An Impossible Attraction by Brenda Joyce

“As long as we are speaking about impending conquests, has Miss Bolton indicated that she will be grateful to you for rescuing her not once, but twice, tonight?” Alexi asked. He looked like a black jaguar in a cage, one waiting for the gatekeeper to dare to come inside. His friend was lounging against the cushions in a manner that suggested he was hardly drunk and was very intently preparing for their next go-round. Stephen took the chair beside the couch, glancing at Alexi as he did so. “Discretion would have been a better course,” Stephen admonished, “as her current paramour was standing beside her and her husband within earshot.” “They are all beautiful, where you are concerned,” Chaz said. “She was the most beautiful woman at the birthday soirée, and may I say, in my own defense, she ogled me before I ever approached?” Randolph flopped down onto the couch beside Alexi, who poured a fine cognac into a snifter for him and pushed it over. “He was making advances toward Lady Dupre.”

“I had to pry my young friend away from a particularly voracious baroness,” Stephen said drily. “We were wondering if you got waylaid,” Jack O’Neill said, one leg crossed over the other, a cigar in hand. Alexi, Jack, Ned and his younger brother Charles, generally known as Chaz, were all slouched in their plush seats at the salon’s far end. Murmurs of “Your Grace” followed him as he walked past the various groups. At this late hour, nearing midnight, the gentlemen present were all his age, with only a few exceptions, and many were well into their cups. Stephen nodded as he and his half brother strolled into the dimly lit salon filled with fine furniture, gilded antiques and Aubusson rugs. Now he propelled Randolph forward, his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. Stephen rarely bothered with the Stag Room or any similar establishment, but once in a while such isolation was welcome.

Simply put, it was a refuge for the country’s upper-class elite. Merchants, bankers, factory owners and lawyers were simply not allowed without a proper introduction or the right escort. While one did not have to be a member, the maitre d’ had no trouble encouraging the wrong sort to turn away from its massive carved doors. Lucien was as exclusive as a private club. The duke gave her an odd, almost promising look, as if telling her that he would return, and then he was gone.Īlexandra just stood there, feeling as if she’d somehow withstood a hurricane-or some other impossible force of nature.

An Impossible Attraction by Brenda Joyce