Lady in Red (23 page)

She appeared astounded. “You cannot believe that.”

“Of course I do. What is wrong with taking care of one’s own?”

“Nothing, if there was no one else in the world but you and your family. But you are not alone. There are people out there; real live, breathing people, too. People who need help. People much less able to take care of themselves than the members of your family.”

He almost ground his teeth. “Miss Baker-Sneed, I do not object to pretending to court your sister on grounds of the expense. I object to it on the grounds of making a cake of myself in public. I would be a laughingstock.”

“Nonsense,” she said, her voice low and reassuring. “You’d come, you’d court, and then you’d wander off as many men are wont to do. No one has asked you to make a cake of yourself in any way. With just a little effort, Cassandra would be set and your services no longer needed.”

Her voice tumbled over Marcus like honey over the bowl of a spoon, rounded and lush. He steeled himself against her. “I still don’t like it. Besides, think of the time such a thing will take. I cannot and will not spare that much effort for something so unimportant to me.”

She raised her brows, the delicate arches making her hazel eyes appear even larger. “Time? What do you possibly have to do that takes up so much time that you cannot attend a ball or two?”

“It would be more than a ball or two.”

“Not necessarily. If you’d agree to sponsor just one ball in her name, I’m certain we could excuse you from most of the other entertainments.” She pursed her lips, her eyes unfocused as she considered this. “Except, of course, a foray to the theatre or some such thing. We really could not use your box without you present at least once.”

Marcus raked a hand through his hair. Was he speaking French or Italian, that she did not understand him when he said no? Good God, but the chit was determined. He eyed her for a long moment, a reluctant admiration pushing to the fore.

She folded her hands in her lap and leaned forward, her expression earnest. “Tell me, Treymount… do you think it is frivolous to speak to your friends? Your peers?”

“I don’t have any—” He snapped his mouth closed. The woman had him so wrapped up, he’d almost said that he didn’t have any friends. Which was ludicrous, of course. He did have friends. Why, when he’d been down at Eton, he’d made numerous friends and acquaintances and had been considered quite a jolly fellow.

Of course, that was years ago and he rarely saw any of his old compatriots. But that was to be expected. They’d all grown up, gotten married, and had families, just like his own brothers. Which meant they were less accessible, especially since his own schedule was less flexible than theirs.

Not that he missed them, though. He was perfectly fine without such frumpy companions. That, and he was far too busy with his own life, his business and pursuits to maintain empty, trivial relationships. “I have all the friends I wish.”

“Name ten.”

Bloody hell! He scowled at her, wondering how he’d been tricked into even having this conversation. “I vow, but you are a cheeky wench.”

A wide smile spread over her face, her hazel eyes twinkling almost merrily. “So I have been told. Come, Trey-mount, name your friends. Surely you have a few.”

“I have many, thank you. Let’s see…” He raked a hand through his hair, pondering the many people he knew, wondering why he found so few of them worth the effort of getting to know. “The Duke of Rutledge and I meet once a month at White’s and discuss foreign markets and the state of our shipping company and—”

“Do you and Rutledge do anything other than discuss business?”

He shrugged. “Why should we?”

“Because if all you do is discuss business, then he is not a friend but a business acquaintance. A friend is someone you share your life with. The things you think about. The dreams you have.”

“Oh for the love of— Rutledge and I discuss business ventures. Surely that is a component of a friendship.”

“Do you discuss anything of a more personal nature? Your household? How your brothers are doing? How you feel about your current mistress?”

“My current mistress is none of your concern.”

“Of course not. But then I am not one of your friends, if you have any.”

He made an impatient gesture. “I wouldn’t discuss my mistress with a friend, either. I don’t discuss those types of things with anyone.”

“Because you don’t have any friends,” she immediately said with a complacent air that set his teeth on edge.

“Because I don’t wish to have friends. There is a difference.” Really, she made it sound as if his life was dry and barren, which was far from the truth. He had his family, his brothers and sister and their spouses, and now their children. He had a busy and thriving household, money to invest and grow, and he had his antiquities. His collection was growing to be quite valuable. What more could a man want? “I don’t appreciate you putting a low value on my life.”

“I wasn’t. I was merely trying to point out that, no matter who you are, you can always do a little better; enrich yourself and your life a trifle more. None of us have the perfect life. For example, you would be much better off if you’d pay more attention to those around you and not keep all of your efforts for yourself.”

“If I don’t take care of the St. Johns, who will?”

“There are six of you, counting your sister. Surely some of your brothers would be happy to have the opportunity to assist in some matters.”

“They might. If I thought them ready.”

“Aren’t most of them in their thirties? You must be at least forty, so I’d think—”

“I am thirty-nine, thank you,” he snapped.

Her lips quivered, that entrancing dimple appearing and then just as quickly disappearing on one cheek. She had a lovely mouth, wide and softly pink, the bottom lip a bit too full, which made him want to taste it. Really, if he was going to have to listen to such irritating drivel, he might as well en-joy the view. And from where he sat in the carriage, the view was very delectable indeed. He tilted his head to one side and let his gaze slide from her damnably attractive mouth to the smooth line of her high cheekbones, and on to her thickly lashed eyes.

All told, Honoria was a fine looking female. She was a bit taller than the average woman, but with a proud figure that made his body hunger. He let his gaze linger on her curves a moment more… She had magnificent shoulders and full breasts that would fill a man’s hands and then some. Beneath that, her slender frame curved deliciously at the hips, the length of her skirts hinting at a nice long stretch of leg beneath. He remembered the feel of her hip against the curve of his lap, and his body stirred, firmed, and hardened. Honoria Baker-Sneed had a lovely body, no matter how ill tuned her mind seemed to be.

“Oh!” She crossed her arms over her chest, her cheeks appealingly red. “Stop that!”

Marcus grinned. “Stop what?”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

He shook his head. “You are going to have to make up your mind. First you berate me for not taking the time to pay attention to those around me, then when I do pay attention, you tell me to stop.”

“Paying attention is one thing, leering is something else altogether.”

“I was not leering.”

She arched a brow. “No?”

He let his gaze wander back over her form. “Not yet, anyway. But… I must admit, you are worth leering over.”

“I vow, but you are the most monstrously irritating man I have ever met. You’re cold and impersonal, until I wonder if you have a heart, and then, just as I’m ready to give up trying to find that spark of life, you turn into an overly warm rakehell.”

“An overly warm rakehell?” He had to laugh. “What a title! And you hand it to me just for looking at you.”

Her lips quivered, and for a moment he thought he was going to be treated to one of her chortles of laughter. But instead her gaze fastened on him for a long moment, her smile fading as a different, more frightening expression took hold. She’d had an idea, he could read it in her face. “You are thinking about something,” he said. “Something I will not like.”

She looked at him through her lashes. “Why do you say that?”

“Because just now you looked as if you were measuring me. You always do that before you make one of your devastating observations.”

She leaned forward, her eyes almost pure green in the light. “But I was thinking… since you wager on horses, would you be willing to wager on something else?”

“Are you suggesting the ring for a thousand pounds and pretending to woo your sister?”

Honoria had to admit that he was quick, his mind lightning across the sparkle of a still lake. “Exactly. We seem to be at an impasse. This way, we might settle it once and for all.” She tugged at her glove and removed it, then held up her hand so the ring would sparkle in the light. “What do you say, Trey-mount? Do we have a wager?”

His gaze locked on the ring, his blue eyes flaring at the sight. She could tell he was tempted. Her heart thudded an extra beat. Perhaps
this
was indeed the way to solve everything. If only she could get him to agree, then he would be committed.

She scooted down the seat, holding the ring before him. The sun streaming in from the space between the window and the leather curtain caught the silver band and reflected a flash of light across the marquis. The light flickered over his jaw, slanted over his strong face, and then caught the blue of his eyes.

For an instant the light seemed to illuminate those eyes, making them brighter, so bright that Honoria’s heart leapt as if in answer, her body melting slightly. At just that moment, the carriage careened around a corner and Honoria went flying through the air—only to land firmly in the marquis’s lap. His arms closed about her instinctively and she was tossed about no more.

She sat there, stunned. It felt almost as if someone had plucked her up and dropped her right here, in this man’s lap. She blinked up at him, too astounded to move.

He appeared to be as astonished as she. But then the faintest glimmer of amusement warmed his face. “Welllll,” he drawled, his breath soft across her face, sending an instant shiver up her spine. “Wasn’t that exciting?”

Exciting was exactly what it was. Her body tingled, her chest ached, her stomach was a solid knot of heat. She had to get away from him. Honoria placed her hands against his chest and pushed, but he didn’t release her.

She should ask him. She knew from past experiences that he would release her if she did so. But somehow, instead of asking him to let her go, she said instead, “This wager is the only way we’ll settle our differences.”

“You think so?” he murmured, his hands warm on her back and hip.

“I am certain of it.” It was obvious that he wasn’t completely adverse to the idea, for he had yet to offer a single objection. “Well?”

His gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth, and then to where his hand rested on the curve of her hip. Honoria became aware of the heat of his hand through the thin muslin of her skirts. “I—I believe I am losing feeling in my legs.”

A faint grin flickered across his mouth, settling in his blue eyes. “Nonsense. There is no more pressure against your legs while sitting in my lap than when you were sitting on the seat.” As if to prove his point, he moved his hand down her hip to her leg and began sliding his thumb over the curve of her thigh. His voice lowered a notch. “Can you feel that?”

Could she feel it? How could she not feel it? She started to say so when a thought caught her. If she agreed she could feel the pressure of his thumb rubbing her thigh, he would have his admission that her legs were not going numb. And if she said she could not feel the decadent gesture, he would continue with the motion, driving her absolutely mad in the bargain.

And she was definitely going mad. An onslaught of heated shivers trembled through her. Ye gods, but the man knew the art of seduction. That really shouldn’t have been surprising, for heaven knew he was as handsome as they came, with black hair and blue, blue eyes, a firm chin and a wonderfully sensual mouth. Added to that was a set of remarkably wide shoulders and powerful thighs that even now pressed against the back of her legs—

She bit off the thought before it devoured her whole. Her heart was beating a mighty tune, her skin flushed, a strange heat building in the pit of her stomach. “I—I think you should let me go.”

His gaze flickered over her face. “Oh?”

Honoria wondered if he could tell how his caress was affecting her. If he knew that she had to fight the temptation to lean toward him, to move her leg restlessly beneath his touch. If he realized that her entire body was growing almost achingly aware of him. Of how close he was—her bottom pressed against his lap, her knees folded over his. The faint scent of sandalwood rose from him and filled her senses with the tantalizing idea of reaching out, pulling him to her, tasting him, holding him, being with him without reserve.

Memories of their previous kisses flooded back and made her even more wrackingly aware of him.

His voice sounded at her ear, low and melodic. “What exactly would we wager on? A horse? A game of skill?” The pressure of his thumb increased ever so slightly. “Perhaps I should challenge you to a ride. We could plan several hurdles and whoever clears them the fastest and with the most grace, wins.”

“Anything but horses,” she blurted, then wished she hadn’t.
^?

“No horses?” His brows lifted. “You don’t like them?”

“No.” Honoria knew it was ridiculous, but she never went near a horse unless forced. Even good old Hercules, their ancient gelding, made her nervous. “I—I don’t think horses would be a good wager. But how about… archery?” Yes, that might do. She used to be good at archery… when she was fifteen. It had been years since she’d twanged a bow, but surely just a little practice would see her skill revived.

“Archery, hm? I am quite good, you know.”

“So am I,” she said in as frosty a voice as circumstances allowed.

There was a. moment of silence, a narrowing of his eyes, and then his hold on her tightened. “Very well, my little warrior. Archery it is. Two shots?”

“Closest to the center ring.”

“Done.” He settled her a bit more firmly on his lap and pulled her toward him. “Shall we seal our bargain with a kiss?”

To her ultimate relief—and somewhat startling disappointment—the carriage drew to a stop. Outside, she could glimpse her house through the window. The carriage rocked as the coachman climbed down.

“Damn,” the marquis said. He sighed, then set her back on the seat opposite his and handed her the mashed bonnet. “About the details—”

The door opened, sunlight streaming into the darkened coach bringing reason as well as light.

Honoria didn’t even wait for the steps to be let down. She plopped her bonnet on her head and hopped to the ground, ignoring the coachman’s startled exclamation. “Just write and let me know what time would be good for you, my lord,” she called over her shoulder, and then in a rustle of skirts all but raced up the walkway to the safety of her own home.

Chapter 12

I don’t play cards to win. I play cards to see how people react to losing. That is where I get my true enjoyment.

The scintillating Lady Marianne McDabney, after winning a handsome sum from the rather hapless Edmond Valmont

Honoria took a deep breath, focusing every fathom of determination she possessed on the target that stood in the back of their garden. Of course, “garden” was a generous word, as the strip of land behind the house was a rather long, narrow affair lined with small trees and box rows and little else.

She supposed the marquis had a real garden behind his palatial house. For a faint moment she wondered what Trey-mount House looked like inside. She’d only driven by it in a carriage, and at the time had thought it the haughtiest house in Mayfair, which was quite a feat. Once she had the opportunity to meet the mighty marquis himself, the house had seemed even larger and even more inhospitable.

Of course, she knew a bit more about the marquis now. Strangely, that had changed her perception of the house as well. She absently flicked the ends of the feather shafts through her fingers, remembering the grand Italianate facade, the sweeping marble portico, and the ornate decorative window trims. Now she rather thought the house was simply commanding. Thus Treymount House wasn’t as unapproachable as it seemed. For that matter, neither was the marquis.

She sighed, lifted the arrow and sighted down the shaft. Understanding the marquis would do her no good if she lost the contest. She took a steadying breath, then brought up the bow and notched the arrow. She eyed the target, pulled the bow string back… back… back—

“Oh pother!” Olivia said, exasperation in her voice. She sat to one side of the garden, comfortably ensconced in a large padded chair as she critically watched Honoria practice. “You’re taking forever. Just let it fly.”

“Yes,” Portia agreed. She was seated in a matching chair to the other side, her legs tucked beneath her skirts, her entire attention focused on her oldest sister. “If you wish to win, you have to be more forceful in your actions. More authoritative.”

Honoria lowered the bow, carefully letting the string rest back in place. “That is the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Portia stood, her skirts rustling about her. “Here. I’ll show you what I mean.” She pretended to hold a bow and arrow, lifting her chin a ridiculous amount and saying in a loud, theatrical voice, “Marquis, I defy you to win! Truth is my armor, integrity my soul.” With a grand sweep of her arm, Portia closed her eyes… and let fly her pretend arrow.

Olivia obligingly said, “
Thunk
!”

Portia took a noble breath, a blinding expression of hope on her face as she opened her eyes. “Did I— Oh yes! I did!” Still in character, she threw back her head and laughed, long and melodiously, before tossing her arms in the air. “Goodness and beauty has triumphed over all! Never again shall I question the hands of fate!”

Olivia clapped. “Oh Portia! You are marvelous!”

“Brava!” Juliet cried, chiming in from where she’d come to stand on the terrace. “Isn’t that the scene from
The Lost Earl?
The one where the innocent Cleo wins over the horrid villain by using his own mother’s secret potion against him?”

Portia fell back into her chair, panting as if she’d just run a mile. “Yes it is! Honoria should—”

“No.” Honoria said, the arrow still unshot, her hand clenched over the bow. “I will not say such vile stuff. And Portia, you look silly shooting with your eyes closed. If you did that, you’d miss the target completely.”

“Oh. Have
you
ever shot a bow and arrow with your eyes closed?”

“No.”

“Try it, then. See if you don’t shoot better.”

Olivia nodded thoughtfully. “I think Portia’s right. Honoria, if you would just aim, and then close your eyes before you let the arrow go, perhaps you wouldn’t pull up just as you let the arrow fly.”

“I do not pull up,” Honoria said with some exasperation.

“Yes, you do,” Portia said calmly. “Your last arrow went right over the top of the target and hit the yew tree.”

“I can see it from here,” Olivia said. “It’s a good foot higher than it should be.”

“Come, Honoria. Try shooting one arrow with your eyes closed,” Juliet suggested. “See if it doesn’t help.”

Honoria had to quell a sudden wave of irritation. They were only trying to be of assistance and she knew it. It was just that she needed to win this wager so badly… She flexed her shoulders, managing a faint smile for her waiting sisters. “I daresay next you’ll wish me to shoot blindfolded.”

Portia appeared much struck by this thought. “Honoria! Would you—”

“No, I would not.” She notched the arrow and lifted the bow. “But I will stop this muddled nonsense about closing my eyes once and for all.” She drew the string and sighted down the shaft of the arrow. Then, taking a steadying breath, she closed her eyes and let the arrow fly.

It seemed to her as if there was a long moment of silence, well after the time the arrow should have hit the target. Impatient, Honoria opened her eyes… The arrow stood quivering not an inch from the center of the target. “Ye gods,” she said hollowly.

But no one heard her. Olivia and Portia let out identical screeches at that exact same time, and Juliet was not far in joining in, laughing and clapping.

Honoria looked down at the bow in her hand. Why had that worked? It made no sense, none at all. Her chest suddenly felt leadened. What she’d give to be able to reset her wager with something other than archery. She’d been put on the spot by her own ingenious idea and she hadn’t thought the wager through at all.

Though she wasn’t sure how or why, she was certain this was all Treymount’s fault. Had he not made her so muddled with his kisses and touches, she’d have been able to think much, much clearer and she wouldn’t now be standing on the terrace holding a bow and wondering where her senses had gone.

“Well?” Portia said, sighing with happiness. “What do you have to say now?”

A lot. Only none of it was fit for her sisters’ tender ears. Honoria managed to say tightly, “While closing my eyes may have worked once, there is no guarantee that it will work when the time comes to fulfill the wager.”

“But you hit the target,” Olivia said.

“It was blind luck.”

Portia shook her head. “I vow, Honoria! If you would just close your eyes as you loose the arrow—”

“Along with that pretty speech Portia made about good-ness and beauty,” Juliet added helpfully. “That would really impress the marquis, I know it would.”

Portia turned a pleased pink. “That
is
a pretty speech, isn’t it?
The Lost Earl
is a wonderful play. I changed a few words here and there and I thought for certain none of you’d remember it.”

“Well,
I
don’t remember any of it,” Honoria said, a bit annoyed. “Now if you will all be quiet, I will show you that hitting the target with my eyes closed was nothing more than chance.” She raised her arms back into position. Carefully took aim. And—

“Wait,” Juliet said in a musing voice. “That’s wrong.”

Honoria clenched her teeth. Good God, what now? She turned to her sister. “What’s wrong?”

“That scene wasn’t from
The Lost Earl
at all, but from
Two Sisters.”

Portia frowned. “Was it?”

Olivia gave a startled exclamation. “Juliet’s right! That
is
where that scene is from. Honoria, you should watch Portia and learn some of her lines.”

Portia nodded. “It would make the whole effort of wagering with the marquis much more…” She searched for words, groping blindly in the air as if to retrieve them from there.

“Dramatic?” Olivia offered.

“Foolish?” Honoria said, her exasperation rising.

“Dramatic is exactly the word!” Juliet said, nodding her approval at Olivia. ,

Honoria sighed and set down the bow and arrow.

Portia frowned. “Where are you going?”

“Inside.”

“But… aren’t you going to practice? You’ve barely shot a dozen arrows and only one hit the target.”

“No. I believe I am finished for a while.”

Disapproval colored Olivia’s face, too. “I say, Honoria, you aren’t taking this wager very seriously. You should practice for another hour at least.”

“Or more,” Juliet added. “You aren’t any better than when you began. Except for knowing to close your eyes.”

“Perhaps later,” Honoria said, marching toward the doors leading to the sitting room, her frustration so high she didn’t dare say anything else.

“But—you will fail tomorrow if you do not practice!” Olivia called after her.

“And no amount of playacting will help you then,” Juliet added loudly. “Don’t you want Cassandra to have a seas—”

Honoria shut the door on them all.