Lisette Read online

  LISETTE

  GAYLE EDEN

  Copyright © 2012 Gayle Eden

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The right of Gayle Eden to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First e-Edition 2012

  First Edition

  All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Published for Air Castle Books by Smashwords. Smashwords Edition.

  Chapter One

  “Why didn’t he just give up?” Lady Lisette Wimberly glared at the tall, dark, male, standing with two of her brothers. It was her birthday ball, hosted by her parents the Duke and Duchess of Wimberly in their London townhouse. If it were not for him—Elisha Roulle, Viscount Marston, it would have been a wonderfully exciting evening.

  But, no. Here he was—again. Hadn’t he taken the hint when her Mama had invited him to Wimberly manor and she’d ran away from, ignored, tried everything on earth—to give him a disgust of her?

  This was her Mama’s doing. For a woman known for her unconventional life, her eccentricities, her insistence on bringing her children up with choice and more freedoms than most enjoyed—it did not make sense that the duchess had gotten it into her head that a bore like Marston would do for Lisette.

  Honestly! Lisette ground her back teeth. She could not even enjoy the fact that her brothers, Aiden and James, were here in their dashing uniforms, having just joined the military. Or, that the heir and former rakehell, her brother, Demetrius (Deme) Willingham, 4th Marquis of Fielding, had just rocked society on its heels by purposing to their Coachman’s daughter, Haven Mulhern.

  It would be such a delicious night, if she did not have to preoccupy herself with dodging that hard-faced Viscount.

  Haven and her father, Patrick, a celebrated whip, had beforehand lived in well-appointed apartments over the carriage house at Wimberly. Since everyone discovered the affair between herself and Deme though, she was staying in the guest room here in London. At her father’s ducal estates, coach races were held and Patrick never failed to win the prize. He was also friend to the duke. They played chess and cards together regularly. Lisette was happy that Haven would be her sister in law. She could still not believe anyone had reformed her rakehell brother. Those two had been at each other’s throats as long as she could recall.

  She loved Deme, but he had let some past demons turn him into a right mess these past eight years. However, there was no denying he had changed since this relationship with Haven. It was obvious the two were in love. He was talking of making the estate Rose Hill, in the north as their home.

  With Haven and Deme’s future set, and her brothers all going off, getting on with life—nothing was ever going to be the same. It did seem everyone was getting what they wanted—but her. For some reason, Lisette was the only one her mama and papa seemed determined to force into their own “ideal match”.

  She had told Haven just this week, “I envy you. I always thought I would have an adventures life. We were raised with every reason to believe we did not have to conform. Look who my parents are? I do not really understand why I am the one expected to have a conventional match? I would much rather have a dashing lover and live a grand adventure.”

  She had described the Viscount whilst at Wimberly as being sinister looking. In truth, he was tall, six feet and four, with dark, craggy features, an arrogant nose and silver eyes. His hair was black and worn layered to his nape. It had been her observation, before her mama had it into her head they would suit, that Marston was a prig. He rarely condescended to speak to anyone. He was always remote in a ballroom, seeming to look down his nose at everyone.

  Even if her Mama was not in the equation, it made no sense that Marston would want her. Similar males, who were not as high in the instep and lofty as Marston, drew the line at tying themselves to the wild Wimberly clan. Her parents were a shocking pair, having been married, then divorced, and ended up together again. Only she and Deme were from the first marriage.

  The Wimberly’s were a mix of half siblings, aside from the whole ones. A set of twin girls still in school were born of her mother with her lover. The duke fathered a lad, who lived with a Countess and her husband up north. There were also James, Aiden, and Jude (called little John.) James and Aiden being the two elder, now in the ball room in uniform. Jude would soon go to Cambridge, to study law. They were younger sons setting out to make their mark in the world—Demetrious would eventually be the duke.

  Jude, (little John) was taller than them all. James had dark hair, and handsome green eyes, and Aiden wheat and brown hair, eyes of aqua blue. Little John had curly blond hair that he kept cut short. Deme—was all grace and aristocratic bones, with green eyes and lush black curls. The Wimberly’s were energetic and high-spirited. Their past and present was riddled with scandalous doings—and they did not mind a whit. Her Mama kept a menagerie of pets, rooster, rabbits, various breeds of dogs and cats, peacocks, and two parrots. Their households were not at all formal. It was nothing for her to shoot, hunt, fish, and romp and compete at anything with her brothers. Haven had been in that too, since she had been schooled and trained with Lisette at her parent’s insistence.

  (It was all the more irrational that a man Elisha Roulle would want her.)

  According to her father, he came from a very old and long line, known for such traits. It was most of society's summation that they held themselves above everyone else.

  Drat it all. She did not want to settle down to some staid and stuffy life! She had spent half her childhood in a sickbed, confined to her rooms. Every day she had listened to her siblings outside, vowing if she recovered that, she would live life to the fullest.

  Her parents had lived theirs. Her brothers were. Why then, was she to be punished and stuck with someone like Marston?

  She’d avoided him at Wimberly, ignored him at the theater—, except to mutter something shocking—like her spying on one of the grooms bathing, or attending scandalous salons here, going to parties where the fast set gathered—(which, by the way, her parents also did)—he had greeted her only a few hours ago in the receiving line with… “I shall have to keep you by my side, fair Lisette. Else someone might carry you off, so tempting are you in that lovely gown.”

  Lisette had jerked her hand away and glared at him. “It is more like I may run off, Marston.”

  He chuckled. “From me. Nonsense. I’m your future husband.”

  “Bugger you are.” She had pushed him aside and went stomping up the line, to her father.

  Fat lot of good that did.

  He would not give up. She would never understand why. She was an heiress. But he was rich. Her father was titled. Nevertheless, the Marston’s were not the sort to pick their brides from any family like the wild Wimberly’s.

  It was obvious they were opposites in every way. If he was set on her for some other reason, then it was a mystery, since he was not exactly an effusive speaker. He would rather, it seemed, either make those outrageous statements, or simply look at her with those silver gray eyes—making her cross—because he seemed to be mocking her annoyance with him.

  Lisette sighed and jerked her eyes from his broad back, and went in search of champagne. Perhaps she would get disgustingly foxed and he would be so appalled!

  Since most of
the ton was there, he would hopefully go do his bride hunting, somewhere else.

  * * * *

  Elisha Roulle Viscount Marston absently listened to Lady Lisette brothers and friends talking, scarcely able to hear anything over the music and crowds in the ballroom.

  He found himself having to regroup. A familiar exercise, since he had finagled that invite from the duchess down to Wimberly. To say his success at winning Lady Lisette was a disaster, was putting it mildly. After nearly two months, he feared the duchess herself would bend to her daughter’s choice, and withdraw her support for a match between them.

  He must not give any ground. Lisette was not just any society deb. He knew it before speaking to the duchess. He certainly witnessed it in the country, and every time he was around her since.

  He turned to search for her in the crowds. Though she was petite and lithe, Lisette looked stunning tonight, with her long deep-blond hair tumbling in curls over a high crown of diamonds. She wore a gown of flowing pearl silk, with gossamer, aqua silk skirted over it. It draped over one shoulder, held by a pearl and diamond broach in a Greek style that suited her.

  Elisha visually found her, over by the tables and watched her pick up not one, but two glasses of champagne, and drink both.

  He sighed and mentally shook his head.

  Marston had been told that Lisette spent years confined to bed for her health and she had been making up for it ever since. Full of spirit, she was friends with Lady Juliette, another unconventional Lady whom the Marquis of Wolford had wed. They were neighbors in the country also. According to her brothers, Lisette found little in common with London’s gently bred ladies, given her unconventional upbringing.

  Elisha had seen some of that at the estate. She could ride like the very devil, play tennis, billiards, shoot, do archery—anything that her brothers did. And, she did it with enthusiasm. She dressed in trousers, shirt, and boots. She wore her hair in a braid or down when at her leisure at Wimberly. In London, she transformed effortlessly into the beautiful heiress. Yet, there was never a doubt that she was a Wimberly, through and through.

  The first time he had laid eyes on her was at a salon that no young unwed woman would be seen attending. She however, was enjoying herself thoroughly that night and perfectly at ease among trysting lovers, decadent rakes, and such like.

  Before approaching Lisette again, he flickered his gaze to a seated group that included the Marquis of Wolford, his wife, and parents. Also, Lisette’s mother and father. He had known the Wimberly’s only through gossip and rumor, and through their shocking lifestyle. What he had seen at Wimberly added a bit more to that impression. Yes, the duchess was peculiar and somewhat eccentric. She was a still striking woman, who obviously had great affection for her children. the duke, robust, tall, hair now snow white, worn long and tied back, had the personality of a country squire, rather than a duke. At Wimberly, he mostly dressed in linen shirts and well-worn trousers and boots. He was a vigorous man, but a lamb with his offspring.

  Marston had known of, and seen, the heir, Demetrious, for many years in town. Years before he made himself known to the rest. To say he and the rakehell had gotten to know each other would be pushing it because he had not cared for the man before. Nevertheless, he had joined the family during this time when Deme was falling in love with Haven Mulhern—and he had watched him get on the road to a new life. He knew about the duel where Deme had killed a man. He believed, given words Deme had spoken to him, perhaps those ghosts were gone now.

  Just an hour ago, a scene had taken place in the ballroom that everyone had been let in on but, Deme—Haven’s showing up in her trousers, and the shocking marriage proposal. He had been the one to drag Deme out of a tavern last eve, after a bit of trouble between the Marquis, and his desired lady.

  Her father, the coachman, was still in the ballroom. Shocking stuff in itself—since he was in essence, still the coachman. However, Patrick Mulhern looked like he fit as well as anyone present. He was handsome for his age, and over six foot tall, most obviously a great friend to the Wimberlys.

  Elisha’s ancestors would roll over in their graves should they be witness to Elisha’s choice of bride. She would be. That thought only made him smile grimly. Everything Lisette was, made him want her for himself, all the more.

  Striding toward her when she picked up another glass, he knew perfectly well what she thought of him—aside from what she muttered under her breath. He had overheard the words, bore and prig, cold and sinister, an arrogant bastard. She had a long list. He could have told her she was not the only one. He was perfectly aware of the Marston’s rep. it was not born from what society assumed.

  Reaching her, and with her back still to him, he used his superior height to reach over her shoulder and pluck the glass out of her hand.

  “I think you’ve had enough.”

  Lisette whirled, sending her long curls bouncing. She looked up at him with wide aqua eyes that reminded him of the Caribbean Sea.

  “You!” She groaned. “Go away.”

  He ignored that and reached for her gloved hand, took it in his and drawled, “It really wouldn’t do to top this already salacious night off by getting yourself foxed.”

  “I could care less about scandals. I would not be over here getting foxed. I would be having a grand time, if you would go. Give up this useless pursuit of me. I’ve no intention of giving in. my mama will not make me.”

  “No.” He did not loose her hand.

  She rolled her eyes. “I really do not understand, Marston. We are complete opposites.”

  “Elisha. Perhaps that is the appeal.”

  “Too bad.” She glared at him. “You don’t appeal to me.”

  “How do you know that? You have hardly given me a chance. In fact, you’ve evaded me at every turn.”

  His gaze went down her petite figure and back up it, thinking that gown clung in all the right places, and the exposed shoulder revealed creamy skin that looked silken.

  “Exactly.” She sounded hoarse.

  He raised his gaze to hers, knowing she had caught his looking her over. He murmured, “You’re a vision, Lisette.”

  She wet her lips. “This is not the way I look most of the time. You discovered that a Wimberly. While I enjoy dressing up on occasion, I have no intention of becoming some… Town belle.”

  “I didn’t assume you did.”

  “Ha.” Her eyes were going over his face. “Everyone knows what the Marston’s are like.”

  “I doubt that. However, I take it you are referring to your observations that I am a prig, bore, arrogantly aloof and—what else was it?”

  She actually flushed.

  He held her gaze however. “Condescending?”

  “Yes.” She raised her chin a bit. “In fact, I’m surprised you are speaking this many sentences aloud.”

  “It’s rather difficult to hold a conversation with someone who is avoiding you.” He smiled slightly and watched her eyes drop to it. Taking advantage, he added, “No one is as verbal or energetic as you Wimberly’s. Although I am perfectly aware the Marston’s are considered just the opposite.”

  She had been staring at his mouth and jerked her gaze up, as if just realizing it.

  Lisette retorted, “All of that is beside the point. I do not want to settle down and wed as yet. I am—was, having a ripping good time with my life. Scarcely getting started, if you must know. If I were anywhere close to that settling, it would not be with someone like you.”

  “Wounded.” He let his free hand touch his chest a moment.

  “It’s your own fault.” She pulled her hand free, took a step and then weaved.

  He smoothly took her arm and tucked it through his, walking her toward a window alcove. Though it was winter out, given the scents, heat and bodies, they had to be open or guests would be fainting from the heat.

  “How many glasses did you have?”

  “Just six,” she snapped, but held her glove to her forehead a moment.

&
nbsp; “Six?” He grunted. “The next time, just sneak into the duke’s brandy…”

  “I’ve—”

  “—I know, you’ve done that before.”

  He had gotten her there and now set her on the jutting ledge. While she breathed in cool air, he leaned a shoulder against the casement, visually tracing the curve of her cheek and the arch of her brow.

  She pulled off her formal gloves and laid them in her lap, saying when she glanced up at him, “Let us finish that conversation... I feel as if we were making progress.’

  “I’m heartened to think so.”

  “Not that sort of progress,” she offered dryly. “Progress, where I tell you why you are wasting your time. And where you tell me why you persist.” She lifted her thick hair off her nape a moment.

  He was surprised to feel a desire to press his lips there.

  Pulling himself back from that, Elisha offered, “I Understand you were ill as a child?”

  She bristled and looked away, toward the ballroom.

  “I hate to think of those years, but yes.” She waved her hand. “It had something to do with my being born early or some such. But I was determined to recover, and I did.”

  “Yes, you look the picture of feminine health. As you say, at Wimberly you enjoy the out of doors. You seem to think I object to that. I assure you, I do not.”

  “Well thank you very much.” Her tone was sarcastic, “But I don’t care if you object. I have no intention of settling….into anything. Not for a long time.”

  Elisha looked his fill of her while she spoke, noting that despite her active life, or perhaps because of it, she had beautifully smooth arms, a graceful neck. All the Wimberly’s were handsome, thus with her dark pink lips, slim nose, those wide eyes, added to a lush mane of hair—curled, straight, or braided, she never lost that feminine appeal.

  “Don’t do that. I can feel you looking at me.”

  When she met his gaze, he murmured, “I haven’t made a secret that I find you attractive.”