Page 4 of A Scandal In July

He’d tried. He really had. But London society was surprisingly small, and the intermingling of their two families meant that he and Lenore regularly attended the same party or fete.

Even then, Rhys had attempted to keep his distance, spending hours in the card rooms instead of watching her with hungry eyes as she swirled around the dance floor with any number of besotted partners.

But every time he tried to avoid her, there she would be, inflaming his senses with her laughing green eyes and her coppery-brown curls. Making some sly, teasing comment that showed she was not just pretty, but witty and clever as well.

She was a natural seductress, charming men without even meaning to, and by the end of her first season she’d left a trail of broken hearts in her wake.

Rhys had ignored the gnawing feeling in his gut when he’d heard that the Duke of Andover had offered for her. She’d already turned down eight other suitors, including three earls, but Andover was the most eligible bachelor on the market. He was rich, affable, and almost as handsome as Rhys himself, andRhys had been absolutely certain that Lenore would accept his suit.

She did not.

Rhys had drunk himself into a stupor in frustration. The girl clearly wasn’t right in the head. Maybe she’d spent too much time in the sun on her travels and fried her brain. Who refused a duke? Didn’t every girl dream of being a duchess? Andover wasn’t even old. Or ugly. Or bankrupt. What possible other criteria could she have for choosing a husband?

The answer, when he’d grumpily posed that same question to his sister, Carys, had made his heart stop in his chest. Lenore Montgomery had determined to marry forlove.

She’d stated as much in public, apparently, and instead of mocking her aspirations as foolish and unrealistic, society had wholeheartedly agreed that a woman as beautiful as Lenore Montgomeryshouldbe allowed such a radical view.

Ordinary girls should be glad of whatever offers they received, but a diamond of the first water, like Lenore, could apparently indulge in whatever romantic notions she liked.

Rhys’s brain hadn’t stopped burning for a week.

Lenore wasn’t holding out for a title. She didn’t want a duke. She wanted a man who loved her. A man she could love in return.

The solution settled in his chest with an absolute sense of rightness.

That man could behim.

The past few months had been torture, holding himself back, pretending he had no interest in her. Enough was enough. He was interested. Drawn like a moth to the flame. The idea of marriage, so unappealing before, was perfectly palatable if it was with a woman like Lenore. In fact, she was theonlywoman he could ever imagine committing himself to.

It was time to take action. To see if there could be more between them just scorching attraction.

Chapter Three

Great Aunt Prudence’s eightieth birthday celebrations at Newstead Park—the Montgomery mansion adjacent to the monstrous Davies Welsh castle, Trellech Court—provided Lenore with the perfect opportunity to put her plan to capture Rhys Davies’s heart into action.

He might have done his best to avoid her for almost an entire social season, but he would definitely be attending the week-long party. Almost all of his Davies relatives would be there, and Lenore had decided enough was enough.

Something had to be done.

She’d spent months trying to get the stupid man to notice her, but even her most unsubtle attempts had met with failure. She’d been sure that once he saw how many other men desired her—including a duke!—that the well-documented competitive nature of the Davies male would kick in, and he’d start trying to win her affections, just to prove to everyone that he could.

He hadn’t even asked her to dance.

She’d dressed in the most heart-stoppingly gorgeous gowns she could find, ones made by the infamous French seamstress Madame LeFèvre on Bond Street, known for her skill in creating dresses that brought men to their knees.

All Rhys had done was glare at her from across the room, as if she was being deliberately provoking.

Which she was. So why didn’t he do something about it?

He clearly desired her. His brown eyesdarkened to almost black whenever they met hers, and a thrilling jolt of excitement flashed over her skin. She’d smiled at him, but instead of shoving every man in his path aside, stomping across the room, and dragging her out into the gardens for a thoroughly welcome ravishing, he’d merely clenched his jaw and turned away as if the sight of her was more than he could bear.

Lenore was reaching the limits of her patience. Her stupid heart was fixed on Rhys, despite how little he’d done to deserve it, but she had her pride. If, after a week in her company at the party, he still showed no signs of returning her affections, then she would abandon her pursuit of him.

Every sense urged that he was the perfect man for her, but perhaps she was being blinded by a healthy dose of infatuation. He was, after all, the most physically attractive man she’d ever met, so maybe she was just suffering from a case of unrequited lust, and not love?

She almost hoped that was the case. If Rhys rejected her, she’d be heartbroken, but at least she’d know she’d have to settle for one of her many other suitors, or remain a lifelong spinster, like her great aunts Constance and Pru.

This party was her last chance to either capture his attention, or assure herself of his indifference.