The Irresistible Miss Peppiwell(6)
“You are too slow, Lord Anthony,” she said with a chortle. She spun her mare around gracefully and cantered toward him. “I win.”
He banished the image of whiskey eyes and glorious red hair and turned a smile toward Lady Jocelyn. To his mild annoyance, her appearance did not lance arousal through him. Her dark beauty put her among the most stunning women he’d ever seen, yet the most feeling she excited in him was simple appreciation. He was content to look, but not tempted to taste. Especially after his titillating encounter with the coolly sensual Miss Peppiwell.
Lady Jocelyn had appeared out of nowhere, so different from the other young ladies of the haute monde, and he had been captivated by her fiery personality. He’d thought it a pity she had not been presented for her season, for she would have either shocked or charmed society. They had been distantly acquainted for some years, since her family was friendly with Lord Calvert’s brood, whom he visited regularly at their countryseat. However, Anthony’s new property bordered Stonehaven, her father’s estate, and they had become much closer friends over the past several weeks. It was probably a little late to realize he was not drawn to Lady Jocelyn in the way he had hoped. He had been courting her for a couple of weeks now. Riding up from London to his new estate to oversee the renovations, he’d stolen kisses that hadn’t roused him, and had escorted her to country balls and picnics.
She was a whirlwind, her energy and vivacity unrelenting. He knew she wanted marriage for the same reason many of the ladies of society did. Money. Which suited him fine—it was the usual way of things. If only they’d been more attracted, then at least it could possibly grow to love.
She did not, it seemed, hunger for his touch, either. She barely responded to his kisses, her lips pursed primly, no doubt thinking that was all to it. He had shocked himself by not pressing for deeper tastes. He simply hadn’t had the desire.
“What are you thinking about when you gaze so far away?” she asked him.
He chuckled, finding her lack of artifice refreshing. What was it about him and unrefined misses? “Investments,” he answered, since his actual thoughts were inappropriate.
“Indeed?” She gave him a dubious frown. “Is that a potential investment you hold in your hand?”
He glanced at the golden locket dangling from his fingers. Ice settled into his gut and he exhaled, releasing the tension from his body. He didn’t have to decide today. “In a way. It was a gift from my brother, the Duke of Calydon.”
“An unusual gift between brothers.” She leaned over her pommel, reaching for it. He handed it to her, watching her examine its filigree and delicate chain. “It’s very beautiful.”
“It belonged to our mother’s family. It is supposed to be handed down to the wife of the firstborn son in the family.”
She smiled. “What a lovely tradition.”
“As you may know, Calydon refuses to marry, so he gifted it to me to present to my wife.”
Her gray eyes widened, and the surge of hope in her gaze made his gut clench. Her fingers tightened on the locket, and her gaze swept over to her father’s lands. He knew without looking what she saw—fields and tenant houses in desperate need of funding.
Her eyes slashed back to his, before reaching out to hand him back the locket.
“Keep it,” he said on impulse.
“What are you saying?” Lady Jocelyn asked slowly.
“I want you to hold onto it for me.”
“You would trust me with such a family treasure?”
“Why not? Are we not friends?” She gave him a blinding smile, punching him with her beauty.
He tried again to summon a spark of desire for her, and failed. He gritted his teeth in anger. He was thinking she would make him a good companion, but damn it to hell, he should feel something beyond warm affection and appreciation of his wife’s beauty.
He made the decision to return to London the following day. A deep part of him wanted to explore the attraction he felt for the sensual Miss Peppiwell.
He should try to concentrate on the woman in front of him. Lady Jocelyn was a lady, through and through. Her lineage was a noble one. She understood her role in London’s haute monde. She wanted to get married and have children, as befitted her position—he had known it from the minute she greeted him upon their reacquaintance, betraying a look of assessing him as a potential suitor.
In other words, she was the perfect woman to take as wife.
It was a damned shame he had no desire to do so.
Chapter Three
He was a bastard.
A fist slammed into Anthony’s side, sharp and wicked. His body jerked under the power of the punch, and he welcomed the bite of pain. He bobbed and weaved, rolling with graceful speed as he danced around his boxing partner, his brother Sebastian.