thrown over the balcony railing and the other firmly planted on the ground. “If only I can get a graspâ¦”

Stretching her fingers toward the tree branch, she nearly had a handhold when her foot slipped and she lost her purchase and went plummeting to the ground.

“Oomph!”

It wasn't the ground on which she'd landed, but on thick muscle and boneâa man's chest, and his arms wrapped around her.

“Miss Beatrice,” Michael said. He'd caught her squarely and now stood cradling her in his arms.

“Michael? Oh, I'm so sorry.” She scrambled to get down from his grasp, twisting sideways, nearly toppling them both in the process.

“Easy, miss, or we're both going to land in a heap.”

Beatrice froze. By the heavens, he was holding her so very firmly. He'd one arm around her back, clutching her to his chest, and the other supported her most intimately beneath her bottom. Sure, there were layers of fabric between them, of her skirt and his coat, but stillâ¦it was most disturbing.

“Please, my lord, I beg you to put me down.”

She felt him pause. Though she'd not wanted to, Bea snuck a glance at his face. It wasn't really all that horrible. His black leather eye patch covered most of his disfigurement, but she could see the scarred skin that was still visible around the edges.

Suddenly, she was overcome by the urge to touch him, to caress the scar at the edge of the patch. At the last second she pulled back from him, crossing her arms instead.

The truth was, she grieved for him. He'd been the most dashing man she'd ever met. And he'd the kindest heart as well. While he was always the gentlemen with her, she easily sensed the rogue that stirred beneath the surface of all his civility. Of course, there'd been talk. The gossips constantly wagged their tongues, saying he'd had more than his share of trysts among the married ladies of the ton, but then, what aristocrat hadn't?

Still, something about him bothered her. His careless attitude, his lack of responsibility, and more than that, his callous treatment of his affairs. Drinking and carousing through his life without a single thought of what the consequences might be. Dueling and risking his life for something so silly as honorâ¦

“Something you'd like to ask?”

Blast. He'd caught her staring.

“No. I mean, thank you so much for rescuing me. I swear, Her Grace and my sister have half the men in London chasing after my skirts. Lord Binghamton is in the parlor right now proposing marriage, of all things. My brother-in-law has set his sights on my becoming enamored of the second son of the Viscount Highberry. I've told them all many times that I've no interest in matrimony. Not now or ever.”

“I heartily agree. Thankfully, the fates have solved my problem by bankrupting my accounts and ruining my face. No woman will have me.” He laughed. “Well, no respectable woman.”

As if he'd just realized he was holding her, Michael abruptly set her to her feet. She nearly stumbled but quickly righted herself. Certain her face was apple red with embarrassment, she quickly pulled her fan from her waistband, snapped it open, and began waving it furiously.

“Well, thank you again for your assistance,” she said.

He smiled, and though she was sure she saw a hint of sadness there, she returned the gesture.

“As usual, at your service, Miss Hawkins.” He gave her a gentlemanly bow and, turning away, left the garden.

She stood for a moment, staring after him and wondering what her life would be like had he not been in it. From the beginning, he'd been instrumental in helping her family. First, watching over her and her mother while her sister Caroline and her new husband, the Duke of Summerton, set out on the road to matrimonial bliss. Of course, it had been quite a bumpy one, and with the two most stubborn people she'd ever known, not an easy trip, by far.

They were together now. With two growing offspring, and a very happy dowager duchess great-aunt spoiling them at every turn, Ash and Caro had managed to build an enviable life together.

“There you are.”

Bea spun around and saw Caro just entering the garden. “Oh. Hello,” she said, irked by the fact that she'd let her thoughts of Michael distract her from making her escape from the garden the way she'd planned.

“What in blazes are you doing down here? Why aren't you in the parlor with our guest?”

Bea sighed. “Because I don't want to be. Amanda only forced the poor sot to come here so I'd have yet another potential husband.”

“We've discussed this many timesâ” Caro began, but stopped when Bea held her hands up.

“Indeed we have. But you haven't been listening. I've no intention of ever getting married. That rat Andrew Hudgins taught me well what cads men can be. And believe me, you were most fortunate to find Ash. There are few others who rise even halfway to his worth as a man.”

Caro shook her head. “You don't know that, Bea. There are plenty of suitable young men about. You've yet to open your eyes and see them.”

“So you keep saying, but we've been at this quite a while, and if there is such a man, he's not to be found in London.”

Caro sighed. “You may be right about that. Still, we mustn't give up. You need to be married, Bea. Trust me. I was like you, thinking that I didn't need love or children in my life. I was wrong.”

Beatrice was touched by her sister's concern. But her heart had been hardened, though not so much by losing her love, Andrew. No, in truth she'd too soon realized that she really hadn't loved him at all.

She'd been humiliated, utterly embarrassed. But that most upsetting situation wasn't the worst of it. It was the damage she'd done to her sister. The ladies of the ton would gladly have accepted Beatrice into their numbers. Though Beatrice didn't really understand it at all, she'd heard that because of her own appearance, what they considered to be beauty, she could be tolerated. But Caro? Their cruel tongues spoke of her plainness, of her inexperience at social events, of the fact that she conducted herself like a man.

Preposterous, the lot of them.

And yet Caro herself couldn't see any of it. She happily went about her life, raising her children and loving her husband as though they were a family of chimney sweeps.

And, bless her, Her GraceâAsh's aunt and the dowager duchess Ameliaâkept Caro away from the whispers and cruel glances.

More than that, it wasn't fair. Bea knew she could have any peer of the realm if she set her sights to him. But she didn't want it, any of it. She didn't want to become like one of those highborn ninnies. Nothing but an ill-mannered bunch of fat old hens, nattering on about nothing and looking down their ugly noses at Caro.

“Very well,” she told her sister. “I'll come to dinner, later. For now, I've some sketches I need to finish.”

With that, she turned and headed toward the gate. Beatrice heard her sister let out an exasperated sigh behind her but didn't let it slow her down.

Thank heavens she'd taken up sketching of late. Her charcoal drawings had gone a long way to settling her troubled spirit. One of the benefits of living at Summerton was the vast library and the many paintings that Amelia had favored over the years. Great art was all around her, and scores of books that had rendered drawings of all the greatest of artists over the centuries.

So being alone didn't mean being lonely. She had her art to keep her company, after all.

Surely, that would be enough.

It had to be, she thought. It had to be.

It hadn't been the greatest idea he'd had. Michael slipped out of the garden and in through the kitchens. He'd managed to outrun Amelia and the young woman she had in tow. Intent on getting him married before the end of the season, she'd literally pushed women at him at every turn.

And a delightful bunch of empty-headed, lighthearted chits they were, every one of them. Most of them would surely be leg-shackled to one man or another by the end of the season. But he'd no truck with such things. He was not about to be pushed into marital bliss.

Thankfully, since the duel six months earlier, he'd been avoided by most of the ton. And for the first time in his life, he was rather glad of it. But the dowager duchess had other ideas and kept hosting dinners with young, unmarried prospects and their mothers. The ladies were pleasant enough, but he was no longer the handsome rogue he'd once been, stealing women's hearts and impressing their fathers.

“You need a plump, wealthy partridge,” Ash had said to him that morning. “Someone who wants to marry your title but has sufficient funds for you both.”

“Well, look at me, Ash. I'm a scarred old wreck. With these scars on my faceâthe moment I remove the patch, the women fairly swoon.”

Still moments passed between them before Ash spoke again.

“You know you are more than welcome to stay with me. I've long needed someone to help me see to the estate.”

Michael held up his hand. “I want no charity, Ash. I will work for my living.”

Ash grinned at him. “Believe me, I'm not one to give away charity. Until you are able to restore your accounts to order, I do need someone to manage Slyddon for me. With Caro expecting again, I'm not sure we'll be able to come down for the season.”

“I know what you're trying to do. Your staff is more than able to care for the lodge.”

Ash let out a breath. “Well, there is one other thingâ¦”

“What?”

Michael's suspicions went up. He trusted his friend, and yet fear went around his spine. His life had been careening out of control for months now. He wasn't sure he could handle yet another defeat.

If anyone other than Ash had asked him about his fears, he would have denied them. But, more than a brother, the duke had proven his loyalty and kinship a dozen times over.

“I owe you my life a dozen times over, Ash. Whatever you ask me, I will do my best to help you.”

Ash nodded. “I fear what I'm going to ask of you may be a bit more than you're prepared to give, and yet I don't know a better man for the job.”

“Dash it all, Ash, you know I'd do anything for you.”

“I do, and that's what's worrying me. That you'll do this foolish thing and make yourself miserable and be too good of a chap to back away from it.”

“For Heaven's sake, Ash, what is it?”

“I need you to marry Beatrice.”