A Most Unsuitable Match

How unfortunate the enchanting Miss Lattimar wasn’t the worldly-wise Mrs Lattimar! Were she a dashing widow, he would have free rein to indulge in the delightful dance of desire. Sadly, seducing and then abandoning a well-born innocent was out of the question.

To experience the charm of Miss Lattimar’s intriguing personality, he was pretty sure he could settle for friendship—novel as the notion was of being merely a friend to a desirable woman. But if he respected her desire to change society’s perception of her from a scandalous young woman to a well-behaved, conventional Beauty, he couldn’t lure her into solitary rendezvous. No matter how attractive the prospect of amusing her with further tales of his exploits or exchanging philosophical observations on the world.

For the first time, he regretted spending his adulthood roaming the world, collecting the stories and lovers that made him unsuitable company for a girl trying to redeem her reputation.

Never one to dismiss a desired goal as impossible, he put aside for the moment the problem of how to become her friend without compromising that quest and shifted his focus to the next issue.

What about Lord Halden Fitzroy-Price?

He’d heard that the Duke’s son—handsome, well born, and behaving like he knew it—was languishing in Bath, supported by the beneficence of his rich cousin while he awaited a desirable sinecure as a cleric.

Johnnie might not be intimately acquainted with the inside of a church, but based on his few exchanges with the man, Lord Halden appeared to be less well suited than any individual he’d recently met to become a clergyman. Unless a parish wanted as pastor of their flock a self-important, arrogant man faintly contemptuous of those he believed were beneath him.

If that were truly his character, Johnnie wouldn’t want to see a lady as lovely, charming, and innocent of the ways of vice as Miss Lattimar wasting herself on him.

He stopped short, surprised at the ferocity of that feeling. Why should he feel so protective of a girl he barely knew?

He might have only met her twice, but her unique personality intrigued him. He genuinely liked her. Almost immediately, there had sprung up a sort of...kinship between them.

Maybe he felt so strongly because he understood all too well what it was like to be a member of a disreputable family, to be accused of the same faults and vices by people who knew nothing about one but the family name—Lord Halden’s dismissive remarks recurring to irritate him again.

He had no doubt whatsoever about his ability to best the Duke’s son and any of his toy-soldier compatriots, but a gently born female like Miss Lattimar had few weapons with which to counter their malice. The warrior in him naturally felt compelled to defend someone smaller and weaker.

For all those reasons—admiration, desire, anger on her behalf about how she was treated—he felt linked to Miss Lattimar by the same sort of bonds a soldier develops for his fellows, a loyalty that propels him to watch out for and protect others in battle, even at the risk of his own life.

Dismissing the ‘why’, his officer’s brain shifted to the ‘how’, mulling over the best strategy for his next move. He had to admit, having suffered slights and insults in the past from men of Fitzroy-Price’s rank and birth, the man’s position as a duke’s son automatically prejudiced Johnnie against him. He really ought to reserve judgement until he had observed him long enough to make a dispassionate assessment of the man’s character.

After a bit more reflection, he came up with a plan. It might, he thought with a grin, astonish his aunt, but it would also accomplish both the goal of keeping an eye on Fitzroy-Price and allowing Johnnie to satisfy his pressing desire to see more of the delectable Miss Lattimar, without risk to her reputation.

After all, even his aunt would have to admit that staying near enough to make sure Miss Lattimar came to no harm would be the noble act of a selfless friend.

Chapter Four

Returning to his aunt’s town house in Queen Square, Johnnie tracked down Aunt Pen in her private salon, where she was dozing, some needlework abandoned in her lap.

He paused on the threshold, his fond glance tracing over a figure that radiated confidence and independence even in sleep. Penelope Woodlings wasn’t just the most interesting of his relations, she was also the one who’d been least interested in society—and the sole encourager of an energetic young boy, youngest of a large brood and left to his own devices. The happiest memories of his childhood had been created while visiting her and her reclusive scholarly husband at their rambling country estate, joining her and her two sons in collecting rocks and bugs, chasing butterflies, climbing up trees after bird nests and crawling into dens to inspect the homes of badgers and foxes.

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