Page 5 of The Notorious Lord Sin
"I did not, my lady. I traveled to France to oversee the running of my mother's French estate. It was in a dreadful state and needed much work," he explained. Not to mention he had made multiple mistakes that ensured he returned home and would all but beg for a rich bride before too long. "But I'm back in London now, and the Season is young. One never knows who shall cross one's path, and romance may ensue."
She scoffed, her lips twitching. "So you returned to find a rich wife. How ironic, my lord. I would not have expected that from you," she sneered.
"Our social spheres are of the highest echelon of society, my lady. It is often hard to find one who does not have some modicum of fortune when one falls in love," he said, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension that thrummed there. He was so full of cow dung. How could he say such things when they were untrue? Miss Smith had circulated in his sphere, and she had nothing, and he still wanted her.
This evening and his reunion with her were not going as planned.
"Is that so." She came and stood beside him, nodding in the direction of each lady whom she spoke of. "Miss Wilson is an only child and her father's property, the Honorable Baron Wilson is not endowed, so you would inherit a tidy sum and a hefty piece of land in pretty Somerset if you courted her." She paused, pursing her lips as she studied the ladies milling about before them. "Oh, Lady Esme Smithers, you already know is an heiress, fifty thousand pounds if the rumors are still true. I should think that would fill your coffers very well and please that familial duty of which you speak. Not to mention, Lady Esme is still vexed you courted me over her."
"Are you finished, my lady?" he asked, pinning her with a hardened stare. "You are being unkind."
She chuckled, sipping her wine. "Lord Astoridge, you ridiculous man. I'm not the least finished with you. I've only just begun," she said, her tone mocking.
"I do not need a lady's inheritance," he spat, her taunting getting the better of him. He nearly choked with the words from his lying tongue. He needed the blunt more than ever. He may be titled, but with two sisters about to join the Season now that he was in Town, and with debts to pay from his unfortunate investments, lean times were ahead unless he found an heiress, and soon.
But whom?
And how to get one without them knowing he needed their money much more than their loving heart.
Worse still, how would he keep such a secret from the woman at his side? The one lady who knew when he spoke the truth. Or when he was hiding something.
An impossible task he could not fail at.
Paris delighted in getting under Lord Astoridge's skin. The man was a menace. Coming all the way back from Paris merely to enjoy the Season. A rich man and his folly in finding a suitable bride to satisfy his family's expensive taste that even his lordship had seemed to inherit.
"Of all things to say to me, do not lie again," she bit back. "And you never know, the ladies you court may wish to marry only for a title and a lovely country house. Just because you're not looking for a rich bride does not mean a lady is not looking for a rich husband." She chuckled, glancing at him before dropping her eyes. "Could you imagine that? You marry a woman for her money, and she, in turn, does the same to you. There is a sense of poetic justice in that, I think."
"I do not think ..."
"And fitting," she whispered to her shame. But the man vexed her dearly, and still, after these years, she could not forgive him. She had been forced to marry a man she did not love. A man she had grown to care for certainly, but nothing more than that. A man she shared a bed with, was intimate with, yet imagined another beside her all along.
For so long, she had yearned for Astoridge, and now, with him here beside her again, all she wanted to do was hurt him. Speak down to him. Ridicule him. Make him feel and hear all the horrible, unbearable, not-good-enough ways he had so lovingly bestowed on her.
Paris looked up, wanting to give him another set down, only to find him watching her. She inwardly swore. The man was still so annoyingly good-looking that it ought to be outlawed.
"That is unfair, my lady." He lowered his voice, stepping closer.
Paris ought to step back, not allow him to crowd her so, but the scent of sandalwood and something that was entirely Astoridge halted her steps.
She breathed in deep, to her chagrin, and fought to remain aloof.
"It's been five years, Paris. Why are you still disgruntled with me? You married an earl. One would think that you would be happy. You are a countess, after all."
But she had wanted to be a viscountess, she wanted to shout at him. A lower or higher rank she did not care for either. All that had mattered to her during her first Season was falling in love. Marrying a man who would make her as happy as her best friend had become marrying the Duke of Romney.
Not to mention all the other Woodville sisters who married men who loved them.
But of course, they had something Paris did not.
Money.
And Lord Astoridge deemed it appropriate to marry women who had plenty of it, even though he did not need funds. All to ensure the Astoridge’s remained prosperous and rich.
How she wished to scold him more over allowing such a travesty to happen to their lives. To the genuine affection that had been between them.
"Disgruntled is probably not the correct term for how I feel about you now, my lord. I must admit that I no longer feel anything for you," she lied, knowing the declaration was false. Damn him to Hades. Still, after all these years, her body fought against her mind, savored the sight of him again, of remembering their one sinful evening. "In fact," she continued. "The moment I saw you at the ball, I had an overwhelming desire to have you removed. But," she sighed, speaking in half-truths, "this ball is hosted by my favorite friend, the Duchess of Romney, and I feel I owe her my best behavior. I think I have managed to be courteous quite well so far."
He nodded, clearing his throat. "We were friends once before we muddled up that connection with talk of marriage. Can we not be again? I never wished for our ease of speech, our ability to laugh and enjoy each other's company to end. You must know this."
