Tempted by a Lady's Smile (Lords of Honor #4)(5)

Only one woman he’d known had never been grasping. A gentle summer breeze stirred ripples upon the otherwise placid lake and he swirled the contents of his flask. Nay, Eloise hadn’t cared a jot for titles or wealth, as was demonstrated by her unwavering love of his title-less brother, Lucien. Lucien, who’d languished in a hospital for years, offered no title, had lost an arm to infection from a war wound, and served as a butler to some powerful lord. And none of that had mattered to Eloise. He put the stopper back on his flask. Just as Richard had never truly mattered to her. Not in the ways he’d most wanted to matter.

Unbidden, his gaze went to the fishing reel, as buried memories slipped to the surface of the only girl he’d ever known who’d baited a hook. His lips twitched with wry mirth. A young girl who’d baited the hook of his then squeamish self and who’d never laughed about that weakness. Even when his own brothers had mocked and jeered as only brothers could.

Tucking his drink inside his front pocket, Richard retrieved his pole and carried it to the edge of the shore.

“Do you intend to remain out here through dinner?” Amusement lingered in the question from his companion.

Richard glanced back to where Lord Westfield knelt gathering his fishing equipment and then returned his stare to the lake. “Indeed.” He cast his line.

Behind him, Westfield’s mutterings reached his ears. “Some of us are not afforded that same luxury.”

No, there were certain expectations and responsibilities that went with his birthright.

Where most begrudged the other man for his possession of an eventual dukedom, Richard had never wanted, craved, or envied the other man the responsibilities and headaches which came with his title. Sought after by every marriage-minded miss in the realm, Westfield was not afforded the same peace that came from being a spare to the heir.

In a bid to be helpful, Richard said, “It is just a week.” They both knew how endless a week would be when a duke threw together a guest list of possible matches for his two unwed children.

Westfield snorted. “The highlight of each night will be when this is over and I’m free to escape from the machinations of those present.” Yes, all who knew of or about the marquess were aware of the time he spent at his clubs. Matchmaking summer parties and tedious respectable events were not the manner of pleasures he’d ever enjoyed. “You are certain you don’t care to join me?” his friend asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Richard shot another look over his shoulder. The other man stood with his pole tucked on his shoulder. He shook his head. “I’ll join you for drinks and not much more than that.” The official events organized for the ducal party commenced on the morn, at which point Richard would do his due diligence as a guest and take part in the painful inanities.

“Brandies, then,” Westfield conceded. “You’re—”

“I’m certain,” he interrupted dryly not bothering to turn around.

Muttering under his breath, Westfield’s feet crushed the brush and gravel as he made his way to his Friesian, one of the finest mounts Richard had bred in the course of his career.

Moments later, the other man galloped off and Richard was left with his own thoughts. Of course, he’d have to join the festivities. He’d come here, after all, with the express intention of avoiding his own family’s summer party.

His line pulled and Richard gave his pole a swift and strong jerk backward and up. He pumped and lifted the rod from the water while drawing in the line. The fish at the other end tugged and Richard engaged in a gentle dance, luring the creature forward as it twisted and spiraled at the end of the hook.

Richard carefully withdrew the metal from the trout’s mouth and the slippery creature slid from his fingers. It turned and gyrated upon the earth, seeking escape. He eyed it a moment. How very much alike he was to that creature. Taking pity on it, he bent and rescued the trout. Carrying it to the edge of the shore, he set it in the lake, allowing the fish its freedom. Richard stared after the trout until it disappeared. The world of Polite Society was one Richard had never belonged to. The ton had limited interest or uses for a second-born son, just as Richard himself had little desire to be fully immersed in that world, beyond the business connections he might form as a horse breeder.

His friendship, in and of itself, with the future Duke of Somerset was all the more remarkable for it. One gentleman, so wholly born to belong in that world, and the other, embracing any chance to be free of it.

One of the most successful horse breeders in England with a small parcel of land left him by his father, Richard despised rubbing elbows with the peerage of which he was only loosely a member. His infrequent attendance at ton events was for no other reason than building his business. It had never been about making a match, but rather about adding clients to his already impressive list.

Richard gathered his belongings and then strode over to his packs. He clicked his tongue twice and his mount trotted over. He reluctantly swung his leg over Warrior’s broad back and then urged him on to the duke’s estate. Yes, at any other moment, in any other time, he would readily say the Duke of Somerset’s summer matchmaking party was the last place he cared to be.

That was until Eloise had broken his heart. Now he cared to be wherever that young woman was not. Even with the peerage.

Leaning over his mount’s withers, he gave him room to stretch his legs and the obedient creature flew. As he put distance between him and the lake, he guided Warrior onward toward the opulent residence. Richard reveled in the clean summer air slapping at his face, embraced the feel of it as it whipped his hair. This was the world he truly belonged to; on the fringe of Society, in the countryside without anyone in his—