Page 2 of Dare to Tempt an Earl This Spring (Wedding Fever #1)

S o that’s him

Ashley leaned against the pillar and gripped the ruffles of her gown as she stared at Linsey, a pillar that was placed just right to observe most of the ballroom and offered a sense of shield as well. If she chose to hide, which she was not inclined to do. She wanted him to feel her eyes on him. Plus, it went against her nature to hide, and quite frankly, she’d much rather be anywhere else. But now that he had arrived, she needed to act. She couldn’t even admire her most favorite part of the scene before her—dancers moving beneath the sparkling chandeliers. No, her eyes were blocked by a blaze of fire, seeing only the blackness of her target’s soul.

Thomas Dunbridge, the rotten Earl of Linsey.

He sported a look on his face that spoke of his reluctance and disdain.

Hah! So, he didn’t want to be here either.

Good to know, Earl.

He probably wanted to muck about his famed stables with his most prized thoroughbreds. After her earlier conversation with Char, she had time to ponder his sudden appearance along with all the rumors. There are only two reasons why a countryman like him with his looks and rank would venture to London—to Almack’s—in search of a wife in the twilight of spring.

One: He was impoverished and needed to refill his family coffers.

Two: He required an heir.

Both these reasons produced even more questions. Such as how the family coffers had run out. An addiction to horse races perhaps? If he required an heir, why the rush? Perhaps a provision in a will? Ashley knew enough from even her limited time in the Ton that she ought not to consider his search for a love match likely. Romance couldn’t possibly factor in his devious plans, she was sure of it.

Whatever the case may be, if it were for a dire reason, it worked in Ashley’s favor. For then she could rip his hope apart instead of trying to wrestle his heart away from his stable of horses. Not that she doubted she could. However, the former required a bit less effort.

She stared at the man from across the room. He was tall and towering over the man by his side by nearly a foot. He appeared rather intimidating. Not to be trifled with. Hah! Regardless, the earl deserved to pay for what he had done. The hearts he had ruined. He had taken everything from her this season.

Her match.

Her future.

Her almost fiancé.

And while everyone had declared her the ravishing beauty of the season, nobody had considered her feelings—or even her say—in what would come afterwards. She’d always been treated like a doll rather than a human being. And if she didn’t want her mother to sell her off to the highest bidder next season, she had to make this one count.

Just not the way anyone expected. But if love wasn’t possible for her match, then at the very least, retribution should be.

Her gaze tracked over the earl from head to toe. Despite his height, he looked normal enough. Too normal. Handsome, even. Blond hair. Golden-brown eyes. Black heart. Who knew that behind those rather attractive features a rotten core stewed and brewed? The man was even dressed in all black! No, wait. Was that a yellow waistcoat peeking from beneath his coat? Gold, perhaps? Burnt orange? She inwardly snorted. So, he had questionable taste…

Not so perfect after all, eh, Linsey?

A finger trailed over the brooch pinned to her dress at the center of her bosom, bringing her a measure of comfort.

“Why are you just staring at him? What is your plan of approach?” Charlene asked, shuffling closer to her. “And why are we hiding behind a pillar again?”

“ You are behind the pillar, not I. And we are not hiding,” Ashley said. “We are observing.”

“There is another term for this sort of observing,” her friend remarked.

Ashley didn’t glance away from her target as she asked, “And what term is that?”

“Stalking.”

Ashley gave her friend a deadpan look.

“I’m not stalking Linsey. I don’t stalk.”

“Oh? You aren’t obsessed with him either.”

Ashley gave a snort. “Only in the sense that I shall loathe him to eternity.”

Charlene puffed out a breath. “Very well. If you say so. So, what is your plan of approach?”

Ashley pursed her lips. “I was thinking of just marching up to him and introducing myself. Cutting through all the titters, if you will.”

“Why not just march up to him and propose marriage? The scandal would be about the same.”

True. Without a formal introduction, she might as well lay naked on his bed and offer herself up. If she spoke to him now, the gossips of the Ton would make the same of it. “However, determined times called for determined measures,” Ashley said. “But you are right. It will cause a bit of a scandal.”

Charlene groaned. “Why do you sound so delighted?”

“Well for one, have you seen the girls fluttering around him?” Like moths drawn to that atrocious yellow, gold, burnt-orange fabric he wore. “It seems I shall need to stand out more than his waistcoat. And if everyone takes notice of us, he will notice. I need him to see me. And just me.”

“Well, you should have matched his outfit then.”

Ashley almost laughed. “Do not be absurd.”

Charlene snickered. “Well, I’m still not convinced. What did this guidebook you found say?”

Do not let her start on that book . The information couldn’t be considered bad, but neither could she claim it was good. Not for this particular mission of hers. “The usual. Act the damsel. Flutter your lashes. Stumble over your own feet.”

“The last might work,” Charlene said thoughtfully.

“Only if I crash through that crowd and straight into him.”

Charlene grabbed her arm. “Don’t look now, but the earl is looking our way.”

It wasn’t as if she could help it! Not that she looked, she still looked. Their eyes locked, and Ashley’s heart somersaulted on the spot. For one short second, her mind went blank before the thrill of anticipation raced down her spine.

Yes, Linsey. I’ve got you in my sight.

Her chin lifted a notch. As did the corner of his mouth before his attention was once again snatched away.

Rotten beast.

Her chest constricted once more as the bold scrawl of Jordan’s letter surfaced again in her mind.

Do not wait for me, my dearest Ashley.

Eight words, all bitter with no sweetness. Her fingers feathered over the brooch again, her eyes narrowing on the earl.

This is for you, Jordan.

Her heart picked up pace.

I shall make it so that you can return to London, or I shall leave to find you.

Because she couldn’t accept the way he left.

And she couldn’t accept how he was made to leave.

Ashley inhaled a fortifying breath. “Our eyes have already met.” She winked at her friend, willing her body to calm down. “It’s only natural to take the next step in our relationship. Wish me luck.”

“You are crazy. What if Lord Linsey is aware of your connection to Mr. Critton?”

That would be rather interesting. “Doubtful.”

“But what if he does know?” Charlene pressed.

“If that is the case, I suppose it shall make what I’m about to do next all the more thrilling, don’t you say?”

“I don’t say,” Charlene countered. “In fact, I worry about your reputation. Your parents are going to kill me when they find out about this. They will never allow you to stay with me again if your plan goes awry and you cause a scandal.”

“Don’t fret so much, Char.” Ashley patted her friend’s shoulder. “I’ve got this under control.” She did have a Plan B—leave to find Jordan if a scandal erupted and her revenge failed. “Are you coming?” After all, Ashley couldn’t be ruined twice.

Charlene shook her head. “I’ll observe from a distance.” The emphasis was clear. Ashley was on her own, and Charlene would keep her distance, so as not to become cannon fodder for her friend’s revenge.

Ashley understood.

She walked this path alone.

Besides, she had already become cannon fodder because of Linsey’s rift with Jordan. She had lost her beloved. The earl had pulverized her hopes and dreams. Revenge was the only dish that would satisfy her appetite now, even if it meant she sacrificed her reputation and had to leave London for the time being. She would not rest until she had taken from the earl what he had stolen from her. The problem was that she also had to give it to him first, make it count, and then lead him down the path of heartbreak. She had it all mapped out in her mind.

Ashley gave a curt nod. “As you wish.”

Squaring her shoulders, she made her way toward him.

This was it .

*

“You’re running out of time.” Thomas felt a shiver of distaste ripple through him as Paisley’s groomed eyebrows arched in his direction and he leaned into him, a caricature of the perfect son-in-law plucked straight from a poorly written play. The scent of the man, a cloying blend of cologne and vanity, made Thomas’s nostrils flare once more, his stomach twisting in a familiar repulsion.

He retreated a step from the man.

“I still cannot believe I’m here, in London, looking for a wife,” Thomas said to himself as much as Paisley, retreating another step away from him. “I’m not interested in damn marriage, Paisley.” Not this way, curse it. How could he find a bride in such a short time? How could he sift through all the eager gazes and choose the one right for him?

“Are we ever? Men are not made for monogamy. Can you imagine? One woman for the rest of your life?” Paisley made a retching noise. It sounded just as fake as the laughter that followed.

Arse.

Thomas could, as a matter of fact, imagine quite well to be with one woman for the rest of his days, for what was marriage more than the sharing of a life and a heart? It was one of those idiotic stigmas among men that love was for the frail. And yet, he had always imagined that he’d find the woman of his dreams one day—far, far away in the future—who would make his blood boil with passion. She’d make his life exciting, worth living. Not that it wasn’t worth living at the moment, but he imagined his wife would bring more .

And he longed for more.

“And let’s not forget that Almack’s is the perfect place for your needs. All the women here are looking for a husband.”

“My needs, Paisley, are met. Thank you for trying to look out for me.”

More like rubbing salt in a bleeding wound . “But no thanks.” Thomas was ready to turn away in search of a drink. He’d rather forget this stupid bet, well knowing that Paisley wouldn’t let him live it down for the rest of his life.

“Come on now, old pal,” Paisley drawled. “You don’t want to forfeit all of your most precious beasts without even trying, do you?”

Thomas pinched his eyes shut, nearly wincing. It was as if the man wanted to see him struggle. As if the man didn’t believe he’d actually find a wife to marry. But then, Thomas knew how Paisley operated. The man found perverse joy in the manipulation, twisting of fates and futures for his own amusement, oblivious to the devastation left in his wake.

The worst part, he thought bitterly, was that ruining lives was not an obstacle for the duke but merely another step in his wicked game. After all, men like him believed his title gave him a sort of supremacy over people. A fact that made his skin crawl even more.

“What if I just say no?” Thomas ventured one last attempt to get out of the foolish bet he’d entered when he was but a lad and unable to hold his liquor.

“No. I won’t release you from this wager.”

“What if I release myself?”

“Well, then I’ll take the thoroughbreds,” Paisley said.

Of course he would.

A cold dread settled in Thomas’s heart at the thought of Paisley laying a hand on his precious horses, the pride of the House of Linsey. The lineage of their horses, painstakingly nurtured by generations of his family, was legendary—more than just animals, they were symbols of heritage and honor. Yet, Thomas knew the duke to be a man who reveled in tearing down legends, the sort of vile creature who’d trample upon their legacy without a second thought, solely for his own twisted amusement.

“Absolutely not, under any circumstances.” Thomas furrowed his brow. How many people had he let off of their wagers? Was it so hard that one would do it for him? No matter what, he couldn’t sacrifice the thoroughbred bloodline that his grandfather and great-grandfather had nurtured for selfish reasons like a love match. That was not the sort of man he was; his duty, his convictions , came before his desires. If it didn’t, he’d be no better than Paisley. He’d fight to death to protect his family’s legacy, and so, his horses.

That meant he had to find a wife.

And he had only a little over one month to do so.

His gaze tracked the ballroom filled with female titters and jitters. How the hell was he going to accomplish that? He didn’t have time to court a lady. The thought brought an ache to his temples. However, he knew many of these women wouldn’t be opposed to a hasty marriage if they received a title in return, but even though he was forced to marry for reasons he could no longer control, he still wanted a wife he could tolerate. One that he might come to love. At the very least, one he could become fond of over time.

A vision caught his eye.

The woman from before. The lady in the blue dress. The one who had been outright staring at him like he was a rabbit and she the wolf.

Thomas blinked.

Wait a minute. Why did it look as though she was heading his way?

Surely not.

By Jove! She was heading his way.

He couldn’t mistake it. Her eyes were on him. Her feet pointed in his direction. She smiled when their gazes locked, and he swallowed. Just to be one hundred percent certain, he looked left and right. Even glanced over his shoulder. There still existed a small percentage that he was wrong. Perhaps she wasn’t approaching him but Paisley.

Your gazes have already locked, you fool. She smiled at you.

And then, so that there was no doubt left, she stopped right before him. Them. But him. Because her eyes never once strayed to Paisley.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” the vision said with a sweetness that lacked any cloyingness. “I daresay we haven’t met.”

Thomas couldn’t help but arch a brow. “I daresay that’s because we haven’t been introduced.”

“Lady Ashley Sinclair, and no need for an introduction. Your title precedes you. Oh, and rules are made to be broken, do you not agree?”

She was beautiful and brazen. And his body felt the impact. It felt dangerous. “I’m not sure I agree.”

Her laughter rang through the air. “So righteous. Are you always this proper, my lord?”

Unless he was on the back of a horse… “Yes.”

“I daresay I call liar.”

Thomas’s brows transformed into a tempest. “I call forward.”

“I call stiff .”

This little minx. “I’m not stiff,” Thomas protested. Some parts of him were but he couldn’t tell her that. Which bloody surprised him.

The corner of her lips lifted a sly notch. “I can hardly blame you. All men are stiff the first time they enter Almack’s in search of a wife.”

Thomas’s eyes widened. How did she—

Her smile split open, and he knew he’d lost.

He only knew that all the retorts that sprang to his mind, moved to his tongue, rolled into silence as he parted his lips.

What he truly had lost he couldn’t yet say.