Seducing a Frigid Lady (Preview)

Chapter One

If Miss Priscilla Lloyd had known how many people would be at the dinner her best friend’s parents were hosting, she likely would not have encouraged her father to go. Nor would she have gone herself. Miss Sophie Lyttleton, the daughter of a Viscount, just as Priscilla was, had assured her that there would only be a few guests at dinner. The words, if Priscilla remembered correctly, had been “just a few friends and relatives.” 

Yet from the moment she set foot inside the Lyttleton townhouse, she was well aware that her friend had lied to her. Sophie would no doubt assure her she had done nothing but embellish the truth, as many members of the ton were family or friends in some way, whether they liked it or not. The intertwining connections built over years and years were the very thing that Priscilla liked to avoid because everybody was always talking about everybody else, always in everyone else’s business, and discussing the latest gossip.

More often than not, she found her father at the very centre of said gossip, not physically but in the gossip itself, due to his constant need to be in the strangest business. Even more often than not, it worked out for him in the wealthiest of ways and brought brand new connections, but for weeks or even months before plans came to fruition, the ton would be talking about whatever hair-brained, nutty scheme the Viscount Lloyd was up to now. 

The more guests at an event, the more likely the talk was to turn towards her father, especially when he was in attendance and whetting the appetites of said members with glorious tales of what he intended to do next. 

Priscilla was pretty certain that was exactly what would be happening the moment that a group of the men in the party called out to her father upon their arrival, waving him over with smiles and cheers as though the life of the party had arrived. She was forced to grit her teeth and bare it, recognising only a few friends amongst the crowd and knowing that they would do their best to shield her father from all the others. There was little she could do herself. 

“There is no need to look so worried, Prissy,” Lady Diane Bishop said. The Countess Bishop and Priscilla’s aunt laid a gloved hand upon her forearm and gave a comforting squeeze. The two of them watched her father walk into the drawing room, where they were all to await the dinner gong. “Your father is a grown man, and he can take care of himself.” 

Priscilla pursed her lips, not only because she knew that for the most part her aunt was right, but also because she hated it when anyone called her Prissy. 

“I can’t help but worry,” Priscilla admitted with a shrug of her shoulders. 

“You are the child, and he is the parent,” Lady Diane pointed out, caressing her niece’s face for only a second. “Whether you are a young lady now or not, he is supposed to take care of you, and that is exactly what he has always done.” 

Priscilla couldn’t argue with that. Her father had always done right by her. More than that, he had always listened to her, and she knew that if she had really asked him to, he would not have attended that night, nor would he have made her attend. 

“Now, where are our hosts? We must make our greetings.” The lady slipped her hand into the crook of Priscilla’s arm and held her with a vice-like grip as she began to encourage her around the room towards Lord and Lady Marsham, Sophie’s parents. 

“Ahh! Lady Bishop! Miss Priscilla! It is so good of you to join us!” Lady Marsham greeted them both immediately upon seeing them cross the room towards her and her husband, who were already entertaining a small group of their guests in the centre of the room. Lady Marsham, who was a few years younger than Lady Bishop, was beginning to get the first few streaks of grey in her brown hair. And there were a few wrinkles about her eyes, but other than that, she was a picture of health and beauty, dressed in a fine shade of lavender silk with diamonds on her tiara and around her neck. 

She greeted the countess and Priscilla with a kiss upon each cheek before holding the younger at arm’s length as if she wished to look at her. “You look more and more like your mother each day.” 

Priscilla had to grit her teeth at that. She had heard it so many times and even managed to see it for herself when she looked at her reflection, yet it never got any easier to hear. All she had to test the theory by were the paintings of her mother that hung in every one of her father’s residences and the very few memories she had of her mother who had died in childbirth when she was just four years old. She had little to go on save for the memory of a lullaby she could hear in a sweet voice when she went to sleep, and the softness of a caress upon her cheek. 

“I am certain she was always much more handsome than I, Lady Marsham,” Priscilla responded, bowing her head because she could not curtsey with the lady’s hands still upon her shoulders. Feeling awkward and slightly embarrassed, she hoped she was wearing enough powder on her face to stop it from being obvious. 

“I would have to disagree,” Lady Marsham protested with a shake of her head. “Though she was a most handsome woman indeed.” 

Priscilla bit back a sharp retort, having no desire ‌to talk about her mother; it was just too painful. Before she could do so, the Viscountess released her and began to gesture to another member of the party. “Lady Sophie, look who has arrived!” 

Relief washed over Priscilla as the woman called over her daughter. With a quick curtsey to their hosts, Priscilla turned and hurried to meet her friend a little way off from them. 

“Thank goodness you’re here!” She hissed under her breath, glancing back over her shoulder to be sure that none of the elder members of the group had followed her. 

“I would have been down sooner,” Sophie responded, looking more than a little flustered. “But I was having a bit of a problem with my dress.” 

To look at her, nobody would have ever guessed. Looking like a much younger version of her mother with glossy brown hair and glistening green eyes, Sophie was quite the beauty, and she pulled off her pale mint green gown beautifully. Priscilla wasn’t quite so certain that she was matching up in the peach gown that her aunt had insisted she wear. 

Linking her arm with her friends for emotional support, she squeezed her forearm affectionately and stated, “Nobody could ever tell.” 

For a few moments, the two women simply smiled at each other. Priscilla had to admit that she had missed her friend. 

“I am so glad that you and your father finally decided to show your faces in polite society again,” Sophie said affectionately and Priscilla struggled to stop herself from openly cringing at her words. She was beginning to sound an awful lot like her mother and even Lady Bishop. 

“Yes, well, you know how  this time of year affects me,” Priscilla said, struggling to meet her friend’s gaze. It was no secret to her or her friends that she hated the London Season and all the pomp and arrogance of it all. Though she tried her hardest to hide her true feelings from the wider public, the more occasions she attended, the harder it was to do so. Better to stay out of the public eye as much as possible, especially as her father had so often promised her a simple and slightly more unconventional life. 

“Yes, but I also know that the deal you have with your papa is to keep up appearances, and so I do believe you ought to at least try and make a small effort on what remains of the Season,” Sophie said pointedly, and from the expression that she gave, Priscilla started to wonder whether tongues had begun to wag about her. Great, just what I need. 

In an attempt to glean a little more information, she asked, “If I am to do that, then you must catch me up. What have I missed?” 

Though she offered her friend her full attention, she could still feel the watchful eye of her aunt upon her every so often. Lady Bishop remained close by, speaking with Sophie’s parents, though Priscilla knew well that her aunt was an excellent multitasker. 

“Well, there is news that a new and very admirable viscount and future earl arriving shortly,” Sophie explained, clearly not having gotten the hint as to what Priscilla was truly asking. Feeling the eyes and ears of several other guests upon them, she decided it was best not to try to correct herself and simply go with the flow. 

“Do we have a name?” 

“Viscount Lionel Sinclair, one day to be the Earl of Oxforth,” Sophie explained, brushing back a strand of hair from her face and gazing out around the room almost as though she expected the very man to appear out of the crowd. She sounded excited, as though a simple name could merit such a thing. 

“I am afraid I do not believe I have heard of him,” Priscilla admitted, trying her hardest to recall a man with that name. Yet she had met so many viscounts, all waiting to inherit their father’s titles, and one seemed to melt into another like rain droplets into a stream. Just like all other members of the ton, they were all the same in essence. 

“Surely, you must have,” Sophie said, looking at Priscilla almost as if she believed she had lost her senses. “He is a cousin of our most dear friend, Mr. Parr.” 

Priscilla bit back the urge to scoff at her friend’s overly enthusiastic words. She was certain that it was more for the overbearing ears in close proximity, namely her parents, who were adamant to see their daughter married off by the end of the Season. Though she was no stranger to Mr. Maximillian Parr, a gentleman of the ton who was quite bearable compared to most. In fact, he was a neighbour to them in Covent Garden and though she did not see him all that often, whenever she did, their encounters were always amiable. 

“One can only hope that this new nobleman is as pleasant as his cousin,” Priscilla responded carefully to her friend, knowing that if she said the wrong thing now, her aunt would likely scold her later. To discard any thought of a new gentleman in town before he had even arrived was one thing that Lady Bishop would expressly frown upon, whether she and her father had an agreement for her not to be forced into marriage or not. 

“Well, the general talk about town is that he is a most agreeable man in appearance and very respectable on the surface but…” Sophie trailed off for a second, glancing about them both as though she wanted to be sure that nobody was watching or listening in. For the most part, ‌other guests were much too taken by their own conversations to pay any attention to them. Though Priscilla still suspected that there would be at least one set of ears listening in. “They say he is witty and loved by all and that he is especially fond of the ladies.” 

Priscilla felt as though she had heard it all before. There were far too many noblemen around her capable of doing whatever they wished when it came to extra-marital affairs. Yet if a lady were to so much as sniff in the direction of the wrong man, she would be scandalised for all eternity. 

“Is that not the case for all men?” she commented openly, shrugging her shoulders. “Lord Sinclair need be no different.” 

“You would believe so, wouldn’t you?” Sophie said, and the way her eyes glistened suggested that she had yet more to say. “But the talk is that he is exceptionally scandalous. Flirtatious and downright depraved, and yet everybody loves him so greatly that he seems to just flutter on overall mention of scandal in the eyes of the most respectable noblemen around.” 

Priscilla did scoff at that. Of course he did. A man, so long as he had the backing of other men like himself, could get away with just about anything that he wanted. It was no secret, and yet Sophie appeared absolutely fascinated with the fact.  

“He is so well-respected. In fact, my papa has invited both him and Maximillian to join us for dinner tonight,” Sophie explained, her excitement seeming to grow. And with it, the mood in the room seemed to grow, too. Suddenly, the fact that there were so many people in attendance made far more sense. If this was to be the Viscount’s first night in London, and if he was as eligible as Sophie was making him out to be, then every man and his daughter would be looking to secure some kind of connection with him. 

Glancing about the room, Priscilla could suddenly see it in an entirely new light. Though there were many elder men about the place, there were a few younger gentlemen and a great number of young ladies, all of which were fluttering about like birds with their brightest and most glorious feathers on. This was one of those odd mating dinners if ever Priscilla saw one. And here I am, caught right in the middle of it! She thought, gulping past the sudden lump in her throat. 

As though she sensed exactly what Priscilla was thinking, Sophie scowled and huffed, “Can you believe all of these young ladies have been dragged here by their fathers to be paraded about before him?” 

The look on Sophie’s face made Priscilla bite back the urge to laugh. Of course, she could believe it. She had seen it a hundred, if not a thousand times before. She opened her mouth to say as much but bit that back too as Sophie beat her to it. 

“And can you believe that my own papa is one of them?” 

It was no surprise to Priscilla that her friend was angry at the fact. Having known Sophie for practically all of her life, she was no stranger to the fact that she hated being told what to do. And yet, she had never quite been able to say no where her parents were concerned. 

“I so wish that my parents could be more like your dear papa.” Sophie continued to ramble on and her words made Priscilla search through the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of the very man she was talking about. 

Lord Lloyd was talking animatedly with a group of elder gentlemen across the room and though he looked quite foolish doing so, whatever he was saying had clearly captivated his audience. Priscilla couldn’t help but smile with amusement at him, for she was lucky indeed to have such an eccentric and unconventional father. 

“If you had to put up with all of my papa’s hair-brained schemes, you might be more willing to get yourself married off,” Priscilla joked, though deep down she was more than a little relieved to have such a father, especially one so respected even though many did believe he was one step from falling out of the cuckoo’s nest. 

Priscilla was so distracted by watching her father’s antics that she nearly missed Sophie’s warning, “Don’t look now, but Mr. Kenyon is making his way over.” 

Oh no, why did anyone have to invite him? Priscilla gritted her teeth. Without so much as a glance in the same direction as Sophie, she started to pull her friend away, making a swift path towards the nearest group of young ladies. 

“Good evening, ladies,” she said with an overly friendly tone, forcing a smile. It was immediately clear that not one, but all of the ladies were quite surprised by her presence. She couldn’t say that she blamed them, as she so often made a point of avoiding talking to air-headed, arrogant, self-obsessed women. Yet for the moment, they were a good protection from a gentleman she had no interest in speaking to. “I do hope you are all having a good evening.” 

“Quite,” one of the women, Miss Selina Kendal, said rather sharply, offering Priscilla an almost disgusted glance up and down before she turned pointedly to continue her conversation with the other ladies. The woman with the glossiest blonde hair, slender neck and upturned nose had never had any great love for Priscilla, and there was no fixing that in an instant. Priscilla knew her luck was out as the other ladies started to turn away from her. 

“Is he still coming?” Priscilla hissed under her breath to Sophie. Even before her friend had responded, she continued to drag her around the room, skirting quickly around the pack of ladies, looking for a pillar or a curtain or even a statue that she might be able to hide behind. 

It was only when they came to the drawing-room door that she was able to find any hope of escaping. 

“Cilla, I don’t think this is going to work,” Sophie protested. “Stop flitting about like a fairy and just speak to him.” 

“Are you insane?” Priscilla blurted back scoldingly. Turning to her friend, she looked at her with desperation in her eyes, pleading for her to help her find a way out of the situation. And though Sophie looked apologetic, there was little that she could do. 

Turning swiftly, Priscilla released her friend’s arm and made for the door, only to stop dead in her tracks the moment that the blonde-haired, green-eyed gentleman stepped out in front of her. 

“Lady Priscilla, it is so good to see you.”

Priscilla’s heart sank the moment that she saw him. He was all too close, and she made a quick step backwards, drawing her gloved hands down the front of her dress, and clearing her throat. Placing an unreadable mask upon her face, just as she so often did whenever she was speaking to a mere acquaintance, she responded, “And you, Mr. Kenyon.” 

“Please, how many times must I tell you? Call me Harold,” the gentleman responded, smiling warmly. 

Priscilla found herself reaching behind her, searching for her best friend’s hand, searching for anything she could use to keep herself anchored and stop herself from running. 

“Mr. Kenyon, I would prefer it if we were to keep things respectable between us,” Priscilla announced rather coldly. She was only slightly relieved when Sophie stepped up beside her, taking a little of Harold’s attention away. 

“As you wish,” Harold said, a flash of what might have been hurt crossing his gaze before he bowed his head to Sophie and greeted her, “Miss Lyttleton. I hope you are having a pleasant evening.” 

“I am, thank you, Mr. Kenyon.” 

Priscilla gritted her teeth against the urge to scream at them both. Why did Mr. Kenyon have to try to be so friendly towards her when he was so formal towards everyone else? Deep down, she knew exactly why. She remembered all too well the day he had come to stand before her in her father’s drawing room, the day when he had announced that he had just come from her father’s study after having asked for her hand in marriage. 

At the time, she had been sick to her stomach with worry, terrified of what her father might have said in response until he had explained to her that Lord Lloyd had explained that Priscilla had her own mind and he would not presume to know what it was that she wanted for her own future. 

That had been her very first hint that her father would allow her to have whatever it was she wanted in life, and since then they had shared many a conversation about it, much to her aunt’s disgust.

She still remembered Mr. Kenyon’s face when she had rejected his proposal, how frustrated and almost angry he had appeared. Though she admired him for how he had tempered those emotions and how quickly he had retired from the room, she did not admire his determination to continue to approach her as though he had not yet given up hope that one day she might change her mind. She could see it in his eyes, not because she was big-headed and because she believed that she was worth waiting for, but because she had always known him to be stubborn and pig-headed, much like any other gentleman of the ton who was so used to getting whatever it was that he wanted.

Having rejected him only last Season, she had hoped that this one would see him steering clear of her, and yet here he was. Nervous about what that might mean, Priscilla was careful to show as little emotion as possible, only keeping half her attention on him. The last thing she wanted was for him to get the wrong impression and try to begin courting her again. If he were to do so, she knew that she would be forced to at least give him a little of her time as part of her promise to her father to maintain appearances. 

I do not want this; she thought despairingly. She didn’t want any of it. It was not just Mr. Kenyon, but all of the young and eligible men who liked to flit about her looking for a bride. Of course, she was in exactly the same boat as all the other ladies of the ton, at least where all of the bachelors were concerned. They had no idea of the deal she had with her father, that if she did not want to, she would not ever have to marry. 

A part of her wished so desperately that she could scream about it from the rooftops so that she would never have to entertain a gentleman who wished to marry her again. She had absolutely no intention of giving a single one of them the opportunity to actually do so. 

Even as she faced Mr. Kenyon, she could feel the eyes of the few other young men in the room upon her. Bile rose in her throat at the knowledge. It appeared to her that their attentions had become some sort of unspoken game between the gentlemen of the ton, almost as if her cold reputation had made all of them determined to be the one to break her. But there was one thing none of them knew; she would never allow herself to be broken by a man. 

Just thinking about it, feeling all of their eyes upon her, made Priscilla exceptionally angry. And though she was loathed to do so, she had to force her focus onto Mr. Kenyon. At least then she might be able to temper her anger. 

“I merely wanted to come and wish you both a good Season.” Mr. Kenyon smiled at her, looking a little sheepish. The way his cheeks blushed slightly reminded Priscilla of the short time after his proposal in which he had become quite rude towards her with snide comments and disgruntled looks. And the way that Sophie stepped a little closer to her suggested that she had not forgotten either. “I do hope we shall have good weather.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Kenyon.” Sophie’s voice was almost as cold as Priscilla’s would have been had she beaten her to the punch. It was a formal and firm ending to their conversation, one which Priscilla silently thanked her friend for, knowing that Sophie had not forgotten or forgiven either. 

“Good evening to you both,” Mr. Kenyon said rather awkwardly, bowing respectfully. “Perhaps I shall see you both at the dinner table.” 

“Perhaps,” Priscilla responded curtly. Though she hoped not. After all, there were so many people in attendance that evening that she wasn’t even certain they would all fit upon one table. What were the chances of being put close enough that they would be able to see each other? 

A swift glance around the room told her that there were still at least two more guests to arrive. There was still no sign of Maximillian or his cousin. At least, she didn’t think there was anyone unfamiliar in the room. 

Perhaps they won’t attend, Priscilla thought as the dinner gong was finally rung. Clearly, Lord and Lady Marsham had grown tired of awaiting their final guests. She couldn’t say that she blamed them. One glance at the grandfather clock across the room suggested that they had been waiting forty-five minutes as it was and the sudden rumbling in her stomach reminded her of how little she had eaten that day in preparation for what she knew was certain to be a wonderful feast. Lady Marsham was always one for going overboard when instructing her cooks on what to prepare for her dinners. 

“Well, it looks as if we shall be escorting each other into dinner,” Sophie laughed, glancing around at the uneven number of men to women in the room. Priscilla followed her gaze, more than a little relieved at the fact she saw Mr. Kenyon offering his elbow to Miss Kendall. 

Barely daring to hope, Priscilla thought, Perhaps tonight won’t be as bad as I thought? 

 

It was a relief to sit beside her best friend at the dining table. Even more wonderful was the fact that nobody really appeared eager to sit beside her on her other side, leaving two spaces free before the next lady sat. It was of little consequence to Priscilla when her own father came to sit beside her, offering a smile before he began to make conversation with the gentleman opposite. 

Save for the gentle hum of small-talk, the room was quiet enough to hear the clinking of pots and platters being brought out by the servants. And yet it all seemed to become utterly silent the moment that the doors opened again at the far end of the dining room. 

“Please, forgive us our lateness!” came a familiar voice and Priscilla looked around to see Maximillian entering with a far less familiar man in tow. 

The instant that they slipped into the room behind the butler, every single person at the table turned to look at them. The quiet hum turned to an excited one as all the women in the room began to wriggle in their seats, looking around desperately for any way that they could bring themselves to be the one to sit beside the newcomers or namely Viscount Sinclair. 

Poor Maximillian, Priscilla thought, actually feeling a little sympathetic towards the gentleman who was practically invisible to all the other women in the room thanks to his cousin. 

Just looking at him, Priscilla couldn’t quite see the reasoning for why everyone was quite so excited about his arrival. Of course, just like any other nobleman, he was finely dressed. And if she were entirely honest with herself, he was quite handsome, with dark hair and even darker eyes. Even from this distance, she could see how they glistened in the candlelight. Yet there was something else about his appearance, something which did not bother her but that she thought would be looked upon differently by many of the other young ladies in the room. His complexion was quite coppery, as though he spent a lot of time out in the sun. No doubt he liked to hunt or play pall mall or even go riding out in the sun just as many gentlemen did, though it was clear he had a low opinion for hats and other such things. 

Yet it appeared that every woman in the room was entirely blind to this fact, no doubt blinded so by the knowledge of his wealth and also his future title. It was clear just from looking at him that he was very entitled and rich. Priscilla could practically smell it coming off him. 

She was startled out of her gazing at him by a gentle hand upon her shoulder. Almost jumping out of her seat, she turned her attention to her father and smiled in an attempt to hide the fact. 

“Papa? Is everything alright?” she asked as she alarmingly realised that he was rising from his seat. 

“I think it would be a kind gesture for me to offer my seat to the newest member of the party,” her father announced loudly enough for all around them to hear. Priscilla bit back the strong urge to protest. Her stomach clenched when her father leaned over to whisper, “I do believe he shall be much safer sitting beside you.” 

The way he glanced around the table at all the other young ladies told her exactly what he meant. For just a second, she allowed herself to feel pity towards the newest meat on the marriage mart. The way that the women were looking at him, anyone would think that Viscount Sinclair was a prized pig about to be sold at auction for an alarmingly good price. 

Priscilla forced a smile for Maximillian and his cousin as they made their way around the table towards the two seats that were now available beside her. Only a glance told her that at least her father had managed to find a seat at the table a little way down, opposite Mr. Kenyon. She could only hope that Harold would not think to try to get too friendly with her father in the hopes of getting to her again. 

It was only when Lord Sinclair came to sit at her side that Priscilla realised Maximillian had failed to follow him. 

“Oh, no, Cilla,” Sophie exclaimed under her breath, reaching for Priscilla’s hand beneath the table. It was in that moment that she glanced past her friend to see that Maximillian had settled on the other side of her friend. The way Sophie glanced down at the head of the table told Priscilla everything she needed to know. Seeing the way that Lady Marsham smiled at them both, raising her glass in their direction as if in a toast, she knew that somehow Sophie’s mother had orchestrated the entire thing. 

“Miss Lyttleton, Miss Lloyd, it is a pleasure to see you both again,” Maximilian greeted them both with a smile and Priscilla couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at her friend’s deer in lantern-lights expression. She could think of far worse men to be stuck sitting next to all evening. “Please, allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Lord Lionel Sinclair.” 

At his gesturing, Priscilla was forced to turn slightly in her chair to look at the man beside her. Immediately, she was caught off guard by the sight of him so close up. Though tanned, his complexion was flawless, an afternoon shadow of facial hair making him look rugged, yet handsome. The way the corner of his lips twitched upwards in a smile made him look almost boyishly charming and yet there was a masculine energy to him that set her heart racing. 

He is just like all the others; she told herself firmly. It had to be true because she had yet to meet a single gentleman of the ton who was not self-centred, arrogant and quite annoying in some way or other. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Sinclair,” she said, keeping her voice level and firm. Bowing her head discreetly before she turned her gaze away to focus on something else going on around them, hoping to ingratiate herself into another conversation. 

It took only a few seconds to realise that would be next to impossible. Not a single person was looking at her, not even a gaze slanted in her direction that she might be able to grab a hold of to stop herself from merely looking ignorant. 

Worst of all was the tugging in her gut that had her turning her face back towards the viscount. The double-take she took of his appearance and the way his adamant gaze upon her made her shiver was enough to make her more than a little frustrated. No gentleman had ever looked at her in such a way and made her feel anything but the determination to get away from him. 

Cilla, get a hold of yourself, she insisted, pinching her own leg with great difficulty through the skirts of her gown. He really isn’t that attractive. 

 

Chapter Two

Viscount Lionel Sinclair was rather used to the way new acquaintances, especially the ladies, liked to fawn over him. It was not merely a big-headed thing but a fact, one that he welcomed in light of his good humour and wit, always willing to make people laugh and always happiest when everyone was having a good time. 

But at the Marshams’ table that night, there was one woman who did not act as all the others did. She had not begun to whisper to her friends the moment that he walked in or shown any hint of excitement in a broad smile, trying to meet his gaze, fidgeting in her chair as though she hoped he might sit beside her. In fact, she seemed to react in quite the opposite manner, not meeting his gaze for more than a second as he rounded the dining table with his friend and cousin, Maximilian. 

Though she greeted him kindly enough upon sitting, she did not gaze at him adamantly or even blush, as though the mere closeness of him made her feel the slightest bit uncomfortable. She kept her distance, talking mainly to her friend, a woman whom Lionel soon came to realise was their host’s daughter. 

Where Miss Lyttleton was a brunette with gentle green eyes, Miss Lloyd was quite the opposite. Her raven-black hair was coiled at the nape of her neck before cascading in glossy waves down over her right shoulder, the shoulder closest to him. And her eyes were so icy blue that he feared if she looked at him too long, they might actually turn him to ice too. Her cool demeanour did not help matters, though it did intrigue him greatly. 

As dinner commenced, Lionel found himself wishing to get to know the woman better. Compared to all the other young ladies at the table who were eyeing him, fluttering with laughter whenever he looked in their direction, Miss Lloyd was practically made of stone. 

“Have you been in London for the Season for very long, Miss Lloyd?” he asked in an attempt to make conversation, unused to having to be the one to do so. 

He made an effort to begin eating the entrée that had been placed before him, though suddenly, he found that he was far less hungry than one might have imagined after spending most of the day travelling. 

“On and off, Lord Sinclair,” she responded, barely looking up from her plate to look at him. Though on the surface it was a simple answer, Lionel thought that there had to be more to it. One did not usually flock to and fro when the Season was on, at least not the women. They liked to congregate wherever the gossip was going on and during the Season, that was London. Yet Lionel did not get the sense that Miss Lloyd was a socialite.

“Do you plan to stay for the entire Season?” Lionel asked, a little flustered that she hadn’t said a little more to help the conversation along. Usually talking to a lady was just so easy, they rarely shut up. In fact, almost every lady around him was babbling on about something or other, several of them even trying to get his attention from time to time. And though he answered them politely, or even wittily, he found his attention always being drawn back to Miss Lloyd. 

“She shall if I have anything to say about it,” green-eyed Miss Lyttleton announced from beside her friend, looking at them both with a smile and offering them the elevation of her wineglass before taking a sip. 

“What my friend means to say is, I shall stay for as long as my papa wishes me to,” Miss Lloyd explained, taking a delicate bite of her food. Lionel found he was fascinated by the slow way with which she moved the fork to her mouth, the way she allowed the food to dance there on her rosebud lips for just a moment before she allowed them to part. They closed delicately around the mouthful and her eyes closed momentarily as though she was savouring every second of the flavour before she opened them again. 

Lionel felt as though he had seen the action a thousand times before, ladies playing coy with their food to try and attract him to what they believed to be their best quality, tempting him with the thought of what their lips might be able to do. And yet for the first time he felt as though it was not on the intention of the lady’s part to do so. But somehow, it worked entirely too well. He felt his loins heating with such a simple ease that his thighs clenched slightly and he was more than a little glad that he had already placed his serviette on his lap. 

“Then you are close with your father?” Lionel asked, taking another bite of his food and attempting not to stare at her like a damned fool. 

“Some might say so, my lord,” she responded, never looking at him the once. And it was during the removal of the entrée plates, when Miss Lloyd picked up her wineglass and took a sip, that Lionel realised he had little more to say. For once, he was dumbfounded, speechless, and it was an entirely new sensation to him. He had so often been accused of simply liking to hear himself speak that he had astonished even himself. 

For the rest of the dinner, Lionel felt the coolness of the lady sitting beside him. Though she conversed politely with everyone close upon the table, Lionel felt as though there was something about her, some kind of wall that was up between her and whomever it was she was speaking to. It was a wall of ice, thick and cold and elegantly placed. And Lionel felt the oddest of sensations to climb it or even to break right through its centre.

“I do hope that you had a pleasant journey, Lord Sinclair,” one of the ladies close by attempted to begin a conversation. “I am told you are going to be staying with your cousin for the majority of the Season.” 

Normally, Lionel would have had no problem talking about himself, nor what he planned to do for the London Season. But for some reason, this lady’s words grated him quite the wrong way. Forcing a smile, he responded, “Yes, I do intend to do so, though I am uncertain if my cousin shall be able to put up with me for the entirety of the Season, and I fear I shall greatly miss the countryside.” 

The lady, a honey-blonde brown-eyed beauty, smiled at him sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes just right. On any ordinary day, Lionel would have been more than happy to take up the flirtation, but suddenly this did not feel like any other day before it. In fact, Lionel felt entirely off his game and to him, that was appalling. 

“Forgive me, my lady, I do not believe we have been properly introduced,” Lionel said, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Miss Lloyd, half-expecting to see her look their way, the glint of jealousy in her gaze. Yet there was none and there was no glance, not even a twitch, to suggest that she had even heard their conversation beginning. 

You are not the centre of the universe, Lionel reminded himself. It was not something that he usually felt the need to say to himself. He was never usually quite so self-aware, simply going with the flow and flirting with whomever it felt right. He was no stranger to offering a woman his attentions and yet the attention that he was offering to Miss Lloyd, how unrequited it was, felt entirely off. And that intrigued him all the more. 

“I am Lady Caroline Montgomery, my lord,” the blonde woman announced with an ever-growing smile, as though she was greatly pleased that he had been interested enough to learn her name. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Caroline,” Lionel said, barely able to tear his gaze away from the corner of his eye to offer the woman his full attention once more. He was a gentleman and he would settle for nothing less. 

Yet even as he entered into a polite and good-humoured conversation with Lady Caroline, he could not help but feel the lady sitting beside him. The cold shoulder she was giving him was entirely uncalled for, but if her intentions for giving it were to get his attention, to drive him wild with the desire to talk to her more, it had most definitely worked. 

By the time that dinner was over, Lionel was feeling so off kilter that for once he was glad when the ladies retired to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to drink and play cards and talk business before the real socialising began.

“Are you and your cousin going to join us, Mr. Parr?” Lord Marsham asked from the head of the table even as several of the gentleman moved to his end, the butler handing the viscount a packet of cards. A second later he was handed a clay pipe, the smell of tobacco beginning to fill the air. 

“I find I am not really one for playing cards, Lord Marsham, though I will happily give up my seat and watch from the sidelines,” Max announced, pushing himself up from his seat almost a moment before a servant could come rushing forward to help him move it backwards. 

For once, Lionel was glad of his cousin’s reluctance to gamble and play cards. It gave him the necessary moment that he felt he needed in order to get some answers to the questions that had been piling up in his mind all evening. 

“What about you, Lord Sinclair?” Lord Marsham asked, turning expectantly to him. Lionel, who had begun to rise from his own seat, paused and looked at his host. Lord Marsham was a portly fellow with a whisky nose and a kind smile. And Lionel could imagine that on a normal day he would have shared great joy in winning the viscount’s money. But today he had far too much on his mind to concentrate on the game and so he shook his head. 

“I do not believe that my head would be in the game this evening, my lord,” he announced with a polite smile. “Thank you for the offer, but I am quite tired from my day’s journey and simply wish to relax.” 

The viscount scoffed at that and several of the other gentlemen around him did the same, one muttering about how the youth of the day was not as robust as they had once been in their prime. 

“I would not think that we could ever match up to the likes of you, my lord,” Lionel said charmingly, using the distraction of their getting into their game to move to the edge of the room and join his cousin, only pretending to watch what was going on at the table. 

“Is all well, cousin?” Max asked almost the moment that he stepped up beside him with his wineglass in hand. “It is not like you to give up a go at cards.” 

Lionel smiled and made a slight attempt to look tired, taking a swig of his drink before he replied, “I am certain there will be plenty of time for cards this Season, what with my staying with you and all.” 

Max scowled back at him silently, shaking his head before he reminded him, “You know, I loathe gambling.” 

“Then I am sure we can play simply for the fun of it,” Lionel assured him, clapping his cousin on the back in a brotherly gesture. “Just as we always used to do when we were children.” 

“Hmm… perhaps that is why I no longer like to play cards,” Max scoffed. “You always were a cheat.” 

Lionel feigned offence, gripping his hand to his chest and opening his mouth agape. “How dare you? I have never once in my life tried to cheat you or anyone else, for that matter.” 

Together, the two men laughed, knowing that wasn’t entirely true, though any cheating he had ever done had always been entirely in jest. 

“Be careful, you two,” one of the men at the table warned over his shoulder. “If you stand at the edge of the room talking like that, we might begin to believe that you ought to have gone with the women.” 

At that, Lionel and Max laughed. He had to admit that it did feel slightly as though he was bordering on the edge of gossiping. In fact, he could not help but whisper to his cousin, “What do you know of Miss Lloyd?”

Just before his cousin could respond, he added in the direction of the table, “Careful, Lord Melton, or you might find the others accusing you of cheating via distraction.”

The laughter of before grew louder, offering Lionel the opportunity to turn his full attention to his cousin as the gentlemen started to play and laugh and make merry without any more convincing from him. 

When he did turn to look at his cousin, he found the brown-haired, pale-faced gentleman looking at him with a raised eyebrow and a question upon his lips. 

“Go on, say it,” Lionel sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“Of all the ladies in the room tonight, you picked the Ice Queen,” Max stated, almost sounding as dumbfounded as Lionel had felt when he had realised just how damn attracted he was to the lady who had sat to his left during dinner. 

“I find her… intriguing,” Lionel explained with a shrug of his shoulders, trying his hardest to appear nonchalant though the truth was he was beginning to grow impatient. All he truly wanted was to know more about her, and he had gleaned so little from his short snippets of conversation with her all evening. 

“That is indeed one word for Miss Lloyd,” Max replied with a deep sigh. “Do not take me for a fool. I can see how beautiful she is, though she does herself no favours.” 

“How so?” Lionel asked, his interest only growing. In an attempt to look less interested and noticing that his wine glass was now full, he turned and looked for the nearest servant, lifting his glass in their direction to indicate that he required a refill. 

The serving boy came hurrying forth with a bottle of wine, dipping his head respectfully but remaining otherwise silent. 

“Thank you, my good man,” Lionel said encouragingly in the hopes that he might dissuade a little of the boy’s obvious discomfort. Lionel wouldn’t have been surprised if it was his first large dinner party from the looks of him, the way he kept his gaze entirely on the floor, even at the cost of missing where he was meant to be going. 

“My lord,” the boy muttered in a barely audible voice before scurrying off to fill up the next nobleman’s glass. A man who was far less encouraging and might have given the boy a thick ear if he had spilled the wine, which he was clearly having a great deal of trouble pouring with his trembling hands. Though to his credit, Lionel saw that he did not spill a drop. He made a mental note to offer his gratitude to the boy if he ever got the chance without embarrassing him in front of all the others lords. Though it wasn’t his place, he got the sense that nobody else was even of a mind to consider it.

“You were saying?” Lionel said, turning back to his cousin with his full attention once more on their conversation. 

“I was not saying,” Max retorted. “You were asking.” 

The two of them glared at each other playfully for a moment. This game of cat and mouse had been one they had played over and over again ever since they were young boys, and it made them feel far more like brothers than cousins. And as a brother, Lionel felt the urge to strike him for being quite so infuriating. 

With a sigh, Max finally explained, “Miss Lloyd is a mystery. She is the coldest, most unbending lady that I or anyone else have ever met. I am sure that you could throw a stone in this room and anyone you hit would say the very same thing.” 

Interesting, Lionel thought, almost feeling a little disappointed, and here I was beginning to believe I might be special. He bit back the urge to scoff at himself. 

“What else do you know of her?” Lionel asked, unable to stop himself even though he could tell from the look on his cousin’s face that he was beginning to grow suspicious. With a shrug, he added, “Humour me?” 

“I know very little of her myself,” Max admitted, glancing around the room as though he wanted to be certain that nobody else was listening. “Only what the rest of the ton have said about her. They say that she is made of ice and that she has rejected proposal after proposal. Though I truly cannot see why any man would be foolish enough to even attempt to propose to such a woman.” 

“Indeed,” Lionel said, musing over the very thought. What would it be like to be married to such an enigma? It would most definitely be far more interesting than any marriage Lionel had ever been able to conceive in his mind before, not that he often thought of marriage save for when the conversation was being forced upon him by a family member or even another member of the ton. 

Max laughed as though he found something funny and for just a moment Lionel feared he had allowed something to slip on his face, some emotion to give him away as to what he was truly thinking about. He was only relieved when his cousin explained, “In fact, I do believe her behaviour has done quite the opposite of pushing the men of the ton away. It appears that some of the gentlemen have begun to make a game of it. Everyone wishes to know who might finally be the one to melt the Ice Queen’s heart.” 

Those words caused a shiver to run throughout Lionel’s body. 

“Many have tried and failed to court her and in the place of one, two more crop up,” Max continued and a hint of jealousy crept into Lionel’s stomach. He could imagine the vultures swooping now. 

“What of her family? Is there some wealth that has the men sniffing about her?” Lionel asked.

“You ought to be careful asking such questions, cousin,” Max warned, though the look in his eye was entirely playful. “Someone might overhear you and believe you are looking for some heiress to get you out of a sticky situation.” 

Lionel had never heard anything quite so ridiculous. Of course, he had heard of it occurring several times over the years, though the thought that anyone would ever accuse him of such a thing was ludicrous. 

“We all know I am far too business savvy for that, Maxi,” Lionel said, sipping his wine and placing his free hand in the pocket of his waistcoat to discreetly check the time. Soon they would be joining the ladies in the drawing room and he would be out of time to ask his questions. “Do the lady’s parents not mind her spurning so many?” 

Max was silent for a moment and Lionel feared he might have missed the question. Then the gentleman shook his head and with his attention seemingly on the card game, he said, “From what I know, it is just the father and he seems quite content to allow her to do as she pleases.” 

More and more interesting, Lionel thought. It was not often that a young lady of the ton was left to make up her own mind on such matters. 

“Though I suppose one day, she shall be forced to marry just as they all are,” Max continued with a raising of his shoulders and a slight shake of his head. “The father is quite eccentric and has often been known to take his time on matters of business where others might seek to seal a deal quick. I can’t imagine the business of his daughter’s marriage being any different.”

How many men would actually be willing to marry a woman like that? Lionel thought. It was all well and good trying to court a woman for the game of it, not that he would ever suggest so to a member of the fairer sex, but how many men would actually go through with it? He could understand how many men would find the woman’s icy demeanour off-putting. He had seen perhaps only one of two such women in his lifetime and not a one of them had ever been married. 

Yet there was something quite different about Miss Lloyd. Though she was cold, calm and distant, there was an attraction in it the likes of which Lionel had never witnessed. He couldn’t remember ever having met a more peculiar noblewoman. Not only was she attractive in her lack of being like any other woman of the ton but she was also beautiful visually as well. 

If he even dared to close his eyes for more than a moment, he could still picture her with her porcelain pale skin and her raven-black hair, her icy blue eyes and those long dark lashes that danced upon her rouged cheeks when she blinked. He could even imagine her height and how surprisingly tall she had been when she had stood at the end of dinner. 

Though he and the other gentlemen had only stood but a moment in respect of their fair ladies, it had been enough for Lionel to realise that she was taller than any fair woman he had ever met. And surprisingly, it had made her only more elegant with her slender neck and delicately sloping shoulders. 

“Good evening, Lord Sinclair,” she had said curtly and with a curtsey as she had left the table, offering a nod of her head to several other gentlemen along the way, though he noticed her gaze did not linger on a single one of them. She gave nothing away, and that only made her all the more mysterious. 

Being able to hear the cool yet musical tone of her voice in his mind was almost infuriating, and he found he wished to hear it again for real. Another glance at his pocket watch told him that the evening was drawing on rather more rapidly than he would have anticipated. 

Knowing that he would have only a few minutes left to put his friend off the scent of anything more than a passing interest, Lionel asked begrudgingly, “What can you tell me of the other young ladies this evening?” 

And so, for a short while, he was forced into a conversation that he really had little interest in. It felt strange to him. Usually, he loved to learn about those he was surrounded by, picking up pieces of information that he could use during his social visits, ensuring that he could continue with his respectability while being a known rake and a rogue. And yet, tonight, he found his research efforts tedious.  

It was all the same. Who was most adamant to see their daughter married off well this Season, who was already connected to whom, and who would likely be off the market very shortly, the competition to be wary of when it came to any match they might hope to make. Before the end of it, Lionel wondered whether Lord Melton might actually be right. They were beginning to sound as though they were gossiping like a pair of women. 

Lionel was more than a little relieved when Lord Marsham’s chair finally scraped the floor and he announced, “Well, gentlemen, I think it is time we should join the ladies in the drawing room. I do believe I can hear the singing has begun.” 

“I only hope they keep the dying cats away from it this evening,” Lord Melton commented with a grunt and the way he glanced at one of the other lords suggested that there was at least one young lady among them who had not benefited too well from the singing lessons that all ladies of the ton were subjected to. To his credit, the father made an equally amusing comment about how he would do his best to be sure. 

And just like that, even merrier than before, the gentlemen filed from the dining room so that the servants could finally clear away the dinner service. Lionel followed already certain that he knew what was going to happen the moment that he set foot in the drawing room. 

Just a moment before following Lord Melton through, he sucked in a deep breath in preparation and placed a smile upon his face. Usually, this was the part of the evening that he enjoyed greatly, but tonight he was apprehensive of it all. 

I am just tired from my journey. He reassured himself, not for the first time that evening. And at a gentle nudge from his cousin, he made his way into the room. 

As expected, the ladies in the room quickly greeted their gentleman folk before all of the young ladies and their mothers came fluttering on up to him and Max at the edge of the room. The two of them had barely managed to set foot in the door before they were surrounded, all the women practically baying for blood, trying to get a piece of them as the newest bachelors to arrive in town. 

And as expected, Lionel gave them his best performance with a flirtatious comment here and a look in the right direction there. But during it all, with his chest puffed out and his head held high, he found himself searching the drawing room for one woman’s face. 

She seemed to be just about the only young lady who had not been dragged before him to make his proper acquaintance. Even her friend, Miss Lyttleton, had been brought up as their host’s daughter and yet Miss Lloyd had failed to appear beside her. Lionel had almost hoped that perhaps Lady Marsham might have taken the woman under her wing, but it appeared not. 

And when he finally caught sight of her, it was at a distance. She was standing on the far side of the room between a man and a woman who appeared to be twice her age. From his time in the dining room after dinner, he could guess that the gentleman was her father, the eccentric businessman he had heard a little about. But he could not have guessed who the woman was, though she did look a little like the viscount if Lionel looked hard enough. The two of them were standing almost as though they were the gatekeepers, seemingly to keep anyone away from Miss Lloyd, though after speaking with her that evening, he thought she needed no help with that. 

And yet I want so desperately to speak with her again, he thought, even as he was dragged into yet another conversation about what he intended to do during the Season and who he already intended to visit. It’s going to be a long night. 

---

“Seducing a Frigid Lady” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

When her father promised her she will never have to marry if that is her wish, Priscilla Lloyd immediately chose the life of spinster. Since then, she proudly wears the title of the ice queen knowing it will protect her from the resentful suitors of the ton. While rebuffing every marriage proposal with an icy demeanour, she will be surprised when a wicked Lord intrigues her, threatening to melt her chilly facade and set fire to her deepest desires…

Will she fight it back or will passion conquer her for the first time?

Lord Lionel Sinclair is the Earl’s only son and his title comes with great responsibility. His parents force him to marry, and so, he resides in London. Lionel has ïne rule; he will not court any woman of the ton until he is absolutely certain he wishes to marry. Little did he know that upon meeting the tempting Priscilla he would break all his rules. Being more and more intrigued with lust for this alluring Lady, fate will soon challenge his feelings, honour and loyalty.

Will he be able to make the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of his flaming love?

Thrown together by chance at one of the few dinners Priscilla has been forced to attend, they realise that they may be each other’s saving grace or each other’s downfall. As passion and sinful kisses in the dark spark their sizzling romance, jealous suitors, schemes and secrets threaten their courtship. Can their scandalous affair thaw the ice queen’s heart and find its way amongst the madness or will the firestorm vanish the two lover’s passion like ephemeral snowflakes?

“Seducing a Frigid Lady” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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