The Only Reason for the London Season Read online



  The Only Reason for the London Season

  by Kristin Vayden

  Copyright © 2014 KRISTIN VAYDEN

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  THE ONLY REASON FOR THE LONDON SEASON

  Copyright © 2014 KRISTIN VAYDEN

  ISBN: 978-0-9911273-7-5

  ISBN 10: 0991127374

  Cover Art by P.S. Cover Design

  Prologue

  Miss Dianna Trowl hated her name.

  Hated it.

  Because it reminded her of a troll, and that same similarity wasn't missed by any of the other debutantes this season. Five minutes couldn't pass before some snide comment was made — just loudly enough for her to hear — that her last name was wildly appropriate for someone who looked like her.

  And for that same reason, she hated her hair — almost as much as she hated her name.

  Red.

  Why in heaven had she been the one to inherit her Scottish ancestors' flaming color? No one, no one else in her family even had a hint of the reddish hue. But of course, why would they when she'd clearly got all of it? It wasn't fair. As if her wretched hair color wasn't enough, she had freckles and green eyes. So, she was the antithesis of everything that was all the rage this season. No wheat colored tresses with bottomless blue eyes. No, she had a flame-colored and unruly mane with muddy green eyes. It might not have been so miserable if the color of the season wasn't pink.

  The absolute worst color for someone of, well, her color.

  But what Dianna lacked in appealing coloring, she made up for in spirit. And so the season continued, and as each ball ended without so much as one suitor paying her mind, she resolved to take matters into her own hands. Everyone noticed her, just for the wrong reasons. But… what if she could use that to her advantage? So Dianna thought and planned and rather decided that this season would be her trial run. She'd listen, she'd learn, and next season… she'd conquer.

  And that is precisely what she did.

  Chapter One

  "Mother? Did you forget about our appointment at the modiste?" Dianna asked in her most innocent voice. She knew her mother couldn't have forgotten, especially since she had never known about the appointment in the first place. Of course one had to occasionally take matters into her own hands if she wanted to have a dress any color other than the most fashionable peach hue — which wasn't any better than last season's pink. So Dianna had justified her actions, made an appointment, and then purposefully forgot to tell her mother. She also might have planned that very appointment during her mother's weekly card game at the Wintons', but she'd never admit to it.

  Ever.

  "Dianna, are you sure we have an appointment? Whitney would have surely told me…"

  Which was why Dianna hadn't told the Butler either.

  "I'm quite certain. It's of no matter, I'll take along Meg and we'll be on our way." Dianna spun on her heel and left, closing her mother's door behind her. After a few steps she exhaled a silent breath of relief. The first part of her plan was set in motion. With her mother not hovering over her shoulder and selecting every wrong color for her skin tone, she would be free to be a bit more daring. Her heart fluttered at the prospect, but she reminded herself that it was all necessary if she were to snag a husband this season. She couldn't blend in, not that she ever did in the first place, but it rather sounded like the right sentiment to think. So with determination she made her way to her room to notify her maid, Meg, and then set out for town.

  ****

  Cambridge Whitacker, the Earl of Southridge, was bored. If he had to marry this season — which he did, once he made up his mind, he stuck to it — why couldn't there be at least one interesting young woman? Instead, it was as if a single peach had fallen from the heavens and sat rotting in the various homes of the London elite.

  Peach, who in the bloody hell thought that such a color would be enticing to men? It was… in a word… ugly. And he thought it made even the prettiest girl rather… well, ugly. Never one for describing matters, he figured one blunt word was just as good as another.

  So he walked about the ballroom, sipping his warming champagne and trying to look somewhat entertained so as not to offend the host. It was only the second or third — he already lost count — ball of the season, and not everyone was even in town yet, but it was already promising to be a dull season indeed. And of course, this was the bloody season he had decided it was time to finally find a wife.

  He took a long drink of tepid champagne.

  And wished it was brandy.

  With a reluctant sigh, he heard the music begin and went to find his first partner. A lovely girl, if not for the fact she was utterly and irreparably shy. Was it too much to ask for a woman to speak other than to say 'yes, my lord', or 'no, my lord'? He was all for the idea of a biddable wife, but monosyllable answers were as unappealing as the color of peach.

  Miserable season.

  "Ah, Miss Swift." He bowed and reached for her hand. After a fleeting smile, she curtseyed and followed him onto the dance floor. It was a Scottish reel, so there wasn't much time for speaking, but as he led her off the floor towards the refreshment table, he attempted conversation.

  And yes, attempt was the correct word.

  "Miss Swift, thank you for the dance." He offered her his most winning smile.

  "Yes, my lord." She blushed.

  He tried again. "Are you having a pleasant evening?"

  "Yes, my lord." She glanced away then pulled out her fan.

  He waited a moment then asked, "The weather is fine, wouldn't you say?"

  "Yes, my lord." Apparently that was the only response she was capable of. Three times in a row. He should try for an even four.

  "Would you like some lemonade?"

  "No. Thank you, my lord."

  Drat, broke the cycle.

  "Have a lovely evening, Miss Swift."

  "Yes, my lord."

  Ha-ha! Even four! He didn't know why it felt like such an accomplishment, but he supposed one must find amusement where he could.

  Taking a deep breath and motioning to a footman with the champagne, he selected another glass and tried to find another way to divert himself.

  But all thoughts of sport vanished when he spotted a color other than peach.

  In fact, it was the very opposite of peach, and pulled him in like a moth to the flame.

  Which seemed appropriate because the woman had the most alluring and sensual flaming red hair.

  With a green dress… like the leaf on the top of the peach. The color was still pale enough to be respectable for a debutante, but its color was far richer than anything he'd seen for some time.

  She was beautiful.

  She was perfect.

  She was… creating quite a stir.

  And his first thought was that perhaps she would be able to say something other than 'yes, my lord', or 'no, my lord', which was the most attractive quality he could imagine at the moment.

  Of course, that she had the body of Venus didn't detract from that first thought. Rather it enhanced her allure considerably.

  But he wasn't the only gentleman who noticed; the woman was drawing men like bees to honey. And she wasn't making any friends amongst the
women either, if the cutting glances and snarls in her direction were any indicator. But the enchantress even didn't seem to notice. She seemed to glow, as if this was her moment and she owned it, thrilled… lived in it to the fullest extent.

  He had to have her.

  She wouldn't be biddable, but she was most certainly beddable… and with that to look forward to each night, biddable be hanged.

  But first, he had to know something very important.

  Her name.

  Chapter Two

  Dianna was soaking up the spotlight like a cat sipping cream. It was decadent, heady and quite wonderful. By her estimation, she only had a few moments till her mother noticed her dress and possibly caused a scene… but it would be worth it. Already her dances were all spoken for and she'd only arrived a quarter hour ago. Never had that happened in the past. Such knowledge would go far in soothing her mother's ruffled feathers over the dress. In fact, it might even buy her some freedom to wear the other dress she had ordered.

  It was purple. A deliciously muted purple that was just on the respectable side of scandalous. It was perfect.

  Her skin prickled with awareness, the kind that caused one to pause and tip the head in curiosity. Cautiously, she scanned the crowd to find what, or whom, had caused such a distinctive sensation. Feeling silly at wondering about someone looking at her when, well, everyone was looking at her, she almost missed the intense blue gaze of a gentleman just to her left. He was tall, noticeably taller than the other men around him. His gaze was piercing in its clarity, in its direct manner. The cut of his coat emphasized the broad width of his shoulders, narrowing down to a trim waist. Blushing, she glanced back to his face to see if he had noticed her wanton assessment of him.

  The blue depths of his eyes danced with amusement and something deeper. Approval? It was mysterious. And if there was one thing more alluring to Dianna than the much-coveted attention, it was a good mystery.

  But she couldn't very well approach the unknown gentleman and question him — not that she would. So she simply narrowed her eyes slightly and studied him from afar, not caring that she was appearing quite brazen. All people had to do was look at her hair and they assumed she was brazen, so she might as well live up to the assumption.

  But he didn't glance away; rather, he strode towards her. And with each step she realized just how large the man was. Well above six feet, he towered over her as he bowed.

  Just when she thought he'd go against convention and create a scandal, he turned towards another man just beside her and began conversing.

  Exhaling a deep breath of relief yet also disappointment, Dianna glanced away only to find her mother making her way through the crowd, towards her.

  She was not pleased.

  And all the bravado Dianna had felt earlier evaporated like water on a hot grate. So rather than face the music, she spun on her heel and all but ran.

  As soon as she was through the sea of humanity, she made her way to one of the terrace doors. Air, she needed air. The dancing would begin again shortly and then she'd be able to avoid her mother as long as the succession of gentlemen didn't forget to take her to the dance floor. Once her mother saw the scads of eligible gentlemen pursuing her… well that would help. But after seeing her mother's face, her certainty wasn't as solid any longer.

  She pushed open the terrace door and walked onto the balcony, her heart slowing as the cool air calmed her spirit. It was still spring and the air had some bite to it, but it wasn't enough to make her want to leave the secluded area. Stars dotted the night sky, twinkling in the distance and capturing her attention.

  "Am I interrupting?" a masculine voice spoke softly.

  Dianna jumped slightly and glanced over her shoulder, turning fully and taking a step back as a dark figure walked towards her.

  "Actually…" She glanced to the door then back to the man just as the moonlight illuminated enough of his features for her to recognize him as the mysterious gentleman from earlier. "No, you're not interrupting," she finished, her heart hammering in her chest.

  "Brilliant. They are quite clear tonight, are they not?" He nodded towards the heavens.

  "Yes, my lord," she answered politely.

  She thought she heard him sigh, but it might have been the wind. Not knowing what to do next, she simply waited. Just because she had a plan to gain attention didn't mean she knew what to do once she got it.

  "Pleasant evening," he commented, his voice taking a slight edge.

  "Yes, my lord." she answered again, hating that convention required her to be so… boring. She watched his profile, the straight-shouldered pose he held earlier was somewhat slumped, as if he were disappointed or upset. She furrowed her brow as she studied him. What was he thinking? Drat. She hated not knowing. Even in the faint light he was distractingly handsome. The awkwardness of the conversation was starting to tickle her mind, causing the earlier strain to leave her body. A smile tugged at her lips, begging for release.

  "It's been a lovely party." He spoke hesitantly, as if he were dreading the answer.

  "Yes, my lord." And because she was beginning to feel more of herself, she continued. "But I wouldn't know for sure, since I've only just arrived. But if you are having a pleasant evening, I'll simply take your word for it that I'll surely enjoy myself as well." She shrugged smiling in what she hoped was a playful manner.

  "Indeed." He turned towards her, his eyes appearing black in the soft moonlight, but a grin tipped the edge of his full lips upward revealing straight white teeth.

  "I don't believe we've been properly introduced." He held out his hand.

  Gingerly, Dianna placed her hand in his, immediately feeling warmth from his grasp travel up her arm and into her chest and spreading like wild fire.

  "No, I don't believe we have," she replied feeling brave.

  "I'm Cambridge Whitaker, Earl of Southridge, and it is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of such a beautiful woman." He bowed over her hand and kissed it.

  Not the air above it, as was proper, but actually pressed his lips to the fabric of her glove.

  It was delicious, scandalous… and all she could think of was that she wanted him to do it again.

  "A pleasure, Lord Southridge. I am Miss Dianna." She intentionally left off the last part of her name. Let him think she was the second daughter rather than the first — actually only — daughter.

  "Miss Dianna, a beautiful name."

  "I'm quite fond of it, myself," she quipped. But all she could think about was that he still hadn't released her hand.

  She hoped he wouldn't release it for a while longer.

  "So Miss Dianna, what are you about this evening?"

  "About?"

  "Indeed, few women would go against social convention and wear a decidedly different color than their fellow ladies."

  And because Dianna didn't see any reason to lie — lying always required a very good reason— she told the truth.

  "I look miserable in peach," she answered, a smile tugging the corners of her lips.

  "Oh? I find that hard to believe." His gaze was positively devilish and caused little shivers of pleasure to tingle across her skin.

  "That's because you're seeing me in green," she quipped.

  "I cannot argue you on that point." He grinned, one corner of his full lips tipping slightly higher than the other.

  "I should think not." She raised an eyebrow. "Your turn, tell me about yourself, Lord Southridge."

  "I'm quite boring." He shrugged

  "I find that hard to believe," she answered then chided herself for simply repeating his earlier statement.

  "Then you are an excellent judge of character," he said.

  "And you are a flatter of self," she shot back.

  "I'm wounded."

  "I find that unlikely. So tell me of your great talents so I may flatter you so that you will not have to resort to doing it yourself." Her cheeks ached from the broad smile their banter had created.

  "I rather
think I should be offended?"

  "That I offered to do you such a great service?" she teased.

  "No, that you think I am incapable of flattering myself sufficiently." He chuckled.

  "Touché."

  He paused, a gentle expression lightening his eyes. "I'm quite pleased that you didn't wear peach."

  "I… you're welcome?" Taken aback, Dianna angled her head and considered the strange turn in the conversation.

  "And you talk."

  "I can assure you that most women do." She nodded, finding a delightful humor in his words.

  "No, not to me. Quite honestly if I hear one more 'yes, my lord' I might toss myself off the balcony."

  "So in efforts to preserve your life, I should be contrary?" she teased.

  "Indeed."

  "I must say this is the oddest conversation I've ever had with a gentleman." She didn't add that it was the only conversation she'd actually had with a gentleman.

  "I could say the same… but I would have to add that it has also been the highlight of my evening."

  "Since I've only just arrived…" she began to flirt, but was cut short when he tugged on her hand, the hand he was still holding, heavens! and caused her to stumble a step closer.

  He smelled good, like cloves and honey with a deeply masculine undertone that made her belly tremble.

  "Then I find it necessary to ensure that your evening is indeed pleasurable," he whispered, just a fraction of a moment before his lips graced hers. It was only a fleeting touch that was over too quickly, yet permanently imbedded in her mind as her first kiss.

  ****

  Lord Southridge clenched his jaw in his fight for control over his traitorous body. All he'd wanted to do was give her an innocent kiss, or at least a somewhat innocent kiss, but as soon as his lips touched hers, it was like a spark to tinder and he wanted more, so much more. He couldn't, he shouldn't… but that didn't mean that he wasn't seriously considering it. She tasted of strawberries and champagne and her skin held the scent of lemons. Tangy and sweet, it was all perfect flavor for her. When she had answered with 'yes, my lord' earlier, his hopes had been dashed, and it was only desperation that led him to ask the final question before he would have made his excuses and left her on the balcony.

  He was so thankful he stayed. Though he only was grasping her hand — quite scandalously since he never released it after kissing her palm — he gripped it tighter, hoping to lock it in place so he wouldn't give into the temptation of caressing her back, pulling her in tighter so that he could inhale her scent deeply, rather than simply be teased and tormented by it.