What A Gentleman Wants (17 page)

“We shall attend the Throckmortons‘,” he said, more harshly than intended. Her lips parted, then tightened into a thin line, and she turned to look out the window. Marcus silently cursed his stepmother again, watching the moonlight shine on the dark curls and slender white throat of the woman opposite him. Her skin was nothing less man luminous in the moonlight, but he remembered that warm sunny tint he had seen last week in his study. Just how much of her skin was golden, he wondered, and what did she do out in the sun anyway? He looked away. Climb trees and behave like a hoyden, no doubt. “What a mistake,” he muttered under his breadi.

Her head whipped around. “What? Why?”

Marcus sighed. He hadn’t meant for her to hear that. “Nothing,” he said repressively.

“Are you afraid I’ll embarrass you?” Her voice lifted in angry astonishment. “If so, I assure you I shall have to do far less acting than you to fool everyone into thinking we’re happily married.”

“Indeed,” he said. “I shall be myself.”

She snorted. “As shall I.”

“You gave your word,” he warned her.

“And I intend to keep it” Her eyes widened, although Marcus didn’t for a moment believe her words completely innocent It sounded almost like a threat to him.

“You shall take your cue from me. Do as I do, and we’ll survive.”

This time she laughed. “Now
that
would be acting! People will think it a wonder we can bear to be in the same room with each other, let alone be married.”

Marcus frowned in affront. “I have been very busy.”

She tilted her head, a funny little smile playing about her lips. Marcus felt a stab of worry; she didn’t look like a duchess, she looked like a temptress. “That’s the reason? What a relief. I was sure you were avoiding me.” He closed his mouth into a thin line. He hadn’t avoided her so much as he hadn’t sought her out “Well, you’ve nothing to fear,” she went on. “I shall do my best to be a poised, gracious, happily married duchess.”

And again, he worried that he had made a mistake.

They arrived at the Throckmortons’ before either spoke again. Marcus disliked arriving on foot, and the driver maneuvered right up to the wide stone steps before halting the carriage. She avoided his eyes as he helped her out, again lifting her skirt carefully as she climbed the steps, and this time he refused to let himself look down.

The footman carried away her cloak in the front hall, and as she smoothed her gown one more time, Marcus realized something he had missed at home, when she had distracted him by lifting her skirts.

“Where are the pearls?” he asked under his breath, offering his arm and heading for the receiving line.

She looked puzzled. “What pearls?”

“The Exeter pearls, of course,” he hissed. The pearls were over three hundred years old, and unusual for their perfect uniformity of size and luster. Everyone would expect his duchess to be wearing them, and she didn’t have so much as a single strand on. He would look like a tightfisted miser, not even giving his bride a betrothal ring.

“What are they? No one told me about them.”

He sighed, wishing Rosalind had remembered to ask for them. “Never mind. It can’t be helped now.” He handed over the invitation and joined the line. “The next time we go out, you must wear the pearls. They belong to the duchess of Exeter.”

“I’m not really that person,” she whispered. “I’d rather not wear your necklace and risk losing it”

“Nevertheless, you are supposed to appear to be that person.”

“Well, how much simpler this all would have been if I had just known a pearl necklace was all that was required to fool people,” she said under her breath. Marcus forced a half smile for the benefit of anyone watching, ducking his head nearer hers.

“Stop it.”

She smiled tightly. “Stop what?”

“Defying me under your breath and behind my back.”

Hannah kept her expression fixed although she yearned to turn her back on him right now and walk out the door. How on earth had she defied him? The wretched man had gotten everything the way he wanted it, and she had had to make all the accommodations! “You would prefer I do it to your face?” she whispered, smiling sweetly up at him.

His answering look was deadly. “Do not. Remember, darling,” he added, with a dangerous smile, “our whirlwind romance.”

She could hardly believe him. Their relationship was a whirlwind, all right, just not a romantic one. Not even looking at her like that was going to convince people otherwise. But then they were before the Throckmortons, so she merely smiled.

“Good evening, Exeter,” boomed the host. “Delighted you honor us with your presence.”

The duke, Hannah noticed, merely inclined his head as if such a welcome were his due. “May I present my duchess, sir,” he said, placing his hand on top of hers where it rested on his arm and giving it a light squeeze. “My dear, Lord and Lady Throckmorton.”

“A great pleasure.” Lord Throckmorton bowed over her hand.

“A divine pleasure,” interrupted lady Throckmorton, examining Hannah avidly. “We are so honored you chose our ball to make your debut before the ton, Duchess.”

“My mother had hoped to attend with us,” said the duke as Hannah opened her mouth to reply. “She sends her sincere regrets, and begged me to remember her to you.”

“As if I could forget dear Rosalind!” Lady Throckmorton laughed lightly. She was about Rosalind’s age, Hannah guessed, and quite likely her friend; Rosalind must have had a reason for choosing this engagement, after all. This impression was confirmed when Lady Throckmorton leaned slightly forward and said, her eyes twinkling, “And how is my goddaughter Celia?”

“Very well, ma’am,” the duke said, again cutting off Hannah’s reply. She closed her mouth quickly, hoping she didn’t look like a fish, opening her mouth then closing it without a single word. “And anxiously awaiting her first opportunity to attend one of your balls.”

Lady Throckmorton laughed. “Then next year I shall have one just for her!”

It appeared Lady Throckmorton would have talked longer, but other guests were waiting, and the duke was urging her forward, so Hannah simply smiled again and nodded, letting herself be towed into the grandest, most beautiful room she could ever recall seeing.

Ladies in glorious gowns every color of the rainbow swirled in the dance and curtsied to gentlemen in elegant evening wear. Enormous crystal chandeliers glittered overhead with dozens of candles. Billowing panels of pale green silk draped the walls, and a virtual forest of greenery made the ballroom look like a garden. Servants in scarlet coats carried gleaming silver trays of wine about the room. Her footsteps slowed unconsciously. Never in her life had she seen such an amazing sight.

“What is the matter?” asked the duke from one side of his mouth.

“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered, tilting back her head to see everything.

“Stop gaping,” he said in an undertone. “You look provincial.”

She pursed her lips in annoyance, but did stop trying to look at the ceiling, and gazed around the room instead. “Goodness, are all balls like dais?”

“Yes.” He stopped and took two glasses from a footman’s tray. “For God’s sake, try not to stare.”

“I’m not staring,” she said, watching an enormously fat woman lumber past, a dozen orange plumes waving in her headdress. One certainly didn’t see that in Mid-dleborough.

“You are.” He handed her a glass.

Hannah took the glass, mentally reviewing his commands. Don’t stare. Stop gaping. Don’t even speak, apparently. She wondered if he wanted her to stroll about on his arm, smiling and not speaking, all night. She suppressed a snort. He didn’t want a happy bride, he wanted a mechanical doll, one with strings he could control. “Is there anything you
would
like me to do?” she asked, taking a sip of her wine. Bubbles tickled her throat, and she almost gasped aloud in surprise. She’d never had champagne.

Scanning the room over her head, the duke barely glanced at her. “You know. I hope I need not repeat myself.” This time she couldn’t stop a quiet huff, and he looked down at her, his eyes narrowed. “Don’t drink too quickly. It will go to your head.”

Instead of obeying, to Marcus’s irritation, she took another sip, and raised her brows at him. “That’s certainly not the way to convince anyone we’re happily married.”‘

He frowned, then quickly forced his brow to relax. “Whatever do you mean?”

She drank some more, looking at her half-empty glass with pleasure. “You look ready to give me a frightful scold. You wouldn’t even let me speak to our host and hostess. Anyone with eyes can see you’d rather be anywhere other than here.”

He’d rather be in the card room. He’d already spotted Grentham and Evans, two notorious rakes he’d had little luck tracking down thus far. If he hadn’t been saddled with the vicar’s wife, he could be in there with them, winning their money and delicately digging into their affairs. His temper, already strained by Rosalind’s trick, was not in a state to tolerate a scolding. “Are you lecturing me, madam?”

To his surprise, she leaned closer, a mischievous smile on her face. “Now what good would that do? Would you even listen? I was merely trying to help you.”

He stared at her. She was pushing him again. And again he found himself taking up the challenge. “In what way?” he asked, taking her elbow and turning her away from the crowd and closer to him, so that her hair almost brushed his chin. She smelled as enticing as she looked.

Her smile widened, and she lifted her chin as her eyes half closed. “If you treat me like a halfwit, people will think you’re ashamed of me,” she murmured. “If you scowl every time you look at me, people will think you regret our hasty marriage.”

“Hmm.” Marcus put his head to one side, watching as she finished off her champagne with obvious enjoyment. His throat seemed to close up as she flicked out her tongue to lick a stray drop from the corner of her lip. She glanced up at him, eyes glowing, and he found his voice. “You think I’m not persuasive?”

She tilted back her head and gave a throaty laugh. Even though he had already figured out she was acting a part to tweak his nose, Marcus found himself unable to stop her. She looked him straight in the eye. “No.”

A gauntlet had been thrown down. Marcus snatched it up, disregarding any possible consequences or repercussions. Some things could not be ignored. He couldn’t do a thing about Grentham or Evans, but he could do something about this. “Let me…” He paused, taking up her hand and bringing it to his lips. “Prove you wrong,” he finished in a low voice. No one insulted him and got away with it.

She stared back at him. “I should like to see you try.”

The thought of what he would like to try sprang unbidden to mind, in unfortunate detail. Marcus squashed the thought and pasted a slight smile on his face. “Shall we?” He beckoned toward the crowd, slipping his arm around her waist to urge her forward. Proving himself a devoted husband would also allow him to keep an eye on her, which was just as well. Who knew what havoc the woman might cause if she cast that sultry look on other gentlemen?

Hannah felt her face warm as a sea of curious faces seem to stare back at her. For a moment there, with the duke looming over her in his focused, intent way, she had completely forgotten where they were, and what she was supposed to do. She had let her irritation get the better of her, and gone and goaded the duke into… something. What had she done, she thought nervously, as his hand lingered at the small of her back. He paused, taking a fresh glass of champagne for her, giving her a measuring look with one eyebrow arched. She took the glass, hitched her courage back into place, and stepped brazenly toward the assembled guests. How difficult could this be?

The answer to that question depended on how one looked at it, she thought some time later. A great many people stopped them, but ordinary good manners seemed sufficient to satisfy them. No one seemed to want to ask too many direct questions about her background or their apparent marriage, although Hannah was sure many were dying to know. But they didn’t ask, and she didn’t volunteer. The duke never left her side, his hand at her waist or on her elbow at all times.

He was the other side of the question. Although his manner remained formal, there was much more easiness to him than she had ever seen. He smiled at her. He introduced her as his darling. He listened when she spoke, as if he cared to hear what she had to say. He was actually being nice to her, and Hannah almost wished she hadn’t provoked him to do it. She was finding it far too enjoyable.

Something must have addled her brain, she told herself in disgust. The man was simply being nice because he wanted to fool everyone. He wasn’t being solicitous because he cared if she had enough wine, or if she wished to sit down. He was acting, just like she was, Hannah told herself, even as she wondered how much she
was
acting. She certainly didn’t feel aware of changing her behavior, although perhaps that was due to the champagne. She wasn’t used to drinking more than one glass of wine.

Still, she felt a wave of relief when she excused herself to the powder room. An elegant salon had been set aside for the ladies, and she relaxed into a quiet corner. It seemed they had been here for hours; her hair was falling down and her feet were rather sore even though they had yet to dance. Hannah loved to dance, and the dance master Rosalind had hired had only had to teach her a few dances. Hannah had to admit, she was looking forward to dancing. The thought of the duke taking her in his arms, looking down at her with his curious little smile, sent a shiver through her that she refused to analyze. She opened her eyes and began to fix her hair.

“Did you see how plain she is?” hissed a voice from the other side of the screen as Hannah tried to poke her unruly curls back into the pins Lily had so ex-perdy secured them with.

“Not a single pearl,” said another voice, delightedly scandalized. “Not a one!”

“But Exeter hasn’t left her side all night,” said a third voice. Hannah’s fingers slowed as she began paying attention in spite of herself. “He must see something in her.”

“A drab little mouse,” sniffed the first voice. “She looks terribly old.”