Page 2 of Always the Bridesmaid, Never the Duchess (Wallflower Season #3)

Andrew bit back a retort. His grandmother was a formidable woman.

She had raised him ever since his own mother had abandoned him and his father had died of a broken heart.

His grandmother was the one female he trusted in the world.

He sighed and grabbed his shirt from where it lay at the end of the bed where he had abandoned it the night before.

The dowager lifted her cane and pointed it at Andrew. “Go help your cousin.” She started to walk away but stopped and turned back. “And Andrew. This time stay out of Miss Roves’ affairs.”

Andrew’s brown eyes glittered dangerously.

This time he did not hold back his anger.

“I have told you, Grandmother, I had nothing to do with Miss Roves’ broken engagement.

Dash it all! My name has been dragged through the pig’s mud with regard to that girl and the Viscount of Pembrooke.

She and her ilk are excellent examples of why women are unworthy of trust.”

His mistress, Anna, let out a small squeak of protest, but at a withering glance from his grandmother, she slid beneath the covers.

When the dowager turned her steely gaze toward him, for a moment, Andrew wished he could join Anna in her escape.

“Andrew, you are the person I hold dearest in my heart, but there are times when you test my patience. It’s time you settled down and quit running through mistresses faster than sand through that hourglass.

” She pointed her cane across the room to where a small hourglass sat on a shelf.

Then, she turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

From beneath the covers, Anna whispered, “Is she gone?”

Andrew sighed. “For the moment, but there will be no time for morning pleasure. The sun is high in the morning sky, and you must return to your home before the ton begins to gossip about the lovely widow, Anna, and her midnight trysts with me.”

Anna, the widow of Baron of Rathcliff, had already set the gossips of the ton into a fury of whispers when she removed her widow’s weeds before the proper mourning period.

Andrew had known her husband although he was no friend.

The baron had been a rogue with a vile temper who sorely mistreated Anna as well as several maids in his household.

Andrew wished he could love her, but they had an understanding that she wished to remain a widow rather than endure another man’s matrimonial bondage and his mistrust of women made it impossible for him to lose his heart to any woman.

Instead, they had come to a mutual decision to enjoy each other’s company as long as he did not bring dishonor to her name.

Later that morning, after he had sent the Baroness to her home in an unmarked carriage he kept for such occasions when a lady’s honor had to be maintained, he retired to his study to read through his correspondence.

Andrew had been distracted as of late by his grandmother’s frequent requests for him to marry and the looks of distaste he received from many within his peerage.

He swore he would discover who besmirched his good name with regard to the Viscount of Pembrooke and his engagement to Miss Roves.

Andrew knew he was many things, but he would never have misspoken about the Viscount as he knew nothing of his affairs.

He was engrossed in a letter from his uncle who had recently traveled to Paris for business when there was a knock at his door. His butler, Thomas, appeared at the door with an ornate salver holding a missive.

“Pardon me, Your Grace, but a messenger delivered this missive. It bears this address, but it has the name of a Lord Radford written upon it. I tried to stop the boy, but he had already run off.” Thomas appeared distressed by this clear disruption in his tidy schedule for the day.

“Let me see it. Perhaps it is meant for me, but the sender made a mistake when penning the name?” Andrew opened the seal and withdrew a folded letter written in a feminine hand.

My Lord,

I write to you with an earnest request that I pray you won’t deny.

I have long wished to know the company of a gentleman, but alas, have never had the opportunity to enjoy such a night of passion.

It has come to my attention that you are quite experienced in this area and could ensure discretion.

Please attend the masquerade ball at Fincastle this evening.

I shall await you in the Lilac Room at midnight.

Yours in anticipation, Miss Katherine Avery.

Andrew slapped the letter down on the desk with such fury that Thomas was startled from his normally complacent stance. “Is everything all right, Your Grace? Do you need me to forward the letter to Lord Radford?”

Andrew’s mind raced. How could such a wallflower as Kate Avery write such a scandalous request? And to a bounder and rake such as Radford. Does she know what she is getting herself into?

Andrew looked at Thomas who stood waiting for his response. “No, Thomas. Thank you. I’ll take care of this matter myself.”

As the door shut behind his butler, Andrew mused what it would be like to provide such a night of passion for a woman like Kate Avery.

A bluestocking who shrank away from the fripperies most women of his acquaintance embraced.

Did she even know what she was asking by sending such a letter to a rake?

It was a lesson he had to teach and a challenge he wished to pursue.

A faint smile appeared on his face as he began to make plans for his tryst with a wallflower.