Page 6 of The Rake’s Absolutely Devilish Reform (The Notorious Briarwoods #4)

H ector was not in the habit of attending balls for young ladies on the marriage mart.

He generally preferred more exciting affairs. Unless, of course, he was needed to look after one of his sisters. Then he always provided an arm or a watchful eye. But with Hermia and Juliet both married and Perdita not quite ready to make a debut, there was no reason for him to attend the rather stuffy affairs which made up the ton marriage season.

His poor brother Leander, the duke, had to attend many of them. After all, it was important for a duke to show his face and to keep the ton united as best as one could, what with that impossible bunch of people always vying for more power, or more clout, or to tear each other apart.

This ball was no different than all the others designed to present eligible young ladies as a crop of broodmares.

Lemonade was being passed around as was punch, and of course there was wine, but only for the mamas and gentlemen. Servants in silver livery danced back and forth, making certain that all the guests were taken care of.

The music was excellent.

The orchestra had been brought over from Salzburg. The hostess was most particular about her music, which he admired. If one wanted to have the best, they should get it. And the guests were all dressed beautifully as if in a majestic tableau.

After all, one wanted to impress the Duchess of Ackerton. She was a formidable figure, not to the same degree as his mother, but she still knew how to keep a large section of the ton in line.

As a matter of fact, as duchesses went, there could be very few people who were more different from his own mother. And she and the Duchess of Ackerton had not always gotten along.

Of course, they put on a polite face for society, but it was barely hidden knowledge that the Duchess of Ackerton did not condone his mother being part of the ton.

Frankly, he was quite surprised that Lady Priscilla was in attendance because of the duchess’s views, but Priscilla apparently had a dowry so large that she could not be left out.

And Priscilla was the only reason he was here.

How he longed to dance with her. He longed to merely be with her. He could not deny himself her presence.

He had tried. Since their exchange by the river, his thoughts about her had only grown. She had been in his mind like a song or a bit of poetry that refused to give way and repeated over and over again.

Yes, Priscilla, whether she knew it or not, had been pursuing him for days in his head and in his dreams. Those dreams had been most interesting, and he had enjoyed them immensely, but much to his shock, they hadn’t been carnal.

They had been intimate in the most innocent of ways. Bloody hell, he’d dreamt of holding her hand. And in that dream, he’d known more joy than he had ever felt before.

The dreams and thoughts had only driven him more wildly in the need to pursue her.

So, as he stood on the edge of the ballroom and waited for her arrival, he was planning on putting his name down for two dances. That would not cause any sort of scandal, surely. After all, as long as he behaved appropriately, there shouldn’t be a problem. And no more than two dances would be appropriate.

The moment he spotted her, everyone in the ballroom all but disappeared from his view. Oh, he could still hear the hum of the company. He could still feel the heat of those present. He could still feel the vibrations underneath his feet as everyone moved back and forth and danced.

The orchestra’s music swept all around him, but the world spun only for her. It was quite a consternation to go from having no interest in being in love or pursuing a young lady for more than a bit of pleasure to wanting someone so intensely that he was willing to come to a ball like this without necessity.

And so he immediately began striding through the crowd. He had no desire to pretend as if he was not interested. There would be no silly games. He would make his intentions known quickly. And as he stood before Lady Priscilla, her eyes widened and her chaperone, Lady Trentfield, goggled at him.

“Lord Hector,” Lady Trentfield called out, her voice a reedy piping sound, rather spritely for an older lady.

“I would like to ask Lady Priscilla for a dance.”

“Of course, of course,” Lady Trentfield said brightly, though she did not look pleased about it at all.

He gazed down at the young woman who was driving him to utter distraction, and his heart slammed against his ribs as he folded his hands behind his back, uncertain as to his reception.

“Lady Priscilla, will you do me the honor?”

Lady Priscilla’s mouth dropped open, and she leaned forward and whispered, “You do not need my money. You should hie off and find someone else to dance with.”

“I don’t want your money,” he whispered back. “I want you.”

Her eyes sparked at that and as if she feared he would say something even more outrageous, she thrust out her hand for him to take, which he did triumphantly.

He was bloody pleased as he led her out onto the floor, for he’d not been certain she’d agree.

Lady Trentfield stood, bouncing on her toes as she followed them with her vision, beating her fan wildly, and fluffing her curls away from her face.

The music shot through the air, and they began the elaborate steps of a dance only recently brought over from Germany.

Her ivory skirts skimmed over her body like a caress, and her thickly curled hair tumbled freely over one shoulder. The rest was tucked up in elaborate coils, pinned with fresh peonies.

“You are an excellent dancer,” he observed and then felt like an idiot. How did one make conversation with the woman of one’s dreams when the woman was Lady Priscilla? She would not be won over with compliments or inanities.

She arched a brow. “One has to be when one spends multiple hours a day with one’s tutors.”

“You did say you’d learned quickly and studied a great deal. Have you spent the last few years locked up with teachers?” he asked.

She arched a brow.

“Oh, you have,” he exclaimed, coughing. “Since I wasn’t the first son, I had far more freedom. Though I chose to attend Oxford.”

“How lovely for you,” she said. “It is the privilege of being the son of a duke, I suppose. Attending Oxford because one can. But from what I can tell, your family truly is singular. Most people don’t have the freedom that you do, even amongst the ton, as far as I can see.”

He gave a solemn nod at that. “You are not mistaken there. You know,” he said softly, his heart hammering again. “You could always join us.”

She gripped his hand tightly. “I beg your pardon?” she said.

“Well, I have to marry someday,” he said. “And I think you are an excellent…”

“Are you proposing marriage to me in the middle of a dance floor by saying that you have to marry someday?”

Her voice pitched up, and he winced.

Damnation. Had he learned nothing from his brother Leander? Leander had done something similar. Something madder.

But in this, his suggestion had been genuine and in response to her comment.

“It’s come out terribly wrong,” he rushed. “You seemed as if you might wish to be a Briarwood. And I have no idea how to court a young lady.”

“Clearly,” she said, her eyes dancing merrily.

He winced. He was quite good at romance and amorous encounters. Courting was new and a mystery. The truth was he rather wished to get straight to the marrying bit. What was the point in wasting time? His instincts kept humming that she was his every time he saw her, thought of her, or closed his damned eyes. “I suppose you have a great deal of experience being courted.”

She gave a nod. “Yes. I have several callers every day. My father takes their information, and he’s keeping a ledger.”

“A ledger,” he blurted, uncertain if he should be impressed or appalled.

“Yes,” she explained as they danced in a circle, then rotated the other way. “Of the most viable candidates for him to offer his fortune to.” She leaned towards him and waggled her brows. “You see, he has no son, and so whoever I marry will inherit all his wealth and his estates and his businesses.” She shook her head and tsked. “He wants to make certain he passes it on to the right person and, quite frankly, he won’t think that you are the right person.”

Hector ground his teeth.

He was being summarily dismissed again.

And she liked him. He knew she did.

What the bloody hell was going on? He was used to being accepted wherever he went. People generally fawned over him. People always told him yes. It was very rare for him to be told no. He was charming. He was handsome. He was a Briarwood.

Perhaps there were elements of society that deeply frowned upon his family, but his family did not care about those elements.

And now, he’d lost count how many times he’d been told to hie off. It was most frustrating. Should he hie off? Should he admit defeat? Was he being a total ass by pursuing the lady?

“You look very upset,” she said. “As if someone has kicked your dog.”

“Well, I’ve never been told…”

“No before?” she supplied, her eyes still sparkling as she gazed upon him.

“Yes,” he replied, grinning. She did like him. She liked him a great deal. It was merely her assumption that her father would not approve that was the trouble.

She laughed. “I don’t want you to be miserable in trying to pursue me. It was pleasant speaking to you the other night and by the river, but, my lord, if you’ve gotten some mad idea in your head to court me—”

“What exactly does that mean?” he cut in.

“Lord Hector,” she said rather forcefully, the sparkle fading from her eyes. “I am not the sort of lady that gentlemen like you pursue. You don’t need my money. Perhaps you are bored, and you think that I will entertain you for a little while. I’m different than the sorts of ladies you usually wish to be with and, therefore, I will jolt you out of whatever malaise you are in. But I am not a thing to be played with, sir, and I will not be your little bobble until you get bored and seek something new.”

He gaped. “Is that what you think?” he demanded. “That I see you as a little bobble?”

“What else could I possibly think?” she asked with a shrug of her delicate shoulders.

And as the music came to a close, he swallowed and ground his teeth. With that, she gave him a quick curtsy and said, “Please don’t ask me to dance again.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, then said, “I was planning on putting my name on your card again.”

“Don’t,” she replied without cruelty. “I think the sooner we end whatever is between us, the better. My father will never agree to a marriage with you.” She squared her shoulders and added firmly, “And frankly, nor would I.”

He swallowed. “I beg your pardon?”

“Lord Hector, you are not the sort of man who is meant for me. You are very interesting, and I hope we can be great friends. Will you be my friend?”

Friends.

“Yes,” he said at long last. “Of course I shall be your friend, Lady Priscilla. Though what I feel is far more than what a friend feels.”

Her cheeks blossomed at that, and a look danced across her face. “If you cannot, sir, then go and do not return.”

She had considered him in the same way. It was there in the heat of her gaze, the color of her cheek, and the way her breasts now rose and fell, pressing against the low cut of her décolletage.

“Lady Pricilla, I do believe this is our dance.”

Hector tore his gaze from the woman who had stolen his heart against all reason and swung it to the man who had spoken.

Lord dratted Fitzhubert.

The man was older, not quite as tall, but dignified and powerful as only an earl with a title older than the Tudors could be.

Hector ground his teeth.

“It is indeed, my lord,” Priscilla replied with a quick curtsy.

And the two went off to the dance floor.

Fitzhubert was not what he’d been expecting. The man had sway. He was handsome with russet hair touched with silver. He’d been to war. But rumors did say that his family coffers were empty. They were land rich, but the money was largely gone after his father had spent it all.

Fitzhubert smiled down at Priscilla, and she smiled back.

Friends.

If he had to be just her friend, he supposed he could be. It would be better than being exiled from her forever.

But the truth was, in that particular moment, he would’ve laid waste to the world for the chance to kiss her, for the chance to make her his.

And it wasn’t just because she was the only woman who’d ever told him no.

Some might assume so.

No. It was her character. It was the way she moved. It was the way she looked at society. How she wasn’t a part of it and still somehow managed to negotiate it. She was beautiful. She was fascinating. She knew herself, and that was a rare commodity indeed.

Unlike the man dancing with her at present, Hector did not wish for her funds. He wanted her.