Honoria turned toward the open door. The marquis was speaking to the housekeeper, but what—
“If you’d like to see more of the house, perhaps I can assist you. In fact, my own housekeeper, Mrs. Bates, would be more than glad to take you on a tour and answer any questions you might have.”
Why that sneaky cur! Honoria started toward the door, but Mrs. Kemble’s voice stopped her. -».
“Your own housekeeper?” There was no disguising Mrs. Kemble’s excitement. “I would love—I am honored that you’ve even thought of—I could think of nothing more—But…”
“But?” the marquis’s deep voice followed.
“I cannot. I am chaperoning Miss Baker-Sneed and it would be highly improper for me to leave.”
There! Honoria smiled to herself. Let that be a lesson to the marquis if he thought to bribe off her chaperone. What could he do now?
As if in answer to her question, she heard him say, “Mrs. Kemble, you need have no fear for Miss Baker-Sneed. I shall leave the door open whilst you tour the house. I’m certain you’ll find our new cooking stove quite the thing. My chef dotes on it, and Mrs. Bates says it is the newest of its kind in the entire country.”
Oh! The blackguard! To hold a new cooking stove out as enticement to a housekeeper! Honoria had to admit that the man was diabolically clever.
as if weighing something, then said, “Perhaps we should repair to the library, where it’s a bit warmer.” He turned toward the door, holding it open and standing to one side.
Mrs. Kemble seemed unable to move, so Honoria gathered her thoughts, lifted her chin and made her own way out the door. When she reached the threshold, she glanced back at the housekeeper, who was still standing shock-still beside her chair. “Mrs. Kemble,” Honoria said rather more sharply than she intended. “Lord Treymount has invited us into the library.”
“What? Oh! Yes!” Mrs. Kemble fluttered a smile at the marquis. “I’m sorry, I’m just overcome. This house…” She gestured vaguely about her.
“It can be quite overpowering,” Treymount said, a faint smile touching his mouth. “Perhaps a tour…”
Mrs. Kemble brightened. “Oh! What I wouldn’t give for a tour. Miss Baker-Sneed, wouldn’t that be the most wondrous thing?”
No, it would not. Honoria just wanted to tell the marquis what she had to tell him and then be on her way. So she said, “Perhaps another time.”
“As you wish,” Treymount replied with an easy shrug. “Mrs. Kemble? Shall we repair to the library?”
The housekeeper tittered. “Oh indeed!” Flush with pleasure at being directly addressed, she scurried forward and followed Honoria into the grand hall.
The marquis walked across the grand hall and to the wide double doors that stood directly across from the sitting room. As he neared the door, one of the somber footmen hurried to open it. The marquis stepped to one side. “Miss Baker-Sneed? After you.”
Honoria glanced behind her to be certain Mrs. Kemble was following, and then marched into the library.
If the sitting room had been a glimpse into perfection, then the library was a look directly into heaven. Honoria could only stand and stare, her gaze roving over the towering shelves, the delicate iron-wrought railing that lined the second floor balcony, and last, the magnificent mural that hung overhead.
Honoria swallowed, walking farther into the room and coming to a halt dead center so she could look up at the painted ceiling. Good Lord, the house was beyond magnificent. It was—
“Mrs. Kemble, before you go inside…”
Honoria turned toward the open door. The marquis was speaking to the housekeeper, but what—
“If you’d like to see more of the house, perhaps I can assist you. In fact, my own housekeeper, Mrs. Bates, would be more than glad to take you on a tour and answer any questions you might have.”
Why that sneaky cur! Honoria started toward the door, but Mrs. Kemble’s voice stopped her.
“Your own housekeeper?” There was no disguising Mrs. Kemble’s excitement. “I would love—I am honored that you’ve even thought of—I could think of nothing more—But…”
“But?” the marquis’s deep voice followed.
“I cannot. I am chaperoning Miss Baker-Sneed and it would be highly improper for me to leave.”
There! Honoria smiled to herself. Let that be a lesson to the marquis if he thought to bribe off her chaperone. What could he do now?
As if in answer to her question, she heard him say, “Mrs. Kemble, you need have no fear for Miss Baker-Sneed. I shall have the door open whilst you tour the house. I’m certain you’ll find our new cooking stove quite the thing. My chef dotes on it, and Mrs. Bates says it is the newest of its kind in the entire country.”
Oh! The blackguard! To hold a new cooking stove out as enticement to a housekeeper! Honoria had to admit that the man was diabolically clever.
“A new cooking stove? Oh how—” There was a silence as if Mrs. Kemble was locked in a powerful internal struggle. “No. I really mustn’t. I should—”
“As I said, I will leave the door open.”
“That is not enough, my lord. What if someone comes and—”
“I shall have one of the footmen stand inside.”
There was a long silence. Honoria frowned and turned toward the door.
Mrs. Kemble let out her breath in a whoosh. “Well! If you have a footman—”
“Two,” Treymount said solemnly.
“Oh! Well! If there are two…” And with that, Honoria’s chaperone deserted her.
That wretch! How could he? Honoria headed for the door, but she was too late. Already she could hear Jeffries’s smooth voice and then Mrs. Kemble’s reply fading as she followed him.
By the time Honoria reached the library door, no one at all was there but a row of frozen-faced footmen and Treymount, who was looking quite pleased with himself.
“Where is Mrs. Kemble?”
Marcus turned to find an outraged Honoria standing in the doorway of his library. He smiled and walked past her and into the room. “The stalwart Mrs. Kemble is on her way to visit Mrs. Bates, my housekeeper, a fact I’m certain you know, as the door was standing wide open the entire time.”
He found his way to his desk. There, he paused and gestured to one of the chairs that sat facing it. “Won’t you have a seat?”
She looked at the chair, chagrin darkening her eyes. He knew what she was thinking. If she sat in the chair, she’d barely be able to see over the huge edge of the desk. Her back ramrod straight, she shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll stand.”
He shrugged. “As you wish.” Hiding a smile, he sat down, picking up the correspondence he’d left when he’d been informed that his house had been invaded.
He pretended to read the first of his letters, all the while keenly aware of the sound of slippered feet and rustling silk of the woman now approaching his desk. She planted herself to one side and stood staring down at him.
It was all Marcus could do not to grin, but he forced himself to remain somber, as if what he was reading was of the almost importance and not just a report from one of his lesser holdings in the south of Scotland.
“My lord, I really must speak with you.”
He glanced at her over the paper, pretending not to notice that her cheeks were becomingly flushed. Damn, how was it that he’d faced this woman over the auction floor so many times and had never truly noticed how attractive she was? He rustled the paper a bit. “So speak, Miss Baker-Sneed. I am listening.”
A frown creased her brow. “I don’t wish to talk to you while you are sitting at your desk. I feel as if I’ve been called into the headmistress’s room for chastisement.”
“So you were a bit of a romp at your seminary. Why does that not surprise me?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What I have to say is unpleasant enough. Please, can we just—” She frowned and glanced around. “Wait a moment. You told Mrs. Kemble that there would be two footmen in the room at all times.”
“So I did. If you want them, feel free to ask them to come in. The door is open, after all, and with one loud voice they would arrive to see if something is needed.”
“Oh. I suppose you are right.” She fidgeted with her bonnet, but all the while her gaze flickered from him to the door, as if measuring the distance.
Marcus pretended to read. “I don’t know what difference having a footman or two about would make. I have no intentions of attempting to make love to you while your housekeeper is in easy range. For all I know, she’s already seen the new cook stove and is now on her way back here.”
There was a moment’s pause as Honoria absorbed this. Marcus watched her from under his lashes, noting every emotion that flickered over her face.
Finally, she sighed. “I wish you’d come to see me when I first asked, as it would have been much simpler. May I ask why you refused?”
Because he’d thought to protect himself from the raging lust she seemed to cause just by breathing. A goal he was beginning to question. Why should he avoid her? The legend of the ring was just that—a legend. In reality, every time he saw her while she had the ring in her possession, it was further testament to the fact that the talisman had no powers, for he had not the slightest-impulse to wed her—just to bed her. “Miss Baker-Sneed, you may ask me anything you desire, although that does not guarantee an answer.”
She lifted one delicately winged brow. It was a peculiarity of hers, the ability to look so incredibly disbelieving without saying a word.
Marcus chuckled and stood, coming around the desk and making his way to the two chairs by the crackling fire. “Perhaps we should just have this conversation you’ve been wishing for.” He gestured toward a chair. “My dear, sit.”
The other brow joined the first, and with this simple movement, instead of looking disbelieving, she now looked supercilious, as if he’d insulted her parentage.
“What?” he asked.
“
“Sit‘ is what one orders one’s hunting dogs to do. I, my lord, am not a hunting dog.”
No, she wasn’t. What she was, was an all too tantalizing package of brain and lace. She was a full-breasted, trim-waisted, long-legged, russet-haired wildfire that alternately fanned his desire and heated his ire. But Marcus was not about to admit anything to her. “Very well, then. Miss Baker-Sneed, please have a seat?” He placed his hands on the back of the chair and turned it ever so slightly in her direction.
“That is much better, thank you.” She regally marched to the chair and took a seat.
He looked down at the top of her head, admiring the silky sheen of her chestnut braids and that unusual streak of white, aware of a deep desire to reach down and lift her into his arms. “So…” He forced himself to turn away and take his place in the seat opposite hers. “What do you wish to say?”
“I came to tell you that…” She bit her lip, then fisted her hands at her sides. “Treymount, you did not lose our wager.”
It took a long moment for the words to sink in. Did not lose the wager? Then what—Marcus slowly leaned forward. “Pardon me?”
“You heard me. You didn’t lose our wager.”
“But… we both shot two arrows, and—”
“My sisters had a string tied to the target and they moved it when you shot.” The words tumbled from her, almost running one into the other.
“
What
did you say?”
She took a quick breath. “My sisters thought that—”
“Which ones?”
Her cheeks flushed. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
“Portia and Olivia. They are a bit romantic, you know, and never thought—”
“Bloody hell. If they did it a-purpose, then…” He sat back in his seat, a deep sense of pleasure rippling through him. No wonder the target had seemed to move at one time— it had. And had he not been so hot to stare at Honoria while she was shooting, perhaps he would have noticed the irregularities better on his own. “So I won after all.”
She blinked. “You—What? No, you did not. No one won. Neither one of us.”
She looked so outraged that he had to rub a hand over his mouth to stop from grinning. “I don’t know,” he said after he composed himself. “I rather think that if you cheated—”
“I did not cheat. My sisters cheated.”
“On your behalf.”
“Without my permission!” “
w
..
“Hm. I rather think the rules of honor would be in my favor in this case.”
She lifted her chin. “Nonsense. There is only one thing we can do. I propose a rematch.”
“Well, I don’t. In fact, Honoria, I believe we should—”
“I beg your pardon?”
He raised his brows, attempting an innocent look. He wasn’t quite sure if he attained it or not, since it wasn’t something he usually tried to do. But it seemed necessary and he was willing to spare no expense. “Yes?”
“You do not have permission to call me by my given name.” Irritation darkened her eyes to deep hazel. “It is Miss Baker-Sneed to you.”
“And it’s Marcus to you. If we’re to engage in a year long battle of wagers, we might as well skip the formalities.”
“It will not take a year to settle this.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” He regarded her for a long moment, noting that the line of her leg showed very much to advantage through the simple gown she wore. “Very well,” he said. “A rematch it will be. But this time I get to name the contest.”