The Reluctant Suitor

  Prior to this day in history, she had considered the darkly handsome Riordan Kendrick, Marquess of Harcourt, without equal among those who had petitioned her father. Riordan had definitely seemed the most charming, and although his persistence hadn’t equaled Roger’s, she definitely counted that a point in his favor. Indeed, his manners were suave and polished. Yet, she couldn’t recall a time wherein she had been so completely awed by Riordan’s shining black eyes as she was now by the thickly lashed, luminous gray depths presently sparkling with amusement above her own. She hadn’t seen eyes like that since . . .

  “Sutton?” A well-defined eyebrow jutted sharply upward in what could only have been astonishment. A sort of incredulous awe seemed to spread over the officer’s features as he looked her up and down. Still, he seemed hampered by lingering doubt as he thoughtfully canted his head and peered at her more closely. As much as he searched her face, it was as if he just couldn’t believe what he had heard or, for that matter, was actually seeing. “Not . . . Lady . . . Adriana Sutton?” At her cautious nod, his grin deepened by nearly the same astonishing degree his arm tightened, crushing her soft bosom against the unyielding hardness of his broad chest. “My goodness, Adriana, you’ve become thoroughly enchanting in your maturity. Never in a thousand years would I have dreamt that one day you’d be so utterly ravishing.”

  At this questionable familiarity and praise, Adriana suffered through another scorching blush. Whoever this stranger was, he had somehow gained knowledge of her name. But that hardly put to flight her own confusion or her discomfort. Considering the intensity of his embrace, she feared her ribs would crack beneath the strain. She suffered little doubt that her breasts would be tender for days to come merely from his painfully constricting clinch. She just wondered how the fellow would react if she adjusted them beneath his very nose.

  Perhaps the officer had passed too long a time in the company of fighting men and had forgotten that a gentleman didn’t clasp a lady as tenaciously as he seemed wont to do, but Adriana had every intention of instructing him in the error of his ways. Though she had earlier shunned the idea of chiding the apprentice in front of witnesses, this man didn’t seem the least bit hindered by a retiring nature, certainly not after he had made use of her blanketing skirts. On the contrary, she wondered if she had ever met a bolder man.

  “Please, sir! Kindly release me and allow me to breathe! I can promise you that you’re not confronting the enemy here in this place!”

  A soft, amused chuckle issued forth from the officer, but it wasn’t until her toes actually touched the floor that Adriana realized he had swept her, with uncommon ease, off her feet. It wasn’t his physical prowess that astounded her as much as the fact that he was so tall. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Her own father and Riordan Kendrick were tall men, yet there had only been one other she had known who could have equaled this officer’s height, and that had been the late Sedgwick Wyndham.

  “Dearest Adriana, please forgive me,” the man murmured, making no attempt to curtail his grin. Casually he glanced aside and accepted with a murmur of thanks the fine, black, silver-handled walking stick the elderly steward handed back to him. Then his eyes gleamed once again into hers. “I certainly didn’t mean to distress you by my failure to heed gentlemanly manners, but I’m afraid I forgot myself in my eagerness to renew our acquaintance. When I saw you talking with Harrison, I was hoping for an introduction, but I never imagined for an instant that I already knew you.”

  Dearest Adriana! Renew our acquaintance! Already knew you! Was the man making overtures?

  Of a sudden, Adriana found the officer’s brazenness too much to bear. Cheeks aflame, she spun away, snapping her skirts about with enough force to whip them across the tops of his highly polished black boots as well as his costly walking cane, the end of which he had braced on the floor. She could only believe that instrument had created their difficulty in the first place. It would probably prove just as valuable as a chastening rod should she decide to take offense at the man’s audacity and lay it over his fine head.

  Only when she had halted the length of one archway away did Adriana dare face the officer again. She did so quite saucily, flipping her skirt about once more before freeing it and lifting her chin in an attitude of haughty displeasure.

  The officer’s lips widened leisurely into a rakish grin as his gaze ranged over her. Though she had been leered at any number of times while strolling along the streets of Bath with her paternal aunt or with her sister in London, this was an entirely different matter. Those warmly glowing gray orbs gave her cause to wonder if his expression would have changed even remotely had she been standing before him entirely naked. Indeed, she could almost swear from the way he was looking at her that he had designs upon her person and was already portioning off the areas where he would begin his manly seducement.

  The gall of him! she thought in rising ire and readied her tongue to flay the hide off this one who had proven himself no gentleman.

  “Sir, I must protest!”

  A second or two passed before it dawned on Adriana that the words had not issued forth from her lips, but from Roger Elston’s, of all people. Taken aback, she glanced around to find him stalking toward them with lean features contorted by rage. The way his hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists, he seemed ready to confront the man, with fisticuffs if need be.

  The wolfhounds had plopped themselves down on the floor near the stranger’s feet, but when they became aware of Roger’s advancing presence, they leapt to their feet with a fierce barking that sundered the confused blend of curious questions that had been evoked from the other occupants of the hall. Glinting eyes and evilly bared fangs left little doubt that the dogs would attack if Roger advanced but one step closer. The threat was enough to bring him to a stumbling halt.

  Roger had never noticed any trace of frailty in the physical prowess of either canine during his previous visits to Randwulf Manor, though both Aris and Leo were at an age of ten and eight years. Regretfully, he detected none now. The prime condition of both animals had made him grateful for those far too rare occasions when, for some reason or another, they had been left behind during the equestrian outings of family members and their many friends. More times than he cared to recall, however, the inseparable pair had been encouraged to race alongside their mounts. In most cases, they had dashed far ahead to scout out the brush or hilly terrain in their eagerness to sink their fangs into larger animals or else gobble up the smaller ones, depending on what they discovered.

  Roger had found himself facing a similar threat the first time he had followed Adriana to Randwulf Manor. The hounds had rushed upon him, barking so ferociously that she had been forced to intervene lest they rend his flesh. On later occasions, he had seen her calm the animals with softly scolding tones, doing much to solidify the premise that the huge beasts adored her as much as any member of the Wyndham family. Her proximity usually bolstered his confidence, but at the moment the lady was staring agog at the pair, as if unable to believe they’d leap to the fore in defense of a perfect stranger. Except he wasn’t a stranger.

  Months ago, Roger had been brought brutally to the full realization of his paltry lineage. Such an occurrence had taken place soon after he had arrived in his quest to be with Adriana. He had not been the only one who had come for such a purpose. Nearly a dozen other gallants had been just as bold. Later, the lot of them had gathered in the Wyndhams’ drawing room, where, during the course of their tête-à-tête with Samantha, her family, and other acquaintances, Roger had become increasingly mindful of the vast array of portraits adorning the walls. An impressive collection of faces evidenced the very handsome and distinguished line from whence the Wyndhams had descended. In an attempt to appease not only a curiosity about nobles in general, but specifically those related by blood to his host, Roger had carefully studied each likeness. One painting in particular, a full-length oil of Sedgwick Wyndham himself, standing majestically beside the v
ery same fireplace over which the portrait now hung, had taken precedence over all the rest, lending largely to Roger’s burgeoning disquiet. The portrait, painted less than two decades ago, had not only affirmed the striking good looks of his lordship at an age of about forty or so, but also the youthful fitness of the pair of wolfhounds.

  No one after meeting the marquess could have lightly dismissed the ability of the artist, for the latter had painted his subject with incredible accuracy, to the extent that even now, many years later, people were still held captive by the darkly lucent gray eyes that seemed to sparkle back at them from the canvas. The refined visage, captured for generations to come, was so strikingly handsome that an ordinary man could easily feel insignificant in comparison.

  Still, whatever feelings were normally stirred within the breasts of those gazing upon the portrait seemed as naught when compared to the emotions that had occasionally been elicited in the actual presence of his lordship. It was as if those darkly translucent orbs had had the ability to see the innermost secrets of a man’s heart and, more disturbingly, to turn one’s focus inward. Roger had likened such an experience to peering into the intricate mechanisms of one’s own character. Thereafter, he had hated Lord Randwulf for what he had been able to discern about himself, not the least of which was the bleakness of his own aspirations. Adriana ranked among the nobility, an earl’s daughter, no less. She was at ease and content within the realm of the landed gentry, and yet Roger, aware of the fate looming over him if he failed to win her, had dismissed the restrictions of his common birth in his strengthening desire to have her for himself.

  Now, here he was again, no longer confronting the handsomely aging marquess, but one who bore a striking resemblance to the elder. A rapidly intensifying gloom grew apace with his heightening perception of just who this visitor was. As fervently as Roger yearned to deny the likelihood, the similarity between father and son was too great. The heir of the late lord had finally, at long last, returned home, perhaps to claim his marquessate and, with it, no doubt, the hand of Adriana Sutton. What man in his right mind could long reject a woman of such exquisite beauty . . . or a dowry large enough to stagger a pauper’s wits?

  Beneath the piercing challenge of the officer’s sharply inquisitive stare, above which a dark brow had been arched condescendingly, Roger yearned to vent several insulting epithets, if for no other reason than to convey his own mounting frustration at the injustice of one who was already wealthy being able to claim the rich dowry that would come to him through marriage to the Lady Adriana. Yet, with the wolfhounds braced to attack, Roger could not find the courage to do anything more than retreat behind a huge, potted plant occupying the nearest archway bordering the great hall.

  Adriana could find no plausible explanation for what she had just witnessed. Indeed, she had to wonder what madness had taken hold of the animals. They absolutely abhorred outsiders. Even with frequent visitors, they were disinclined to make friends, as had oft been evidenced by their refusal to accept Roger as anything less than an enemy. Yet, for some unfathomable reason, they seemed motivated to defend this uniformed officer, whom she could only believe was some distant kin of the family. If a stranger, she had no idea what mission he was on.

  It was Samantha who put the mystery to flight when she seemed to awaken from a daze and, with an ecstatic shriek, ran toward the officer. “Colton! Dear brother, is it really you?”

  Before the man had a chance to reply, Samantha reached her own conclusions and threw herself into his arms, nearly choking him in her enthusiasm. This time he managed to retain possession of his cane as he embraced his sister in return. A full moment passed before Samantha relaxed her stranglehold and, with a jubilant laugh, leaned back against a steely arm. Equally oblivious to the angry resentment with which Roger Elston was presently trying to cope and the emotional upheaval that had nearly buckled the knees of Adriana Sutton, who all but gaped at the officer, Samantha could only revel in her own spiraling joy, hardly able to believe that her brother had finally, at long last, come home.

  Reaching up, Samantha clasped his sturdy arms and sought without success to shake them. Undeterred, she declared gaily, “Oh, Colton, I hardly recognized you. Why, you must have grown taller by half a head in the years you’ve been gone! I never once imagined that you’d be as tall as Papa. You look so . . . so . . . mature, or should I say more truthfully, so very handsome and distinguished?”

  Adriana closed her mouth, realizing her jaw had plummeted to a depth that equaled her shock. Though it was difficult to do anything more than gawk at the new Marquess of Randwulf, a man to whom she had been pledged ere her seventh birthday, she searched the manly features for some hint of the youth she had once known. Years ago, their respective parents had made every effort to convince the lad of the judiciousness of the contract his father had proposed, but at the age of ten and six, James Colton Wyndham had been no less than adamant in his refusal to consider their future courtship and betrothal and had departed, never to be seen again until this very day. Adriana would have felt vindicated if in his maturity he had been as hideous as a warthog. Instead, she was struck with a sense of awe at the changes that had occurred since he had taken leave of Randwulf Manor. As a lad, Colton had proven time and again that he had had a mind and a will of his own, and after so many years, Adriana had begun to think, as his sister had, that he would never return. Now, at an age of thirty and two years, he was no longer a youth, but a man in every sense of the word.

  It was a simple fact that Colton Wyndham was far more magnificent in his maturity than he had ever been in his youth. Indubitably he was now taller, stronger, heavier, and incredibly more handsome and virile. With noble features, crisply wrought cheekbones handsomely defined by bronzed skin and striking indentations, a lean, straight nose, and darkly lashed gray eyes as translucent as a moonlit pool in a heavy glade, he now possessed the refined, aristocratic good looks that could make any maiden pine for want of him. No wonder she had fancied herself in love with him at so youthful an age. He had been her prince, her champion in gleaming armor. Now he was home, ready to assume the marquessate. Though she suspected he had yet to be informed of the conditions his father had laid out for them, she wondered if, in keeping with what he saw fit, he would comply with the requirements of the contract or renounce them altogether, just as he had done years ago. The uncertainty created a strange, uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she had to wonder what would cause her greater turmoil: the implementation of the nuptial agreement or its expected negation.

  Brotherly affection was evident as Colton leaned on his cane and, with his free hand, chucked his sibling gently beneath the chin. “Dear sister, by this time you’ve probably heard that Bonaparte has been vanquished once again. Perhaps the good captain of the ship has even dropped anchor and put his illustrious passenger ashore at Saint Helena. If we are indeed fortunate, the emperor will never again escape to stir up the ugly worm of war. ‘Tis a hungry maggot whose ravaging fangs feed upon the lives of men with little regard for the legions of widows and mothers it leaves grieving in its wake.”

  Samantha traced trembling fingers over a handsome groove in her brother’s cheek. “I had thought you’d return sooner, Colton. Papa kept asking for you on his deathbed, but he finally lost all hope of seeing you. He died with your name on his lips.”

  Colton clasped his sister’s hand within his and pressed a gentle kiss upon her thin knuckles. “Please forgive me, Samantha. My regrets in that area are immense. When you first sent word of Father’s illness, I was unable to leave because of our conflict with Napoleon’s forces. Later, when news of Father’s death came, I was hampered by a leg wound the surgeons deemed so serious that they warned me they’d have to hack it off nigh my hip if the infection worsened. If not for my good fortune in having seen a sergeant heal his own festered wound by unspeakable methods—maggots, no less, and a repulsive mixture of moss and clay—I wouldn’t be here today a whole man . . . if at all. Even so, it to
ok some time before I was able to walk with any proficiency. Then, to obtain my release from service, I was required to go hither and yon. Officials seemed indisposed to issue the papers granting my release, since by that time it was evident that I would keep my leg. They kept assuring me that I was being considered for brigadier general, that I could have any assignment I wanted. They were especially reluctant to let me go, considering that some of our troops are still engaged with the enemy in certain areas of France. I had to tell them more than once that I was ready to come home.”

  Samantha and Adriana’s minds had snagged on his debilitating injury and the bizarre cure, and, for a moment, couldn’t seem to move beyond that. Much of what he had stated afterward had been lost to them. The remedy that had brought about the cure seemed so grotesque they were both seized by convulsive shudders.

  Samantha could do nothing more than clasp a trembling hand over her mouth as she waited for her queasiness to pass. At long last, her eyes fell to her brother’s cane and when finally she lifted her gaze to meet his again, she spoke haltingly in a voice fraught with concern. “And . . . there is . . . no lingering malady?”

  Colton’s own tone was muted as he lowered his head near his sister’s. “Only a slight hindrance that requires the aid of a cane in walking, but, with any luck, exercise, and enough time to perfect a proper healing, my dependence upon it will likely cease. With each passing day, my leg is growing stronger. I’m confident my limping gait will wane, precisely to what degree remains to be seen.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut against encroaching tears, Samantha leaned into her brother and felt his arm slip about her shoulders. Tearfully she mewled, “I can only thank a merciful God for your safe return, Colton. Our prayers have truly been answered.”