An Impossible Attraction. Brenda Joyce

just stood there, feeling as if she’d somehow withstood a hurricane—or some other impossible force of nature.

      Chapter Four

      THE STAG ROOM of the Hotel St. Lucien was as exclusive as a private club. While one did not have to be a member, the maitre d’ had no trouble encouraging the wrong sort to turn away from its massive carved doors. Merchants, bankers, factory owners and lawyers were simply not allowed without a proper introduction or the right escort. Simply put, it was a refuge for the country’s upper-class elite. Stephen rarely bothered with the Stag Room or any similar establishment, but once in a while such isolation was welcome.

      Now he propelled Randolph forward, his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. The maitre d’ bowed. “Your Grace. Mr. de Warenne.”

      Stephen nodded as he and his half brother strolled into the dimly lit salon filled with fine furniture, gilded antiques and Aubusson rugs. At this late hour, nearing midnight, the gentlemen present were all his age, with only a few exceptions, and many were well into their cups. Murmurs of “Your Grace” followed him as he walked past the various groups. Alexi, Jack, Ned and his younger brother Charles, generally known as Chaz, were all slouched in their plush seats at the salon’s far end. The windows there overlooked the park. The moon was bright tonight.

      “We were wondering if you got waylaid,” Jack O’Neill said, one leg crossed over the other, a cigar in hand.

      “I had to pry my young friend away from a particularly voracious baroness,” Stephen said drily. “He was making advances toward Lady Dupre.”

      Randolph flopped down onto the couch beside Alexi, who poured a fine cognac into a snifter for him and pushed it over. “She was the most beautiful woman at the birthday soirée, and may I say, in my own defense, she ogled me before I ever approached?”

      “They are all beautiful, where you are concerned,” Chaz said.

      “Discretion would have been a better course,” Stephen admonished, “as her current paramour was standing beside her and her husband within earshot.”

      “Lady Dupre,” Alexi murmured. “Well done, Rolph.”

      Randolph saluted him with his snifter.

      Stephen took the chair beside the couch, glancing at Alexi as he did so. His friend was lounging against the cushions in a manner that suggested he was hardly drunk and was very intently preparing for their next go-round. He looked like a black jaguar in a cage, one waiting for the gatekeeper to dare to come inside. He smiled indolently at Stephen.

      “As long as we are speaking about impending conquests, has Miss Bolton indicated that she will be grateful to you for rescuing her not once, but twice, tonight?” Alexi asked.

      Stephen poured himself a cognac, recalling Alexandra Bolton’s humiliation at the hands of her father with a stirring of anger. “Edgemont is a disgrace.”

      “Miss Bolton handled herself well,” Ned said firmly. “Grace under fire, all around.”

      Stephen silently agreed.

      “She is a striking woman,” Jack remarked. “She is almost as tall as I am.”

      Stephen gave Jack a deceptively mild look.

      “I would never poach,” Jack laughed. Then he sobered. “I did feel sorry for her. And for her sisters, too. Edgemont should be shot.”

      “That’s a bit extreme,” Ned said, amused. “You’re back in civilization, Jack. Or have you forgotten?”

      Jack flexed his hands. “I suppose I have become a bit extreme, actually.” He glanced around. “Let’s find a tavern and some good lusty tavern wenches. I am bored.”

      Chaz and Randolph exchanged looks. “I know a place,” Chaz said, attempting to remain blasé.

      His older brother looked at him. “You are the spare,” Ned reproved. “You do have a reputation to maintain.”

      “Exactly. I’m the spare, not the heir,” Chaz said, unperturbed, and he finished his drink, whispering to Randolph as they made their plans for the rest of the evening.

      Alexi turned to look at Stephen. “I ask again. How goes the latest seduction? Is Miss Bolton disposed to be properly grateful?”

      He felt his blood warm. He thought about how proud she was as he said slowly, “She seemed cautiously grateful…as if you care.”

      “But I do care.” Alexi smiled. “She is no Charlotte Witte. In fact, you may find yourself with some resistance this time. By the way, Elysse has decided she wishes to know Miss Bolton. Ariella has decided to introduce them.”

      Stephen sighed. He expected his cousins to interfere in his personal life—they certainly harped on him for his bachelor status from time to time—but he couldn’t imagine why they would care about his interest in Alexandra Bolton. Now he wondered if Alexi could be right. Not only had she been proud, she hadn’t flirted with him, not one single time, when every other woman who crossed his path was coy and flirtatious. “Considering her dire straits, I am sure that, in the end, we will both come to very agreeable terms. And perhaps you might instruct your wife and sister not to meddle? As there is really nothing for them to meddle in.”

      Alexi smiled at him. “But I happen to think that perhaps, this one time, they should meddle—Miss Bolton is so original.”

      Stephen stared. “What are you up to?”

      “She is not your type, not for an affair,” Alexi said quickly.

      “How wrong you are.”

      His look was almost smug, and that made Stephen uneasy.

      “Isn’t she unwed?” Ned asked, his gaze unwavering. “And isn’t she a gentlewoman?”

      Stephen felt a twinge of discomfort. “She is an older woman, Ned, a spinster, for God’s sake. And there was some scandal already, so she is hardly an innocent debutante whom I wish to ruthlessly take advantage of.”

      “She is a woman of substance,” Ned said. “And pride. Anyone can see that. You should look elsewhere for your entertainment.”

      Stephen stared coldly at him, but Ned wasn’t daunted. One day his cousin would be the Earl of Adare, a powerful title and position. He didn’t expect Ned to bow to him, but he did not appreciate being questioned, and he didn’t like his cousins interfering in this instance. No one had ever bothered to say a word to him about Charlotte, or the mistress before her, or the one before her.

      But Alexi was right on one account: Alexandra wasn’t anything like Charlotte.

      “I wonder how Anne Sinclair would handle the drama of such a night, if she were ever in Miss Bolton’s position,” Alexi said softly.

      The other men chuckled. Stephen smiled wryly, sipping from his drink, wondering why Alexi had raised such a comparison. “I’m sure she would be equally graceful and dignified,” he said, though he hardly thought so. “Are you interested in Lady Anne, Alexi?”

      “Me? Of course not. Let’s see…how old is she? Eighteen? And what are her accomplishments? Oh, wait, she has been spoiled and pampered her entire life. But she is an excellent dancer. Her manners are impeccable, as well. The two of you make a pleasing couple, by the way—she would make a stunning duchess. Doesn’t everyone agree?”

      Everyone was silent now. Interest was acute.

      And Stephen was now very annoyed. “I have considered Anne, and I have decided to reject her.”

      “Of course you have. And I do support your decision,” Alexi said. “Tell me, have you heard that Miss Bolton sews to support her sisters and her father?”

      Alexi was baiting him. He simply did not know why. “I admire her resourcefulness.”

      Alexi gaped. “Really?”