The Bluestocking’s Absolutely Brilliant Betrothal (The Notorious Briarwoods #6)

Chapter 5

A urelia all but gaped at Lord Achilles.

She had not known exactly what she had expected from Heron House, the dowager duchess, and the Briarwoods in general, but whatever it was, it did not match the reality.

The reality was far more strange, far more inspiring . Frankly, it was also far more soul-shaking. She had, of course, come expecting wild thinking and a willingness to contradict the norms of society. The idea that one should live one’s life not by the edicts of the ton but by one’s internal compass was what she had hoped for. And she’d found it.

But goodness! Her compass was spinning wildly, and it felt as if she was about to latch on to a North Star, and it wasn’t the dowager duchess.

Dear Heaven, it felt as if she was being turned and pinned to exactly where Lord Achilles was standing. Her entire body was all but ablaze with his presence. In fact, she felt as if she was turning into liquid gold, warming and slipping towards him, longing to entwine with his own shining strength.

She had, of course, seen him before, at a distance, but she’d never met him. Girls like herself, ladies on the marriage mart, did not generally meet men like Lord Achilles.

For he was a rake, he wasn’t in search of a wife, and he was one of the men who strode through society as if he owned it. Though he’d never been cruel.

His presence took her breath away.

He had an arrogance that was simply ingrained. No doubt he couldn’t help it, and yet there was something remarkably sensual about it, and she was certain that he was sincere in every question and reply.

He was such an odd mix. He seemed singular, and he was evoking a singular response.

He was sincere, too, in the way he was looking at her. There was no artifice about him and that was shocking because she had become truly accustomed to the ton.

Everyone hid who they truly were. Everyone pretended to be someone else or someone better. Her mama and papa were a little different, but they were not stars of the ton. They were not even people who aspired to be stars of the ton. They did not bite at others’ backs or claw their way to the top.

No, they did not need to. They had comfortable means and an ancient name, and they loved each other. Their thoughts were unique and, in many ways, they were like the Briarwoods, except there’d never been any scandal in the family. None at all.

They had fought in wars, of course, and chosen the right sides when civil wars had come, but they had never taken an actress into the family, nor an American.

The things that had unfolded with the Briarwoods, well, she could only imagine what it was like to have a family member—though long dead now—who had been the mistress of a king and borne his son, and then to have a title bestowed on one!

She knew this only because her parents believed in history and telling the truth about it as much as they could. Though most young debutantes of the ton were sheltered from such knowledge, as far as she could tell.

“Are you quite well?” he asked. “You are staring.”

She clamped her mouth shut, swallowed, smoothed her hands over her skirts, and said, “Oh yes. Very well indeed. Thank you. A thought simply occurred to me.”

“And what was that?” he prompted, that low rumble of a voice a tempting caress.

She felt something in her lower belly then, and it only grew, slipping through her veins as he locked gazes with her.

She wasn’t about to tell him the truth! How could she admit that he was completely transforming her body with just a look and a word? “Simply that I must remind Mama to order more tea,” she muttered.

It was the silliest of excuses, for her brain was traipsing away with thoughts of him, but the way his gaze seemed to be devouring her was simply impossible to ignore. Dear Lord in heaven, if he were to cross the room now, take her in his arms and kiss her, she would not say no.

How could anyone have that sort of effect upon her? She’d never been interested in any particular man before.

She’d never really wanted to be kissed before.

She’d found men to be a general nuisance, bless them, except for her father. After all, she was a very busy person. Men were perfectly well and good. She had brothers and she worshipped her father, but she’d never really had the time for men, especially when so many of them did not care a whit for what was in her head.

Now? Goodness, she’d never felt like this before. As if she wanted to throw all caution away, but she never would. Life was far too important to get caught up in such feelings that surely could not last.

He smiled slowly at her, a smile that seemed to ignite an ember in his gaze.

“What is the name of your friend in Paris?” he queried. “Has she been imprisoned?”

She tensed. It was very direct of him, and yet she felt he was truly curious. “May I ask why you wish to know?”

A muscle tightened in his jaw, and his gaze darkened as if he was recalling sights that had been embedded upon his soul. “I spent a great deal of time in Paris. My cousin Jean-Luc and his sisters are from there. They escaped in time, before it truly grew bad on the streets of Paris.”

She sucked in a shuddering breath. “I am very glad for them, but it is so terrible now.”

He nodded. “It is true. I have many connections there and hear about the goings on.”

“Do you?” she said, her insides twisting as her own distress began to take root again. “As do I. The letters I have received are too frightful for words. I fear my dearest friend will be guillotined any day or worse.”

“And what does she do?” he asked gently.

“She has written pamphlets on the importance of the independence of women.”

He groaned. “So, she’s a great deal like Madame de Gouges.”

She nodded.

He stilled, but he did not try to deny her fears. “I’m so very sorry. Mrs. Wollstonecraft was so inspired when she was there, but she too has been horrified by what has happened in Paris. So many never expected such hopes would come to such carnage.”

She was stunned by his knowledge. So many beautiful young men did not seem to care about what was transpiring, except for the fact that it might mean that they got to wear shiny uniforms in the future.

“You care?” she breathed.

“Of course I do. Any reasonable person might.”

“Most of the world is not reasonable,” she returned.

He groaned. “That sounds like something a Briarwood would say.”

“Does it?” she queried, surprised.

He nodded. He crossed to her then until his boots nearly touched her own slippers. “I will see what I can do for your friend.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Truly?”

He knelt down before her and met her gaze as if he could make a vow simply between the connection of eyes and spirits. “Yes, I do still have connections over there, and I know several people who are in the government, the new government. We don’t necessarily get along, but sometimes I can say the right thing, pass the right note, and if the person is not too hated, things can be done.”

And then he grimaced. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to get your hopes up because it might not work at all. I might not be in time or…”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said suddenly, her heart pounding against her ribs. “You can do all of that?”

He gave a tight nod of his head. “Like I said, it doesn’t always work. Sometimes the prospects are grim.” His own face twisted with dismay. “I hope, and then my hopes are dashed. It is the same with my cousin Jean-Luc. We’ve tried to get many people out, but it’s not always…”

Without thinking, she boldly thrust her hands out, took his between her gloved palms, and squeezed. “Can I help you?”

His eyebrows rose. “I beg your pardon?”

“Can I help you in your work?” she blurted before she could stop herself.

How could she pass up such an opportunity? It might never present itself again, the chance to do something to significantly and actively help. “I’m doing work here to care for people. I raise funds for the aristocrats who are forced to leave and who have nothing. And not just the aristocrats,” she explained rapidly, hoping to prove her worthiness, “but regular people too. People who had patrons that were aristocrats. They’ve been forced to flee too. Did you know there was even a restaurant owner who was taken in by the Tribunal because he had served people of a certain class?”

He nodded tightly. “Yes, I have heard such things. It’s good of you,” he said, his voice rumbling and his hand squeezing hers back, swallowing them up as he placed his other hand upon theirs, as if they were making a pact. “You are quite curious,” he marveled. “Are you truly having a Season this year?”

She laughed. “Do I look like I shouldn’t have a Season?”

His gaze lingered on her lips for a moment. “Actually, you look exactly as if you should. You are the ideal English beauty.”

“Am I?” she whispered, her heart fluttering.

She’d never cared before when someone said she was attractive, but suddenly it mattered greatly that he thought so.

He nodded and then turned her gloved hands over and brought them to his lips. He kissed them softly, let go, and then slowly stood—which was a fascinating process of masculinity—before he took a step back. “Forgive me, I find that you…move me. And I think I should withdraw. I have always considered myself a gentleman with unmarried ladies, and I should hate to change that now. Though if my mother found us, she’d be delighted.”

“I beg your pardon,” she choked. “Why? Would she insist we marry?”

“Usually no, but she might get an idea in her head,” he said softly. “She dearly loves a wedding if she deems it the right one.”

She blinked wildly. “Truly?”

“When my mother decides that a marriage is on the horizon, it always is,” he said. He grinned and, with that, gave her bow. “I’ll write to you soon to see how we can help each other.”

Then, as quickly as he had entered, he turned and left the room.

She sat for a long moment, stunned.

Hadn’t his mother said something about a wedding to her?

She sucked in a breath, thinking of the way he had brought her hands to his lush lips.

Could the dowager mean…?

Dear God in heaven. Surely not.

She swallowed. Should she fly before a real wedding could be suggested? No. She would never do such a thing. She was no coward.

Besides, Lord Achilles was likely far too young to marry. He had years yet to sow his wild oats.

Though, much to her alarm, her blood began to heat. What would it be like to be Lord Achilles’ wife? To have his lips touch hers, to be in his bed every night. It would be glorious indeed, no doubt. But he—oh, dear heaven—he would be a terrible distraction, for she would wish to be with him at every moment, surely?

He seemed to be a noble fellow. And if he could help her? Goodness! He would be a great friend indeed. Even if she had come to this house and gotten no other help than that, it was a successful day.

Now, she would simply have to wait and see if the dowager duchess would be able to assist her. She stood and strode to the door, listening for the sound of returning footsteps.

It had been several minutes. Nigh half an hour. She didn’t want to keep her own mother waiting any longer. She would simply have to write the dowager duchess a note and let her know that she had to go.

She smoothed her skirts, turned and looked at the room, and wondered what it would be like to be a Briarwood. To live in these halls, to think so differently, to have such an exciting way of life.

It was interesting to her how similar her parents were to the Briarwoods, and yet there was such a fundamental difference. For her parents, there were no real risks. There were no adventures . No, there was only a duty to be performed—the continuing of a family name. And she was a part of all that.

As far as she could see, while the Briarwoods certainly wanted to continue their family name, they cared far more for adventure than duty.

And that was very tempting indeed.