The courtship calculatio.., p.1
The Courtship Calculation, page 1
The Courtship Calculation
Laws of Attraction
Book I
Laura Trentham
Contents
Blurb
Also by Laura Trentham
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Also by Laura Trentham
About the Author
Damien Northcutt is a gambler, a rake, a bastard, and… bored. Madeline Barnes is a botanist, a lady, an innocent, and… curious.
* * *
When Damien accidentally plays knight-errant and rescues Madeline from the clutches of her scheming relatives, he discovers she might be the key to getting what he’s always wanted—revenge.
Even though Damien has warned her repeatedly he is no gentleman, Madeline is sure deep down underneath his rakish demeanor he is a hero. Why else would he secret her out of a ball to safety?
Damien’s plan includes seduction but not marriage. What he doesn’t expect is being seduced himself by Madeline’s smiles and laughter and passion. But she is meant for Damien’s half brother, and enacting his revenge means ruining the match… and breaking her heart.
Also by Laura Trentham
Historical Romance
Spies and Lovers
An Indecent Invitation, Book 1
A Brazen Bargain, Book 2
A Reckless Redemption, Book 3
A Sinful Surrender, Book 4
A Wicked Wedding, Book 5
A Daring Deception, Book 6
A Scandalous Secret, Book 7
* * *
Spies and Lovers Boxset: Vol 1
Spies and Lovers Boxset: Vol 2
* * *
Laws of Attraction
The Courtship Calculation, Book 1
The Marriage Experiment, Book 2
The Passion Project, Book 3
* * *
Contemporary Romance
Sweet Home Alabama Novels
Slow and Steady Rush, Book 1
Caught Up in the Touch, Book 2
Melting Into You, Book 3
The Sweet Home Alabama Collection
* * *
Cottonbloom Novels
Kiss Me That Way, Book 1
Then He Kissed Me, Book 2
Till I Kissed You, Book 3
* * *
Christmas in the Cop Car, Book 4
Light Up the Night, Book 5
Nobody’s Hero, Book 6
* * *
Leave the Night On, Book 7
When the Stars Come Out, Book 8
Set the Night on Fire, Book 9
* * *
The Fournette Family Boxset, Books 1-3
The Cottonbloom Novella Collection, Books 4-6
The Abbott Brothers Boxset, Books 7-9
* * *
Highland, Georgia Novels
A Highlander Walks Into a Bar, Book 1
A Highlander in a Pickup, Book 2
A Highlander is Coming to Town, Book 3
* * *
Heart of a Hero Novels
The Military Wife
An Everyday Hero
* * *
Writing as Leah Trent
Historical Erotic Romance
Fieldstones Adventure Novellas
An Impetuous Interlude, Fieldstones Adventure Book 1
A Naughty Notion, Fieldstones Adventure Book 2
A Mysterious Masquerade, Fieldstones Adventure Book 3
A Dangerous Desire, Fieldstones Adventure Book 4
The Fieldstones Adventures Boxset
* * *
Contemporary Erotic Romance
Bad Boys Breakfast Club
Big Bad Boyfriend, Book 1
Boss in Bed, Book 2
I love to hear from readers! Come find me:
Laura@LauraTrentham.com
www.LauraTrentham.com
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1
Damien Northcutt leaned into the shadows of a column on the garden balustrade and took a deep breath of the late-spring air, nursing his ennui and a cheroot. The fire crept up the leaf wrapping as if it were his soul being consumed by the ton. He took a long draw and blew the smoke out in rings, caught between disgust and amusement at his overly melodramatic thoughts.
After all, the ton wasn’t evil, merely shallow and tedious. It had also provided him with a very comfortable living. He could afford a town house within walking distance of Hyde Park, a carriage and fine horseflesh, and a wardrobe crafted by the finest tailors in London. He had risen so far above the privations of his childhood to be the stuff of dreams.
Or nightmares.
He had chosen to sell his soul but only now wondered if it had been worth it. Would he have been happier as a tradesman with a bosomy wife to welcome him home each evening? Or as a barrister or accountant or banker? Maybe. Probably. A life that had once seemed boring and unsatisfying was an unattainable fantasy.
Another season was upon him, and while he couldn’t complain about the crop of reckless bucks fresh from school with more money than sense, he no longer felt a thrill when he revealed a winning hand. Fleecing them to support himself and his endeavors was necessary but had grown tiresome and, frankly, depressing.
Establishing himself on the fringes of polite society as a high-flying gambler had been a way to make coin, yes, but also to thumb his nose at his father. The early days had been heady. His charm, connections, and the accident of his birth had garnered him invitations to exclusive events.
Once upon a time, it had been uniquely satisfying to meet his father’s gaze across an expanse of Italian marble, knowing there was nothing the man could do to rid himself of Damien. If his father had given Damien the cut direct, he was as good as admitting the rumors of Damien’s parentage were true. Although no one spoke of their kinship in polite conversation, it was as obvious as the nose on Damien’s face. Quite literally. Not to mention his black hair, stubborn chin, and dark, devilish eyes.
As the years passed, however, Damien’s presence no longer seemed to needle his father, and his gambling didn’t offer even a hint of revenge, only dread at quite possibly ruining the prospects of a young man who might mature into someone honorable and worth knowing. After all, several of Damien’s classmates from Eton had transformed from idiotic skirt chasers into sober pillars of society.
One only had to look at his friend Simon, the Duke of Bellingham, for proof. He had been an absolute bounder until the influence of Lord Drummond came to bear upon him. Now his friend spent inordinate amounts of time at home, probably in bed with his new bride instead of at his club or in gaming hells. It was unfathomable.
Could Damien possibly be… developing a conscience? He shuddered to think of acquiring the condition so late in life. It might prove a mortal disease. Although, at thirty-one, the stone around his heart was already tomb-like. The maudlin thought made him roll his eyes at himself for a second time.
Anyway, he couldn’t afford to develop anything as inconvenient as a conscience in case an opportunity to bring dishonor to his father came calling. He must be ready to heed the knock.
His cheroot burned close to his fingers. The smell incited vague memories of falling asleep wrapped in the scent of his uncle’s pipe in the days after his rescue from the slums of London. Nostalgic memories were rare and lovely, which meant he hoarded the few he possessed.
More pertinent to his current situation, smoking had offered an excuse to beat an exit after his most recent win to cut off the pleas of the vanquished. He stubbed out his cheroot on the stone pillar and mentally prepared himself to return to the gaming table, hating himself just a bit. Voices turned his attention outward. A garish pink feather bobbed over a lady’s coiffure. The Duchess of Ralston. Damien had noted her attendance earlier while he had skirted the edge of the dance floor.
A man in a peacock-blue velvet frock coat spoke in low, urgent tones with the duchess. It was her son, Damien’s half brother, the Marquess of Thornbury. Unfortunately, he took after his mother and not the duke. The sloping, narrow shoulders that looked elegant on the duchess only emphasized Thornbury’s long neck and weak chin. With the feather from the duchess’s headdress bobbing over his shoulder, Thornbury took on the mien of a crane.
Damien slipped closer to eavesdrop. It wasn’t gentlemanly, but then again, he had never claimed the title. He was more likely to be called a scoundrel or a scamp in tones either disparaging or affectionate depending on who was speaking.
“She disappeared after the waltz but did not retreat to the ladies’ retiring room. I would not be surprised if she snuck into the gardens to pursue her interests.” The disapproval in the duchess’s voice sparked Damien’s curiosity.
Only one activity took place
The duchess gave her son a shove in the arm. “Go find her. We can’t have her caught by a fortune hunter. Already there are whispers.”
What sort and why hadn’t he heard them? His curiosity was piqued even as frustration rose. He had become lax in reaching out to his informants and lost his edge.
“But Mother dearest—”
Thornbury’s wheedling tone was cut off by an icy expletive from the duchess that raised Damien’s eyebrows higher. “You of all people should understand how important this is. She is too rich to be wandering the gardens at a ball alone. It could spell disaster.”
Grim satisfaction flooded Damien. While he had not caught the whispers of a possible match between Thornbury and the unknown heiress, rumors of the dukedom’s financial difficulties had sifted to him like an ephemeral fog. Until this moment, he hadn’t known if they were true or merely a product of jealousy or malice.
Damien’s only regret was that the family’s current difficulties were not due to him, although not for lack of trying. He had never been able to tempt Thornbury into a game. Gambling was not his vice. Actresses were, but even if Thornbury’s current mistress had expectations, she alone could not bring about the downfall of one of the oldest duchies in England.
“But, Mother, she is so odd. I would rather not marry her.”
“What you want does not matter. If this is about Mrs. Fields, then understand I can end things between you like—” Her snap fell as heavy as a hammer. “You can fuck your little actress privately, but you will no longer flaunt your relationship. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mother,” Thornbury said between clenched teeth. He might be unhappy with the edict, but he wasn’t man enough to refuse his mother’s wishes.
She pointed into the darkness of the garden. “Your charm does not seem to be making an impression on the chit so far. If you cannot woo her, then you must ruin her.”
“You don’t mean… You can’t mean… Tonight?” Disbelief sailed Thornbury’s voice high.
“It appears as if the opportunity has presented itself through her recklessness, but we must ensure there is a witness to force her hand. I will bring one of the other dowagers out for air. Be ready.” A winter’s breeze in spring cooled her tone. “This is for her own good. She doesn’t understand how society works and has proven to be surprisingly intractable on the subject of marriage.”
Thornbury trotted down the steps, hesitating at the edge of the gardens to glance over his shoulder. The duchess made a shooing motion as one might to a stray hound. Thornbury set off with a hesitant, mincing walk. The duchess watched him disappear before whirling around to reenter the ballroom.
Thornbury would inherit a dukedom. He was young and eligible and prized by the debutantes and their mamas. A marriage to him would be considered a triumph. It sounded like the intractable chit in question did not long to be a duchess. Damien was intrigued.
While he was certainly no knight to rush to a lady’s rescue, neither could he allow Thornbury to acquire what he needed—a wealthy wife. The current situation trumped his plans to fleece yet another young dandy. Even though Damien and Thornbury grew up in different worlds, Damien had a very childlike desire to steal his half brother’s toys away.
Plunging into the garden after Thornbury, Damien veered onto a narrower path under a bower of yellow flowers on his left. As he entered the heart of the garden, he slowed, stepping lightly and listening.
Footsteps clomped and Damien ducked into the shadows between two sculpted evergreens. Scowling, Thornbury stalked by, sans lady. He made enough noise to send a pair of roosting birds out of their nest. Damien’s start rustled the fronds. Thornbury halted and peered toward Damien’s hiding place.
With a stealth he’d learned escaping titled bullies at Eton, Damien melted farther into the shelter of the evergreens until he was on the other side of the makeshift wall, crouching slightly. Thornbury moved down the path and out of sight.
“Is Thornbury attempting to woo you too?” Warm breath tickled his ear.
Damien couldn’t quite stifle an unmanly yelp. An ungloved, feminine hand slapped over his mouth. The fresh tang of greenery was on her fingers. It was pleasant compared to the overly perfumed ladies in the ballroom, yet her touch was shocking in its intimacy.
He rose to his full height, pulled her hand away by her wrist, and turned. The lady before him—and based on the exquisite cut of her frock and the baubles glittering at her throat and ears, she was most certainly a lady—was a pretty, doe-eyed innocent.
An innocent who had experienced something terrible. Her golden hair, which had once been arranged in artful curls, now hung askew with twigs taking the place of pins. A loamy streak of dirt marred the light pink fabric of her bodice, and a piece of lace had come unstitched at the edge of one cap sleeve.
He had not been quick enough to save her. The story of his life. The failure cracked into the stone around his heart.
Yet Thornbury had a decidedly thwarted air about him. Another gentleman—the word made his lip curl—must have accosted her just as the duchess had feared. While he was not above using the power of seduction to acquire his goals, he would never take advantage of any woman by virtue of his superior strength.
“Are you injured, my lady? Is there some way I may assist you?” His voice was rough with a variety of emotions. Anger at himself. Fury at whoever had hurt her. Despair at the world in which he was forced to operate. Perhaps there were honorable men steps away in the ballroom, but the evidence was rather thin on the ground.
The woman pressed her hands together and held them to her chin, gazing up at him as if he were her savior. “I would be most grateful for your assistance, my lord.”
He made a habit of preying upon the foolish and naive at the gaming tables, yet he detested seeing the truly vulnerable, those without a choice in their future, used and discarded like refuse. It reminded him painfully of his mother. He might be a bastard, but he still had the fortune of being born a man, which afforded him infinitely more opportunities and freedoms than the woman before him no matter her station.
He laid a hand over his heart. “Anything within my power.”
She pointed into the branches of the tree offering them shelter. His gaze instead fell to a scratch along the pale skin of her wrist and extending up her forearm. Taking her by the elbow, he twisted her arm toward the moonlight. “You’re injured.”
“Oh dear. I was in a bit of a rush to hide, you understand. I spotted Thornbury heading in my direction. It was a near thing. Of course, if I were wearing my tramping clothes, this would never have happened.” She let out a put-upon sigh. “But who would have guessed I would have come across exactly what I was looking for at a ball?”
Questions crowded his mind, adding to his confusion. He looked her over once more from head to toe, his gaze finally meeting hers.
He had been grossly mistaken.
This was no doe-eyed innocent. Her lips curved into a half smile that could only be described as mischievous. With her blond hair, snub nose, and petite frame, she might very well have stepped out of Queen Mab’s court to torment him. He had thought he was playing Ivanhoe, but had he instead stepped into Twelfth Night?
“Are you implying you were in a tree?” He attempted to make logical sense of her admission, glancing up into the leaves. The bottom branches would be difficult for her to reach, much less climb.
“I wasn’t implying it.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“No, I was most definitely in the tree.” She shrugged. “I have no wish to encounter my cousin in a dark garden.”
