floor.
“Ah, but, Countess, I am no longer American,” he countered.
“But still an ill-mannered lout,” she shot back.
Jason threw back his head and laughed, then replied, “But now an English ill-mannered lout, remember?”
“As if anyone in the ton could forget that,” she replied. “When the announcement was made that Cargrave had petitioned for his Yankee grandson to be named his heir, half of London thought he'd taken leave of his senses. I'm amazed it has come to pass.”
“I wondered myself if Grandfather could get away with his scheme, but things appear to be working out smoothly.”
The marquess is a most powerful man, accustomed to getting what he wants.”
“You mean he's utterly ruthless and will use any means, fair or foul, to get his way,” he corrected.
“You say that, yet I detect a fondness for him in spite of the blackmail.”
He looked down at her appraisingly as the waltz ended. “Are you such a shrewd judge of human nature, Countess?”
She met his eyes steadily. “Yes, I do believe I am.”
“Aside from my lack of manners, how would you judge me?”
She appeared to consider this while they made their way to the refreshment table. “Reckless at times. Stubborn always. Loyal to your friends, I suppose, else you would not have agreed to your grandfather's terms for freeing your crew,” she added grudgingly.
“I appreciate your honesty.” His expression was wry as he offered her a glass of champagne.
Rachel took the delicate crystal and sipped while eyeing him with amusement. She could feel those around them watching with avid curiosity and felt her blood race in a peculiar way. Normally, she detested being on display, having the gossips speculate about poor Harleigh's eldest, that hoyden who preferred horses to men.
But this man is different. Where on earth had that thought come from? Rachel almost choked on her wine. Jason Beaumont affected her in ways no other man ever had. If she were not so strongly opposed to marriage and the end of a way of life she loved, she might actually have accepted his suit…but then she sternly reminded herself that he had not paid suit. He possessed as little interest in marriage as she.
They danced several times more as the evening wore on, a shocking breach of social decorum, adding to the speculation about a match. Both were careful to say nothing that might betray their plans.
At midnight Cargrave and Harleigh made their way to the center of the room and the orchestra played a fanfare. The crowd fell silent as the marquess prepared to speak.
“It is with great pride and pleasure that my old friend Viscount Harleigh and I announce the betrothal of his daughter, the Honorable Miss Rachel Fairchild, and my grandson, the Earl of Falconridge.” He and Harleigh raised their glasses in celebration as the crowd broke into polite, if astonished, applause.
A babel of soft murmuring and tittering laughter filled the room as everyone's eyes swept in the direction of the young couple, who were standing near the wide arched doorway to the main foyer. Jason could see the look of smug accomplishment lighting his grandfather's face. He turned toward Rachel and whispered something.
A shocked gasp ricocheted through the assembly when she replied by dumping her glass of champagne over his head and stalking furiously from the room. Jason watched her departure for an instant, then turned back to the now hushed crowd. Wiping his face with a handkerchief, he smiled stiffly. Then Jason Beaumont, sixth Earl of Falconridge, made a formal bow and quit the room.
An expression of abject horror whitened the viscount's face. Jason did not pause long enough to see the marquess' slow
“Ah, but, Countess, I am no longer American,” he countered.
“But still an ill-mannered lout,” she shot back.
Jason threw back his head and laughed, then replied, “But now an English ill-mannered lout, remember?”
“As if anyone in the ton could forget that,” she replied. “When the announcement was made that Cargrave had petitioned for his Yankee grandson to be named his heir, half of London thought he'd taken leave of his senses. I'm amazed it has come to pass.”
“I wondered myself if Grandfather could get away with his scheme, but things appear to be working out smoothly.”
The marquess is a most powerful man, accustomed to getting what he wants.”
“You mean he's utterly ruthless and will use any means, fair or foul, to get his way,” he corrected.
“You say that, yet I detect a fondness for him in spite of the blackmail.”
He looked down at her appraisingly as the waltz ended. “Are you such a shrewd judge of human nature, Countess?”
She met his eyes steadily. “Yes, I do believe I am.”
“Aside from my lack of manners, how would you judge me?”
She appeared to consider this while they made their way to the refreshment table. “Reckless at times. Stubborn always. Loyal to your friends, I suppose, else you would not have agreed to your grandfather's terms for freeing your crew,” she added grudgingly.
“I appreciate your honesty.” His expression was wry as he offered her a glass of champagne.
Rachel took the delicate crystal and sipped while eyeing him with amusement. She could feel those around them watching with avid curiosity and felt her blood race in a peculiar way. Normally, she detested being on display, having the gossips speculate about poor Harleigh's eldest, that hoyden who preferred horses to men.
But this man is different. Where on earth had that thought come from? Rachel almost choked on her wine. Jason Beaumont affected her in ways no other man ever had. If she were not so strongly opposed to marriage and the end of a way of life she loved, she might actually have accepted his suit…but then she sternly reminded herself that he had not paid suit. He possessed as little interest in marriage as she.
They danced several times more as the evening wore on, a shocking breach of social decorum, adding to the speculation about a match. Both were careful to say nothing that might betray their plans.
At midnight Cargrave and Harleigh made their way to the center of the room and the orchestra played a fanfare. The crowd fell silent as the marquess prepared to speak.
“It is with great pride and pleasure that my old friend Viscount Harleigh and I announce the betrothal of his daughter, the Honorable Miss Rachel Fairchild, and my grandson, the Earl of Falconridge.” He and Harleigh raised their glasses in celebration as the crowd broke into polite, if astonished, applause.
A babel of soft murmuring and tittering laughter filled the room as everyone's eyes swept in the direction of the young couple, who were standing near the wide arched doorway to the main foyer. Jason could see the look of smug accomplishment lighting his grandfather's face. He turned toward Rachel and whispered something.
A shocked gasp ricocheted through the assembly when she replied by dumping her glass of champagne over his head and stalking furiously from the room. Jason watched her departure for an instant, then turned back to the now hushed crowd. Wiping his face with a handkerchief, he smiled stiffly. Then Jason Beaumont, sixth Earl of Falconridge, made a formal bow and quit the room.
An expression of abject horror whitened the viscount's face. Jason did not pause long enough to see the marquess' slow
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