The Chance of Love (The Book of Love 7) Page 3

  But she knew by the gleam in his eyes that he would do exactly that. Violet, who shared her room, would be opening the window for him and cheering him on.

  She frowned at him. “That is beastly and cruel.”

  “No, Holly. I would never hurt you. But someone has and left you with deep scars. I don’t recall the name of your husband. Sorry. But this misery you’re feeling has to do with him. I thought it was because you loved him deeply.”

  She gripped the edge of bench, both hands clutching tightly so that her knuckles turned white. “What makes you think I didn’t?”

  Chapter Three

  Mother in heaven.

  Joshua shook his head, trying to make sense of the thoughts now whirling madly between his ears. Was it possible Holly did not love the man she’d married? How did he not see this earlier? He’d assumed hers was a love match because this was the Farthingale way, to marry for love.

  But she had been quite young at the time, perhaps mistaken in her feelings. How would someone like Holly react to the realization her marriage was not one built on love?

  Damn it. She’d hide in shame. She’d put the blame on herself for failing her husband and punish herself for the rest of her life.

  However, this did not quite explain the aura of innocence he’d sensed about her last night. As a married woman, she would have had a physical relationship with her husband. Perhaps an unhappy one, so that over time he’d stopped seeking her bed. Well, it was none of his business what they’d done in the marriage.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s it to be? Will you attend Lord Milford’s party and dance with me?”

  She frowned at him. “Do you leave me a choice?”

  “No.” He wasn’t sorry for it either. “I’ll see you this evening. Have a nice day, Holly.”

  Turmoil radiated off her slender body. He could see pain, hurt, anger, and even a little bit of excitement reflected in the haunted pools of her eyes.

  It was time someone stirred a little excitement in that prim lass.

  Lord, how could someone so buttoned-up shoot fire through his blood the way she did?

  He left her seated in the garden, her small hands still clutching the bench in a death grip, and walked onto Chipping Way. Since the Houses of Parliament would be quiet for the next few weeks while the lords fled north to hunt grouse, he stopped back at Romulus’s house to retrieve that book on love Holly had been so desperate to hide.

  There wouldn’t be much for him to do all day, so where was the harm in taking it to his office for a bit of reading?

  Which is what he was doing when his brother Ronan and their friend Robert MacLauren stepped into his office later that afternoon and made themselves at home, despite the fact that he hadn’t invited them to stay. “Get out.”

  “Do ye have anything decent to drink?” Robbie asked, walking to Joshua’s files and beginning to rummage through them. “Och, nothing but papers in here. Where’s yer bottle, Josh?”

  “I don’t have one.” He shut the book and set it aside on his desk.

  Ronan groaned. “Not a drop to ease a man’s thirst? I think I’ll go mad if I have to put up with another two weeks of this.”

  The three of them were men of action. Having nothing to do but roam the empty halls of Parliament made them restless. Ronan was a captain in the Royal Navy, working as the Admiralty’s liaison to Parliament. Robbie was a captain in the Royal Scots Dragoons, working as the Scottish liaison to Parliament. Since Joshua was the army liaison, the three of them often worked together.

  He and Ronan had always been close, other than the occasional brotherly spat that amounted to nothing. Robbie had become a good friend of theirs over the course of their assignments.

  “I have a bottle of bootleg port in my office,” Robbie said.

  Ronan nodded. “Splendid. I’ll fetch a few glasses from the conference room.”

  “Fine.” Joshua glanced at the book he’d been forced to set aside. It was interesting, and he’d hardly gotten halfway through it. He had hoped to finish it before he danced with Holly, but that would not happen now.

  Instead of immediately walking out, the two approached his desk. Ronan picked up the book before he could stop him. “What is this you’re reading, Josh?”

  “None of your business. Give it back.” Which was the worst thing he could have said since it only piqued their curiosity. Ronan held it out of his reach when he tried to grab it from his hands.

  “Blessed Scottish saints!” Robbie burst out laughing. “The Book of Love?”

  “Josh, have you suffered brain damage?” Ronan had an irritating smirk on his face. “Love? As in leg-shackled, parson’s noose, ring through the nose, ballbusting—”

  “Your point is made, Ronan. Enough.”

  His brother opened it and flipped through the pages. “Is this the book that felled Finn and Romulus?”

  Robbie’s eyes widened in surprise. “Not to mention, my cousin Thad. Yes, it must be. I’d know that faded red binding anywhere. What in bloody blazes are you doing with it?”

  “What does it matter? I’ve been entrusted with it, and I’ve decided to read it.”

  Robbie shook his head. “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  Ronan held up a hand. “Wait. Not another word about this book until we return with a bottle and glasses.”

  Joshua had no lock on his door, so he settled back in his chair and put his feet up atop his desk, ready to endure an afternoon of taunts from these two men who had too much time on their hands. What was the expression? The devil has work for idle hands?

  Now that the pawky pair had caught sight of the book, they were never going to leave him alone about it.

  They returned within minutes, shut his door, and then settled into the chairs in front of his desk. Ronan poured each of them a glass of port. In truth, it was of excellent quality. He could tell by the deep crimson of the liquid.

  It tasted smooth and sweet as it slid down his throat.

  Ronan drained his glass and set it aside. “Robbie, do you realize what this means? Joshua has just found the leprechaun’s pot of gold.”

  “What do ye mean?” He eyed the book curiously.

  “The ladies have used it to trap unsuspecting bachelors into falling in love with them. Well, why can’t we use it ourselves? Except not to find love, but to avoid their traps. Don’t you see? Think of this as a battle of the sexes. This book contains their battle plans, their maps, their weapons. We only need to study this and be prepared to cut them off at every turn. Think of how easy it will be to thwart their plans if we know exactly what they are going to do and when they are going to do it?”

  Robbie’s eyes lit up. “Let’s take it a step further. We can turn the game on them. Instead of them luring us into a parson’s trap, we can lure them into our beds.”

  Joshua set his feet off the desk and rose with a frown. “Ruin innocents? This is your battle plan?”

  “Och, no. We’ll keep away from the unspoiled ones. But we all know that most of these debutantes have given up their petals. So what harm is there in aiming for the ones we want and going after them? Maybe two or three in one night? Maybe all three at once?”

  Joshua sighed. “This is what you have in mind? To become stud bulls for the despoiled daughters of the aristocracy?”

  Robbie laughed. “Are ye suggesting there is something wrong with that?”

  He clenched his hands, not knowing why he was behaving like a prig at the moment. This had been their lives until now, fighting hard, drinking hard, and playing hard. They took women to their beds whenever they felt the need. Never a shortage of the cheaper sort who were not modest about their sexual desires. “This book is called The Book of Love. Not The Book of Sex. I don’t know about you, but I would rather not spend the rest of my days falling into bed with women who mean nothing to me and might give me the pox.”

  Ronan shook his head. “Gad, don’t tell me you’re ready to marry. Have you found the
girl?”

  “No. I don’t have anyone in mind. But I have no intention of passing her up when she does come along. When you infants finally grow up, you’ll realize I’m right.”

  Robbie and Ronan began to leaf through the book again. “Love, ye say?” Robbie did not look convinced. “So, a slight modification to the battle plans. Instead of seeking out the ones who have given away their maidenheads, we look for the one jewel hidden among the crop of debutantes?”

  “That’s right. The one who will make you the perfect wife. This is what the author has been saying. The right girl for you doesn’t have to be perfect for everyone, just for you. But you must also understand what it is you seek in your mate.” He raked a hand through his hair, uncertain how much to tell them. But they now appeared to be listening intently, done with their little boy antics for the moment.

  “How far along have you gotten into the book?” Ronan asked.

  “About six or seven chapters.” He hesitated to say more, but the pair suddenly looked seriously interested. “Do you want me to tell you what I’ve learned so far?”

  They nodded.

  “First, I must have your oaths that you will not damage this book or mock what is written in it.”

  Again nods.

  “Say it.”

  Robbie went first. “I give ye my oath.”

  Ronan poured himself another glass of port. “I do, too. You have my oath.” He refilled Joshua and Robbie’s glasses. “Here’s to learning about love.” Then he grinned wickedly. “And to the many ladies who will lead us down the wrong paths of pleasure along the way.”

  “Bollocks, you’re an idiot.”

  Robbie grinned as well. “Och, dinna scowl at us, Josh. Ye have no idea how insistent some of those lassies can be. Who are we to deny them? But we gave ye our oaths to learn about the true lass of our heart, so ye have our full attention. Go ahead. Tell us.”

  “Very well, here we go.” He settled comfortably in his chair and started at the beginning. “Apparently, it is our brain that tells our heart what it ought to feel.”

  Ronan laughed. “I don’t know about that. Most of the time, I think my brain shuts down when I see a room full of pretty girls. At first glance, I want them all.”

  “Och, aye. It is much the same for me,” Robbie said with a nod. “And if they’re eager, wouldn’t it be cruel of me to deny them?”

  “You’re both still idiots but not exactly wrong in this. According to the author, men have two brains. A higher and a lower. One is complex, and the other simple.”

  It did not surprise Joshua when both of his companions made lewd remarks about their lower brains, gesturing to their crotches. He groaned silently. This was going to be a long afternoon.

  He continued while Robbie refilled their glasses again. “The function of our lower brain is to have us find suitable sexual mates. So, the moment we see a female, that low brain immediately makes a quick assessment of her breeding qualities.”

  He ignored their snorts and more crass comments and gestures, merely rolling his eyes before continuing. “Is she too young? Too old? Too sickly? Too frail? This is what we consider in that instant. We look at her physical qualities, the shape of her body. Size of her breasts. Breadth of her hips. We assess this before we move on to the color of her hair or eyes.”

  “I like a girl with big, robust breasts,” Ronan remarked, holding out his hands and cupping them in the air. “A man needs something soft and meaty to hold on to.”

  “You could cup her arse,” Robbie suggested, no doubt intending to be helpful, “if her breasts aren’t big enough for you.”

  “The point of this chapter is to bring out the differences between male urges and female urges. We’ve been given two brains in order to seek out women capable of providing us with offspring, and then paring those choices down to find the right one for us.”

  “Why can’t they all be right?” Ronan asked.

  “Because if we bed them and leave them to breed, we also need to remain by their side to protect them. This is what the author says. We must remain to protect them or else they’ll be eaten by wolves. Of course, he doesn’t mean it literally. But a woman giving birth is probably at her most vulnerable at that time. Even for the next few years afterward. How is she to provide for her babes if she cannot leave them, and we are not there to provide for her? This is why we must use our higher brain function to select the one who will give us our heirs. She is the one we must stand by and protect.”

  Robbie groaned. “Ye’re making me feel like a royal wretch. How am I to have fun if I’m to worry about every lass I bed?”

  Ronan stood up. “I’m not ready for this. I agree with Robbie. It isn’t as though that’s all we do. How many years have we gone without while on the battlefield? Even now, we’re usually kept too busy for more than an occasional tumble. But I’m going to have my fun while I can. We’re careful in whom we choose to bed, aren’t we? We take precautions. And no innocents are ruined.”

  Robbie rose along with him. “Och, aye. Ye ought to stop reading as well, Josh. The book isn’t so much a battle plan as a battle trap, and ye’re about to fall into it. I fear ye’ll be married within the month if ye don’t put that cursed thing down right now.”

  “I’m not putting it down. Don’t you want to know about the five senses? Sight, taste, touch, scent, hearing? This is what the book explains. It’s about really looking at someone and seeing them at their essence, not cluttering your mind with what you want to see or expect to see.”

  They left his office in a hurry.

  So much for teaching them about love.

  “Dumb arses,” he muttered. “You’re doomed no matter what you do.”

  Although he did not feel doomed so much as interested to know what love felt like. At this point in his life, he ought to be prepared to meet the right girl. He wanted to know what to look for and understand when something felt wrong.

  He managed to finish the book now that his brother and Robbie were treating him as a leper. They had reason to pass his office several more times that afternoon but quickened their strides whenever walking by, as though he carried some sort of disease they might catch if they lingered too close by.

  He called out to them when they passed by the fourth time. “Ronan! Robbie! Come in here.”

  They kept their heads down and hurried down the hall.

  Cowards.

  He rose from behind his desk and walked over to his window overlooking the Thames. The afternoon sun beat down upon the river so that the water took on a jeweled shimmer. The days were growing shorter now, and the sun was already beginning to sink on the horizon. The sky and clouds had taken on a pinkish hue.

  He returned to Chipping Way, eager to prepare for Lord Milford’s party. Were this a more formal affair, he would have dressed in black tie and civilian attire. But Lord Milford was high up in the War Ministry and would expect his officers to appear in dress uniform.

  He had just walked out the door when Violet hurried over to him. “Oh, I’m so glad I caught you before you left. Uncle John wanted me to ask you if you’d like to ride with us. We’re taking two carriages, and there’s plenty of room.”

  “Thank you. I’d like that.” He followed her next door, hoping to see Holly and know she had not made up an excuse to beg off.

  There she was, just climbing into one of the carriages.

  His heartbeat immediately quickened.

  Rather annoying of his heart to behave this way now that he understood all that it meant. He’d obviously selected this young widow as one of his desirable breeding mates. Of course, she was off-limits to him for mere sport. If he ever took Holly to his bed, he would have to marry her.

  Widow or not.

  Experienced or not…well, she had to be experienced. Perhaps not adept at the sexual arts, but certainly no longer a virgin.

  Not that it mattered. Holly could never be a dalliance for him.

  But what were his feelings for her?


  He was not particularly pleased to find himself riding with Holly. Not only riding with her but seated beside her as the Farthingale entourage rode to Lord Milford’s home. He caught her lovely scent—honey and lavender. He felt the soft give of her body whenever she fell against him as the carriage bumped and rolled along the London streets.

  Fortunately, Violet and Hortensia were in the seats opposite theirs. This once, he was relieved to stare into Hortensia’s prune-faced scowl. By the mere arch of her eyebrow, she conveyed her threat. Touch one of my chicks, and I’ll cleave you in half with a broadsword.

  Violet was simply smiling at him, her expression also obvious. She wanted to match him with Holly. Indeed, she was giddy about it.

  He glanced at Holly.

  Her hands were tightly clasped and resting on her lap. Her head was bowed so that she was staring at everyone’s feet.

  She was dreading this party, already fretting about the dance he’d claimed. Well, he wasn’t going to make it easier for her. He wasn’t going to claim one dance, but two. First the waltz, then the supper dance. Then he was going to walk her into the dining hall and remain with her throughout the meal.

  He wasn’t certain why he needed to do this. But the more she wanted to hide, the more he was determined to drag her into the light.

  They entered, were announced, and all headed to the ballroom, which was not nearly as large as those in the finer homes, but it easily held the one hundred or so guests invited. Holly darted straight over to the dowager countess, Lady Eloise Dayne, and sat down next to the elderly woman and her circle of gray-haired friends.

  Damnation.

  Lady Phoebe Withnall, London’s most prolific gossip, now took a seat beside Holly. The two began to chat. Did Holly realize who this little termagant was? He wondered what secrets Lady Withnall meant to pry out of this lovely innocent.

  Well, no. Holly wasn’t innocent, precisely.

  He shook his head, his instincts erring again. Widow. Once married. Wedding night. Perhaps many more nights with her husband.

  Not that he cared.

  Why should he care?

  Ronan came up to him and clapped him on the shoulder. “Dead man walking.”