excerpt from The Marriage Trap
ISBN 0-553-58753-6

Bantam Dell Release July 2005

Ellie's ears pricked the moment she heard Jack's name. It seemed that she wasn't the only female whose ears pricked. Ambitious mamas with young daughters to marry off broke off their conversations and scanned the crush of elegant guests in the embassy's grand salon. This was Paris, six months after Waterloo, and the ambassador was hosting the first ball of the new year.

And, thought Ellie, a glittering affair it was, too. Handsome soldiers in their dress regimentals, gentlemen of fashion and ladies in their high-waisted, diaphanous ball gowns ringed the dance floor as they watched couples form sets for the next dance.

She wasn't really a part of this glittering crowd. As a paid companion-cum-chaperon, she had to dress modestly and try to look invisible. That wasn't difficult. She was no beauty and was past the age of attracting masculine attention, assets that she took pains to cultivate. Beautiful young women rarely found employment as governesses or companions.

Her gaze came to rest on two gentlemen who had just entered the salon. They were both tall and dark haired, both very elegant in their English tailoring and satin breeches. But only one of those gentlemen was known to her, Jack Rigg.

She was probably prejudiced, but she could not help thinking that, even in that glittering crush, he was a formidable presence. Part of his appeal was that he was quite unconscious of the impression he made, either that or he did not care. He was darkly handsome with beautiful, lustrous eyes, the color of the luxurious French chocolate she sipped every morning to slowly bring herself awake. A look from Jack's eyes had the same effect.

She smiled at her fanciful turn of mind.

Though she remembered him very well, he wouldn't remember her. As a young man, no more than a boy really, he'd been rusticated from Oxford for wildness and truancy and his irate father had sent him to the local vicar for tutoring. Her father just happened to be the local vicar.

She could still see traces of that reckless boy in the grown man, but tempered now by a soldier's discipline. Not that Jack was still a soldier. She'd heard that he'd resigned his commission when he'd come into the title. She supposed she should think of him as Lord Raleigh now and not as plain Jack Rigg.

When he brushed back a lock of dark hair, a fleeting smile softened her expression. She recognized the gesture, as well as the glint in his dark eyes and the slant of that sculpted mouth in his tanned face. He'd had the same expression as a boy when he couldn't get his mind around Greek grammar, and was impatient to get out of the schoolroom and go riding on the downs or flirt with the local girls.

No one denied that Jack had a way with women.

Her father never claimed that he had turned Jack into a scholar, but he'd imparted the rudiments of Latin and Greek, enough to gain the boy re-admittance to Oxford's hallowed halls. Papa had always maintained that though Jack was a little wild, he was sound in the things that mattered, and he expected him to turn out well.

She wondered, if her father were alive, what he would think of Jack now.

Her thoughts scattered when she heard her employer's voice, thin and nasal, pitched above the noise as she addressed her daughter. "Look, Harriet," exclaimed Lady Sedgewick, Athere's Lord Raleigh with his friend. Now there's a gentleman I hope your Papa will cultivate. Next to Devonshire, he is the most eligible bachelor in Paris."

She fanned her hot cheeks as she gazed avidly at the gentleman in question. Lady Harriet, a tall, willowy girl with blond curls and a pleasant rather than a pretty face, followed the direction of her mother's gaze. "There are two gentlemen there, Mama. Which of them is Lord Raleigh?"

Her mother frowned. "Not the dandy with the quizzing glass! That is Lord Denison, and everyone knows he has to marry money." Her ladyship flicked a glance at Ellie. "I expect you, Miss Hill, to keep a sharp look-out for fortune hunters and keep them away from Harriet."

"Naturally," replied Ellie meekly.

Lady Sedgewick need not have worried about fortune-hunters. Harriet was in love with a young soldier who had been posted to Canada, so she was safe from everyone, even from her mother's stratagems to marry her off.

"Mama!" Harriet protested. "He's too old for me. He must be thirty if he's a day."

Thirty-two to be exact, but Ellie kept that piece of information to herself. She knew her place.

Her ladyship made a clucking sound. "Stuff and nonsense! And what has that to do with anything? He must be worth at least thirty-thousand pounds a year."

One could never, thought Ellie, accuse the upper classes of delicacy when it came to discussing money and marriage. It was a different story when it came to discussing servants' wages. In her own case, her wages were two months in arrears, but it would never occur to Lady Sedgewick that her daughter's chaperon would need money when her employer paid all her expenses. As her ladyship had pointed out when she'd offered Ellie the position, though the wages were small, it was the chance of a lifetime for a young woman with no money and few connections to see a little of the world.

And so it had proved. Paris was supposed to be their first stop, but they'd been here for a month, and no one was in a hurry to leave, least of all Ellie. Lady Harriet was a good-natured girl and her attachment to the young soldier who had been posted to Canada made her easy to chaperone. Ellie didn't have to discourage suitors. Harriet did that quite well on her own. And Paris was an exciting city. It seemed that half of England's aristocracy had come for an extended visit now that the war with France was over. Every night, there were parties, balls and receptions or visits to the theater and opera.

All the same, she still felt like an outsider, looking in on the world. Her place wasn't to offer opinions or share what she was feeling. She was there to listen, to fetch and carry, and smile through it all. She wasn't unique. All young women who served as chaperones or companions led solitary lives.

There was something else that troubled her. She needed money badly, and two months' wages wasn't nearly enough to cover her expenses, even if her ladyship could be hinted into opening her purse.

She sucked in a breath when Jack's gaze passed over her, then let it out slowly when he gave no sign of recognizing her. What did you expect? she chided herself. Jack had been her father's pupil for a mere six months. After that, he'd returned to Oxford, and by the time he came home for the holidays, her father had become the vicar of St. Bede's, a good ten miles from the Raleigh estate.

Fifteen years had passed since she'd last seen Jack. Naturally, she remembered him. He'd been seventeen and full of himself. She'd been a tiresome adolescent who had hoped to impress him with her extensive book-learning. After all, that's what impressed Papa. Someone should have told her that the way to a man's heart was not through book-learning.

Lord Sedgewick joined them at that moment. "Arthur," said his wife, "don't waste a moment or Lady Oxford will steal him from under our noses for one of her girls."

"Eh?" said his lordship, mystified.

"Lord Raleigh!" She used her fan as a pointer. "Invite him over to meet Harriet. How will she ever meet eligible gentlemen if she's not introduced to them?"

Lord Sedgewick, tall and lean, with a perpetual bloodhound expression, studied the crush that was beginning to form around Lords Raleigh and Denison. He shook his head. "It's like a veritable fox hunt. Give the fox a sporting chance is what I say."

And to all his wife's commands and pleas, he turned a deaf ear.

* * * *

When the orchestra struck up for a waltz, Jack deftly detached himself and his friend from the group that hemmed them in and made for the card-room. Lord Denison, Ash to his friends, and a former comrade-in-arms, was the gentleman whom Lady Sedgewick referred to as a Adandy," largely because a quizzing glass hung from a black ribbon around his neck, and his neck-cloth was done in a series of intricate folds and bows.

Just as they reached the card-room, their hostess, Lady Elizabeth, exited it with two young hussars in tow. "Come along Edward, Harry." Her voicewas friendly but firm. "This is a ball, remember? I expect you to do your duty. There will be no wallflowers at my ball. If you won't choose a partner, I'll choose one for you."

Before Lady Elizabeth could catch his eye, Jack turned aside and steered Ash toward a stand of potted palms beside a Grecian pillar. From this vantage point, they had a good view of the dance floor and the fronds of the palms gave them some privacy. There wasn't much to see. Only a few couples were dancing, but Lady Elizabeth obviously wasn't going to tolerate that state of affairs. Gradually, more couples joined them.

"I don't suppose," said Jack, "we can slip away unseen?"

Ash looked at his friend with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "I know you don't mean that because I know you wouldn't dream of offending Sir Charles and Lady Elizabeth. Besides, you're not usually a boor, so what's the problem?"

Jack opened his mouth to defend himself, then thought better of it. Ash was right. He was behaving like a sulky schoolboy. He was irritated because he didn't want to be here, but one did not decline the personal invitation of the British ambassador without serious consequences. He wasn't thinking only of the prime minister, but also thinking of his grandmother whose friend happened to be the ambassador's aunt. Grandmamma would blister his ears if he slighted her friend's favorite nephew.

He gestured to the dancers on the floor. "It's this cursed ritual. This isn't a ball, it's a hunt, and all those steely-eyed matrons are really a pack of bloodhounds in full cry. And guess who their quarry is?"

"You?" asked Ash, his lips twitching.

"Oh, I don't flatter myself that it's me they want. It's my fortune. That's what is so offensive." He felt in his pocket for his snuff box, offered it to Ash, then took a small pinch and inhaled. After savoring the aroma, he went on, "Nobody spared me a second glance until I came into the title."

He fell silent as he remembered the drastic change in his circumstances when his brother, the earl, suddenly died leaving a widow but no male issue to inherit As his grandmother never stopped pointing out, it was his duty to marry and, in short order, produce the next crop of Riggs to carry on the family name.

He had become resigned to his fate, more or less, until he'd found himself besieged by a horde of ambitious matrons and their equally ambitious daughters. He'd come to Paris for a respite from the hunt only to meet the same fate here. Ash, whom he'd known since they were at school together, had offered to come with him. It had seemed like a grand idea at the time. Paris represented gaming, drinking, wenching and dueling. That was the real draw B the dueling. In England, men still called each other out for some slight, imagined or otherwise, but it had become a ritual with no passion behind it. Pistols had replaced swords and no one ever got hurt. In Paris, it was different. Frenchmen knew how to wield their small swords to devastating effect. It was an honor and an education to cross swords with them, not to mention a risky business. Not everyone put up his sword when the first blood was drawn.

Ash said, "Cheer up, Jack. Just think -- once you've shackled yourself to some eligible girl, you'll be out of the race and the pack will turn on fresh prey."

Jack turned his head slowly and stared at his friend. "I don't know why you're laughing. We're both in the same quandry. In fact, you're a bigger matrimonial prize than I am. One of these days, you'll be a marquess."

"Ah, but I'm not a marquess yet, am I? That's the difference between us. All I have to offer are expectations. You, on the other hand, are a belted earl with a fortune at your disposal."

A spark of amusement glinted in Jack's eyes. "Expectations be damned! You're wealthy in your own right. It suits your purposes to pretend to be a pauper."

Ash's brows lifted. "Can you blame me? I've no wish to be hounded like you or Devonshire. You see, Jack--," a satirical smile touched his lips, "I want to be loved for myself." He raised his quizzing glass and made a leisurely appraisal of the dance floor. AIs that too much to ask?"

Jack lounged against the pillar and eyed his friend with interest. "Careful Ash, or you'll find yourself snagged by some dewy-eyed damsel with marriage on her mind."

Ash grinned. "But that's my point. Marriage is payment for services rendered. Love should be free. That's why I prefer to remain a single man."

"Love should be free?" Jack made a small sound of derision. "Try telling that to the fair Venuses who hang around the Palais Royal. Haven't you noticed at the gaming tables that they swarm around the man who has made a killing? Wife or courtesan, it's hard to tell the difference."

Ash turned his quizzing glass upon Jack. "You're in an odd humor,' he said. "I've never heard you complain of the Venuses at the Palais Royal. What's brought this on?"

Jack shrugged. "I miss my dog. She, at least, loves me unconditionally."

Ash laughed. "She's a slut. You told me so yourself. You never know who has been bedding her until the pups arrive."

"Ah, but I know it's me she really loves." His smile faded and he said in an undertone, "Don't look now, but our host has discovered our lair and is coming this way."

Ash lowered his quizzing glass. "Well, Jack," he said, "what is it to be? Shall we do our duty and partner one of those dewy-eyed damsels you mentioned, or shall we hide under that table over there and, if we're discovered, pretend to be looking for a priceless ring one of us has lost?"

"Ever the humorist," murmured Jack. "I prefer to meet my fate head on."

"Better you than me. Ah, look who has just arrived, Lady Pamela Howe. Excuse me, Jack."

Jack was amused. Lady Pamela was an heiress, and his friend's strategic pursuit would only reinforce the fiction that Ash was in need of a rich wife to fill the family's empty coffers. Cautious fathers did not encourage their daughters to court fortune hunters. He wondered, idly, why he had not devised a similar ploy to save himself from the huntresses.

The answer came to him unbidden. Because, of course, "sh's grandfather, the marquess, lived in the wilds of Scotland. No one really knew him. His family, on the other hand, lived in Sussex, and there was also a town house in London. As a result, everyone knew their business. If he pleaded poverty, no one would believe him.

He sighed when he felt the hand on his shoulder. Resigned, smiling faintly, he turned to acknowledge his host, the ambassador.

Sir Charles said, "Can't have you standing around, Jack, setting a bad example to all the young sprigs. Allow me to introduce you to any lady of your choosing." In a humorous vein, he added, "One dance is all I ask, then you're free to leave and enjoy all the dissolute attractions of the Palais Royal."

Did everyone know that that's where he and Ash had taken rooms? "Thank you," he replied and added graciously, "but I am quite content with the company here."

Sir Charles grinned at him. "Are you, indeed? Then things must have changed drastically since I was a young man. But let's not quibble. Show me the lady who has taken your fancy and I shall introduce her to you."

Jack lifted his shoulders in a negligent shrug.

He'd hesitated too long.

"Come along, Jack," said Sir Charles. "I know just the lady for you."

With a weary sigh, Jack followed his host to Lady Sedgewick and her party. Her ladyship was one of the hounds he wished to avoid. She was a large, silly woman who loved the sound of her own voice. There was a daughter whose name he couldn't remember, a girl just out of the schoolroom, but she wasn't one of the group, and that puzzled him. Surely Sir Charles didn't expect him to dance with Lady Sedgewick?

Some pleasantries were exchanged, then Lady Sedgewick began to extol the virtues of her daughter who, unfortunately, had just agreed to dance with Captain Tallman and was somewhere on the dance floor. Sir Charles nodded benignly, but when Lady Sedgewick continued to rattle on, he cut her off by remarking as to himself, "Is that the young Duke of Devonshire I see?"

"Where?" she cried.

When she turned to scan the salon, Sir Charles addressed Jack. "You have yet to meet Miss . . . "

"Hill," supplied the lady he brought forward. "Miss Elinor Hill."

The ambassador inclined his head. "Of course, Miss Hill it is. How could I forget?"

Jack's brows rose. Miss Hill was hardly what he had in mind. This was no schoolroom miss, but someone nearer his own age. She was dressed in gray from head to toe, except for her long white gloves and the lace cap that proclaimed her past the age of marriage. The one thing in her favor was a pair of fine, hazel eyes that briefly met his before she curtsied.

Lady Sedgwick, suddenly realizing she had been tricked, turned on her companion. "I feel chilled," she said. "You'll find my wrap in the cloakroom. Bring it to me at once, if you please."

So the lady is a paid companion, thought Jack. What game is Sir Charles playing?

If Miss Hill was aware of Lady Sedgewick's deliberate slight, she gave no sign of it. "Certainly, Lady Sedgewick," she replied in a small, colorless voice.

Jack was offended on her behalf. He was about to offer to escort Miss Hill to the cloakroom when Sir Charles took command.

"That won't be necessary," he said with a charming smile. Sir Charles's charm was legendary. "One of my footmen will be happy to fetch it." He raised his index finger and a footman was at his elbow in a matter of seconds. "Her ladyship wants her wrap," he said. Then to Lady Sedgewick, "Perhaps you would be good enough to describe it to him."

As her ladyship began to describe her wrap, Sir Charles turned his back on her, excluding her from the conversation.

"Miss Hill is cousin to Lord Cardvale," he said. He looked over his shoulder. "That reminds me. I want a word with him."

The lady blinked. "A distant cousin," she corrected.

Jack didn't like the sound of this. He had nothing against Lord Cardvale. In fact, he hardly knew the man. They had a nodding acquaintance because they belonged to the same clubs in London and attended some of the same functions, but that was all. He hoped that Sir Charles wasn't establishing the lady's credentials as a suitable candidate for his hand in marriage.

Minding his manners, he replied, "I have the honor of being slightly acquainted with Lord Cardvale. He seems . . . ah . . . very agreeable."

Miss Hill's only response was a straight look from those striking, hazel eyes.

Sir Charles nodded. "But I've known Ellie since she was a child. Her father was the vicar of our parish church for a time."

Jack grew restless. This was going from bad to worse. Surely Sir Charles wasn't pushing this dowd at him with the hope of a match. between them? A vicar's daughter? That was hardly his style.

Was the woman dumb? Why didn't she say something? The thought made him feel mean-spirited. He shouldn't blame the girl. From what he'd seen of Lady Sedgewick, he guessed that she would be a hard task-master. Miss Hill's cousin, her distant cousin, should have done more for her. Paid companions were only a cut above servants.

A penetrating look from Sir Charles recalled him to his duty. The dissolute attractions of the Palais Royal were growing more appealing by the minute.

"Miss Hill," he began, treating her to a disarming smile, "May I have the pleasure of the next dance?"

He had surprised her. He could see it in the flare of her eyes and the way her hand fluttered to her bosom. And a very fine bosom it was, too, though it was decorously covered by a gray chiffon scarf.

"How very kind you are," she said, and dipped him a minuscule curtsey. "Thank you, but I must decline. Lady Sedgewick's daughter, Lady Harriet, is in my care. I'm her chaperon, you see."

He thought he caught an ironic inflection but he saw only a clear, steady gaze and a docile smile. He must have been mistaken for he could not imagine a lowly lady's companion making sport of a belted earl.

His quick intelligence was beginning to add things up. Sir Charles had known the girl since she was an infant and was obviously fond of her. Her cousin, Cardvale, had failed in his duty toward this impoverished gentlewoman. Her employer, Lady Sedgewick, was a tyrant. He had no doubt now that the ambassador had singled him out to bring a little excitement to Miss Hill's dull life. All he need do was partner her for one dance and her credit would rise considerably among her peers.

She was looking up at him, solemn-eyed, waiting to be dismissed. When the need arose, he could demolish a precocious chit with a word or a look. This mousey little woman who asked for nothing, expecting nothing, inspired him to act with chivalry.

He kept his eyes on hers. "Lady Sedgewick," he said, "won't you use your influence to persuade Miss Hill to dance with me?"

The solemn look was gone. Now she looked startled. Sir Charles, meantime, had turned aside to say a few words in Lady Sedgewick's ear. A moment later, tisking between smiles, she scolded Miss Hill for giving everyone the wrong impression.

"Of course you must dance," she cried. "I can't think what gave you the idea that you're to play nursemaid to Harriet." She smiled into Jack's eyes. "My daughter never wants for partners, you know. Sometimes I think that girl is too popular. I'm told that I should not be surprised for she has the sweetest, most biddable disposition. Is that not so, Ellie?" Ellie was not given a chance to respond, for her ladyship gushed on, "And so accomplished, too. If you were to hear her play the piano." Her eyes brightened. "You must come to dinner. We're staying at the Hotel Breteuil in the rue de Rivoli. Every Thursday, we host a dinner party for a few friends, all very informal. Do say you will come."

Alas, Jack was already engaged on Thursday, he said, and before her ladyship could catch her breath, he captured Miss Hill's hand and led her to the dance floor.

The waltz, one of the new-fangled dances, had become all the rage. Some called it the "wicked" waltz because of the intimate proximity of the partners as they whirled around the floor. It belatedly occurred to him that Miss Hill might not know the steps. Dull little chaperones would not have much occasion to take to the dance floor. He need not have worried. She was light in his arms, light and slender and supple.

He looked down at the woman in his arms and gave her a warm smile. "You dance very well," he said.

Her head came up and he found himself looking into a pair of eyes that were vivid with anger. He was taken aback. He'd expected to see gratitude, admiration or, at the very least, he'd expected the lady to be overcome with blushes. He'd chosen to dance with her when he could have had any girl he wanted. All eyes were on them. He'd made her the belle of the ball.

Bosom quivering, she said in a low voice, "Am I supposed to be flattered? I told you I didn't want to dance, but did you listen? Oh, no. You wanted to thumb your nose at all the girls who, you suppose, are hanging out for a rich husband. You, in fact. Your conceit is outrageous."

Her ungrateful onslaught ignited his own temper. Through his teeth, he replied, "Had I known my attentions were unwelcome, I would not have asked you to dance."

Her tone was arch, "You mean, you wanted to dance with me?"

Since she was brutally honest, he saw no need to treat her with the deference due a lady. "I had no wish to dance with anyone, but our host made it impossible for me to refuse. He practically pushed you at me. What was I to do? If you didn't want to dance, you should have made your wishes patently clear."

She gave a disbelieving smile. "I'm only a chaperon, Lord Raleigh, as you knew very well when you asked me to dance. My wishes count for nothing. I hope you realize that you have placed me in an intolerable position. Tongues will be wagging, debating why you singled me out like this. I think you can imagine what people will be saying."

His eyes narrowed unpleasantly. He had a good idea where this was leading. His voice like silk, he said, "Speak plainly, ma'am. What do you think people are saying?"

Without the least hesitation, she replied, "That you're in need of a wife who is biddable and complacent, someone who will turn a blind eye to all your indiscretions." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "And who better to fill the slot than a little nobody like me?"

If he was taken aback before, now he was astonished. This girl was little better than a servant and she was taking him to task. Did she know who he was? Did she realize that one word from him could have her turned off without a character reference? What made her so reckless?

After a moment, the heat in his eyes cooled and he chuckled. "You must be joking," he said.

She looked up at him with clear, clear eyes. "Why? Because I'm only a paid companion? Believe me, my lord, stranger things have happened."

She gasped when he suddenly executed an intricate turn, so he did it again if only to show the wench that she had better watch her step with him. There was no more conversation until the dance ended. Breathless and flushed, she curtsied. He thanked her, then stalked off.

Having done their duty, he and Ash slipped away and struck out along the rue St. Honore and the short distance to the Palais Royal. Ash did most of the talking while Jack brooded on Miss Hill and her outrageous behavior. He had tried to be chivalrous and look where it had got him! She was a frump. No one in his right mind would think he had designs on her virtue, hallowed or unhallowed.

Stranger things have happened.

It sounded like a challenge.

No, it sounded like a threat, a warning that he could not trifle with her with impunity.

The poor woman must be demented! Who would want to?

He started to laugh.

"What did I say?" demanded Ash.

Jack shook his head. "What do you say, Ash, to a stroll around Tortoni's before we retire for the night?"

Tortoni's was a café where all the most celebrated duelists gathered, looking for a fight. Ash's eyes lit up. "I'm game if you are."

"And afterward a champagne breakfast at the Palais Royal."

Ash said satirically, "You do realize that if we win, we'll be swarmed by girls?"

"I'm counting on it."