Preston Caldwell, Viscount Leighton, has only ever loved one woman, but she is not for him. She's the belle of the ball, the incomparable of the season, the daughter of a duke... The list goes on. She is also his best friend's sister, and she's in l...
Amelia tapped her foot to the music as she watched the couples whirling around on the dance floor in Lady Linwood's ballroom. The Season was well underway, and the ball had already been declared quite the crush. Lady Linwood was most likely beside herself with the praise, as she was new to hosting, only having married Lord Linwood last year. Amelia had to admit to a certain amount of jealousy as they had come out together, and yet the former Miss Reed had secured herself a match in hardly any time at all. And here Amelia was—the daughter of a duke—still unmarried.
It wasn't so much that she had lacked suitors as that they had not felt suitable. She had found fault with every single one of them. Too tall. Too short. Too something. No one felt right. And she wanted whoever she married to feel that above all. Right. She had an advantage over many other young ladies in that she was in no particular rush to marry. Her family was wealthy. There were two sons who could inherit, so she did not risk her father's title going to some distant cousin who would happily throw her out to fend for herself.
Should she want to spend her life as a spinster, no one would raise an eyebrow as she had the means to do so. Well, they might raise an eyebrow, but she would not be a social pariah nor have to worry about supporting herself. Her brothers would never allow that to be an issue. She was privileged indeed.
But she actually wanted to get married. To one day have a family of her own. And she had despaired of ever finding a gentleman she found suitable. Then she had met Nathaniel Howerty, the Marquess of Pensington. The man was possibly one of the most handsome men she'd ever seen. He was tall, but not too tall. Had a decent title. Well respected. And his family, from what she heard, was lovely. So she had decided that she would marry him. The marquess fit every requirement she could possibly have. He was right. He simply had to be. Because no one else was.
Glancing over at the refreshment table, she smiled a little as she saw the man in question standing next to his friend, Viscount Gowthorpe. They were both good-looking men, but she would never dream about trying to charm the viscount. He might be handsome and pleasant, but he also had a reputation as something of a rake. Oh no, she would stay far away from that one.
"Target in your sight?"
She nearly jumped out of her skin at the smooth voice so close to her ear. Turning around, she smacked Leighton's arm with her fan. "Do not frighten me so!"
He grinned. "Then don't make it so easy. You were too focused on your beau."
"He is not my beau." Not yet. Her cheeks heated as she cast another glance across the room towards the handsome marquess.
"So how are we doing this?" Leighton cleared his throat before taking a sip from a glass of punch he'd brought with him.
"Well, I have thought about it..." She pursed her lips as she went through her plan in her head. "I do not think we can simply say we are engaged. There is the whole issue of my parents' approval to consider—"
He groaned at this. Rolling her eyes at him, she continued. "So you must appear to be courting me for a week or two first. Maybe three. I have saved two dances for you on my dance card tonight."
"Brilliant." His tone belied the word, but she decided not to take offence. After all, he was doing her a favour in agreeing to this, however reluctantly.
Leaning forward, he turned her dance card over to inspect it, no doubt seeing that his name was down for the very next one. As he straightened, he quirked a dark eyebrow at her. "You took a chance putting me down for an early dance. I rarely arrive before supper."
Snatching her dance card back from between his fingers, she gave him a sugar-sweet smile. "I decided you would not be so ungentlemanly as to leave me alone with my brother out of town."
He frowned. "Who is your chaperone tonight?"
She nodded towards the rows of chairs at the back of the room where her aunt sat half-asleep, a glass of punch precariously balancing on her bosom. "Aunt Ruth is here. Mother is taking the waters in Bath and my father abhors balls. Richmond too."
Her eldest brother might very well despise balls even more than her father. They were equals, both in looks and personality. When her brother eventually became the new duke, she suspected the ton might not even notice the change.
Leighton did not look impressed. His upper lip curled as if he had smelled something foul. "That is your chaperone?" He scoffed. "You could be halfway to Gretna Green with some scoundrel before she even noticed."
"Oh, Leighton! Are you so worried for my safety and reputation?" she crooned with wide eyes, enjoying seeing him turn back to her to scowl. He did not appreciate her humour. Teasing him was much too fun.
"You are not nearly as amusing as you believe yourself to be," he muttered.
"Lies. I am very amusing." She grinned as his only reply was a huff.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked out over the ballroom. "I cannot believe I agreed to this."
"But you did!" She put her hand on his sleeve and he glanced at it briefly before continuing to stare at the other guests. "You may not pull out now. Not after giving me your word."
"I won't." He sighed, his stance relaxing slightly. The song finished, and the couples dispersed from the dance floor. As the first notes of the next dance travelled through the room, he turned to her and gave her a mocking bow. "Would you do me the honour of a dance, Lady Amelia?"
She smirked. "I thought you would never ask."
A dark chuckle escaped him. Leading her out onto the dancefloor, she recognised the music as one of her favourite pieces for a country dance. Despite him being her brother's best friend, she had never danced with Leighton before. Adrian would surely not have wanted her to, considering his friend's reputation as a rake. As they swirled around the other couples, she could not help but note that his dancing was much better than she had expected. He was the perfect dance partner, attentive and able to lead when needed. Even if he had begun with a scowl, it did not take long before the corners of his mouth twitched. Who would have thought? The rakish Viscount Leighton enjoyed something as simple as a country dance.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" she asked mischievously.
"I am," he admitted.
"And here I thought rakes were all dark and brooding."
He laughed. "Can I not be both?"
Pursing her lips, she pretended to consider it. "No. I believe those are the rules. Dark and brooding only."
"I will take care to ensure I am not behaving in any manner inappropriate for a rake." His green eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth as he met her gaze, and she nearly missed a step in the dance as her stomach lurched awkwardly.
He is handsome. Staring straight ahead, she frowned. It wasn't that she didn't already know that, objectively, Leighton was a handsome man. She just had never considered herself to be someone who took notice. He was her brother's best friend. And a rake. Definitely not the type of man she wanted to pursue. She glanced at him again, noticing the way his dark hair shone in the light of the many candles. Most definitely not the type of man. No matter how handsome he might be.
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