“I’m certain you would make a horrid example for such a study,” she said, turning on her heel and presenting him with her other hand. They began to sashay in the opposite direction.
He slanted her a hard look. Finally he said, “I know I am going to regret this, but why would I make a horrid study?”
“Because you have no heart. Just a mind for business. In the place of your heart, I’m certain they will find naught but an empty cavern and perhaps a ledger page or two.”
“I knew I wasn’t going to like your answer. Tell me, Miss Baker-Sneed, are you always so scathing in your compliments? Or is it just for me?”
“It’s just for you,” she replied with unimpaired cheerfulness. “I had no wish to dance, in the first place. Or to converse. You were the one who forced this issue.”
“I didn’t wish to dance, myself,” he replied, smiling down at her, a disturbing glint to his eyes. “But you seemed in danger of being mauled by Radmere, so I rescued you.”
The dance parted them at that moment, which was fortunate, for Honoria was beyond outraged. He thought to
rescue
her? Of all the arrogant, outlandish, stupid gestures! She turned to send him a hard glare but instead caught an envious glance from the woman on her right.
That was something of a shock. Honoria couldn’t count on one hand the times she’d incited a look of envy from another woman. Lips pursed in thought, Honoria looked back at the marquis. Of all the men in the dance—indeed of all the men she’d ever met—none had his presence. His fine form— broad shoulders and narrow waist—and his legs… she had a weakness for a man with a well-formed pair of thighs. Added to that was a pair of striking blue eyes and that black hair falling over his brow. The man was disturbingly handsome. It was almost unfair.
She stifled a sigh. Radmere had been something of a leech. An easily cowed leech, but still… she supposed Treymount meant well by “rescuing” her. Honoria sniffed, glad when the dance put her back with the marquis. “While I appreciate your efforts, I didn’t need your assistance with Radmere.”
“No? Then why was that braggart holding your hand for so long?”
“Because he was looking at the talisman ring.” She smiled down at the circlet that rested on her finger, her hand resting lightly on the black of his coat sleeve as they made their way through the set. “It is truly a magnificent piece.”
To her surprise, the marquis .grasped her hand and pulled her from the dance. They stood to the side of the floor, their place rapidly taken by another couple. The cool breeze from the terrace doors sent her skirts fluttering about her ankles.
Treymount’s deep voice rumbled near her ear. “Did you tell Radmere the ring was mine?”
She glanced up at him through her lashes. “Should I have?”
His gaze flared in return. “No, damn you, for if he knows that, he will want the blasted thing.”
Honoria wasn’t sure what was goading her to continue teasing Treymount. He was known for his stern temper. And the ring was something he prized highly. Even more, she knew that the marquis did not like to lose. She knew all that and more. Her purpose in coming tonight had not been to infuriate the marquis, but merely to make him aware of the fact that she, and she alone, owned the ring, and that his options were limited. He either paid the amount she requested or he lost the ring. It was that simple. In no way did she mean to make him furious.
And yet… and yet, despite knowing this course was madness, despite knowing that she might be hurting her own cause, she found herself flashing a determinedly wicked smile at the man. “Of course I told Radmere that this was the famed St. John talisman ring. You are right, he does want it. Badly. Which is a good thing because if you and I don’t manage to reach an agreement…” She flickered her fingers before Treymount’s narrowed eyes, the ring casting a glimmer over his face, reflecting the pure blue of his eyes. “… then perhaps I will indeed sell the ring to Radmere. I suppose then it will become known as the Radmere talisman ring, won’t it? That will seem odd for you indeed, seeing your mother’s ring in the hands of another man.”
The words hung between them a full moment as his face froze into a mask of pure fury. His eyes blazed, his lips thinned, twin white lines appeared at either side of his mouth. Honoria took an impulsive step back, but Treymount would have none of it. He caught her by the elbow, and then, without a word, firmly led her toward the terrace doors, threading them between couples and back to the place where he’d found her with Radmere, to the side of the room where they could have a little privacy, though not much.
The orchestra changed to a lively waltz, and immediately there was a flurry of activity as partners changed, people took their places, and others fled from the floor.
“There really is no need for us to say anything else, is there?” Honoria said somewhat breathlessly, assailed by the need to leave and get some fresh air, air that wasn’t quite so charged with awareness. “Thank you for the lovely dance, but enjoyable as it was, I am afraid I must leave.”
“Not yet you don’t,” he said, fury evident in every line of his body. “Though you may have the ring in your possession, in reality, you know that ring belongs to me.”
“Not anymore.” Her heart was thundering madly, her hands damp. “I know you don’t like this situation any more than I. But if you do not agree to my terms, I will sell the ring to someone else. I will have no choice but to sell it.”
“You promised me a week.”
She shrugged, trying to manage a light laugh. “Let us not pretend. You have no intentions of accepting my offer and I know it. We are both wasting time by waiting a week. The season is soon to begin and I wish for my sister to be presented with all accompanying pomp and circumstance. That will take clothing, jewelry, shoes, and other purchases. It’s truly a pity you wouldn’t agree to sponsor her, as it would have been a far easier path for us both.”
Marcus clenched his fists, vaguely aware of the music humming around them, the faded murmur of voices as people passed by. It was all a blur, for his attention was entirely focused on the world’s most stubborn woman. She stood before him, her chin firmed, her eyes sparkling a challenge that he felt all the way to his soul. “You may not sell that ring.”
Her eyes narrowed. “If I decide to sell this ring, or throw it into the Thames, you cannot stop me.”
Marcus almost reached for her. It was only through sheer determination that he managed to keep his hands at his side. By God, he longed to grasp her arms and shake some sense into her.
Unaware of her close escape, the blasted woman smoothed her skirts and said, “Now if you will excuse me…” She turned on her heel to walk away.
But Marcus could not allow that. He grabbed her arm and spun her back to face him.
She gasped, colored, then looked around wildly.
Realizing they could be seen, Marcus released her arm. “Before you leave, I will have your word that you will not sell the ring until I have made my decision.”
“I promised you a week and a week you shall have, but not a moment more.” Her eyes glinted up at him, a pure and rich hazel, green mottled with brown and gray, surrounded by thick chestnut lashes that curled and tangled at the corners.
His gaze traveled past her eyes to her wide brow and on to the sweep of her hair. Thick and soft, it curled back from her forehead, the rich chestnut strands and the streak of white curving a line to the tiara. It was almost ludicrous, the large, ornamental, and obviously fake jewels that sparkled in her hair. “A bit much, that.”
Her hand went to the tiara. “You think so? I wondered, but Portia said—”
“Portia?”
“One of my sisters. She is fifteen and hopelessly addicted to fashion. She seemed to think the tiara was quite the rage.”
“I see them all of the time, only… not on you.” Although somehow the sparkle of the jewels did suit her. He found himself imagining her with nothing but the tiara on… laying on his bed… her hair trailing over pillows… His body reacted, hardening, his breathing growing heavier. When had Honoria Baker-Sneed developed into such a sensual woman? And why hadn’t he realized it before?
“No, I am not the type of woman who would normally wear a tiara,” she said, her rich voice thrumming through him. “Although I did think it wouldn’t hurt to wear one just for this evening. It… well, it gave me courage.”
“Courage? For what?”
She didn’t answer, and he suddenly knew the answer. He’d been right. She’d known he’d be here—she’d anticipated and even wished for this meeting.
That was an intriguing bit of information. If Marcus wished to regain the ring, he needed to know more about his enemy, the intrepid Honoria Baker-Sneed. More than the fact that she was an excellent bargainer, had a weakness for antique snuff boxes, and looked damnably fetching in a blue ball gown and a fake tiara. “Tell me, Miss Baker-Sneed. If you are not the sort of woman who would normally wear a tiara, what kind of woman are you?”
Her brows rose and she regarded him for a long moment. “Are you attempting to soften me up by pretending an interest in my life?”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“You don’t think what’s possible? Pretending an interest in my life?”
“No, softening you up. I merely asked a question.”
She looked utterly unconvinced. “I don’t know that you need such personal information.”
He shrugged and looked away, trying his damnedest to appear uninterested. He knew women. He’d bought more than his fair share of trinkets for the opposite sex, had played more than his fair share of feminine games to know that disinterest was a light to a fire.
And it worked. She was silent a moment, then she burst out, “If you must know, I am sadly addicted to bonnets. I have far more than I should, and every time I visit town, I find myself longing for another.”
“There,” he said, bowing a little. “That didn’t hurt, did it?”
“No. I suppose not, though what your purpose is, I do not pretend to fathom.”
“Perhaps I just wished to know a bit more about my adversary.”
She pursed her lips, and he found himself looking at her tender mouth and wondering if it would taste as good today as it had two days ago. “I suppose that makes sense,” she said. “Tell me, Treymount, what kind of man are
you?
What worthless items do you collect beyond the antiquities I’ve seen you cart off from various auctions?”
Marcus almost smiled. She was as direct as an arrow. “I suppose I own far more than my fair share of footwear. I cannot seem to have enough riding boots.”
She looked surprised. And somewhat pleased. “What a delightful fault to have!”
“Not according to my valet. But then, he has to keep them all polished.” Marcus decided that it would be lovely to show this prim miss his boots. The ones located in the dressing room off his bed chamber. Way, way in the back of his dressing room.
The thought of Miss Honoria Baker-Sneed walking through his room, her body draped with nothing but a sheet from his bed, made his body stir with more awareness.
Damn, there it was again—that surprising flash of heat that sparkled between them. Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s a good thing I came to this ball.”
She fastened those amazing hazel eyes on him. “Why?”
“Because if I had not been here, no one else would have saved you from that rakehell, Radmere.” Marcus rocked back on his heels, complacent and ready. “You are too much an innocent to be with someone like that scoundrel.”
“I am not an innocent. Besides, I had no problem dealing with Radmere.”
“Men, all of them, are not to be trusted with a lady alone.”
She eyed him for a disbelieving moment. “I take it you don’t include yourself in that grouping?”
“Oh, but I do count myself.” He leaned forward so his breath stirred the hair at her ear. “Miss Baker-Sneed… Honoria… you shouldn’t trust me either.”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t draw back. That rather pleased him. It pleased him even more that when she did speak, her voice brushed over him, warm and cinnamon scented with just the hint of a tremor. “I have an older brother, you know. And I know all manner of ways to defend myself.”
“You may be able to hold off Radmere, but your wiles would not work on me.”
“Do you think?” she replied with that damnably knowing smile that irked him to his boots.
That did it. It was in that moment that Marcus knew he was going to kiss the stern and stubborn Miss Honoria Baker-Sneed. Not here, of course, not in public. He had no wish to end up leg-shackled to the woman. But by damn, she was far too challenging to be ignored, an entrancing combination of bravado, pride, and self-sufficiency that just begged to be taught a thing or two, and he was just the man to do it. “You are a very warlike woman, Miss Baker-Sneed. Or perhaps… perhaps I should call you Diana, the huntress.” He leaned back a bit and regarded her thoughtfully. “You look very much like a presentation of Diana I saw at the British Museum. One of the Elgin marbles, in fact.”
“I am only warlike when necessary.” She seemed so firm in her declaration, rather like a statue come to life.
Marcus found himself stepping closer. Now his legs brushed against her skirts. He bent slightly, his lips almost at her temple. “Miss Baker-Sneed, allow me to make a suggestion. If you would be more reasonable in what you desire for that ring, I would go away and you would not have to deal with me at all. But until you do that, I plan on being very nearby. Watching. Waiting. And I will not always be this polite.”