What A Gentleman Wants (18 page)

“Drab, perhaps,” said the third voice, unconcerned. “She looks no older than I, though.”

“Precisely my point! He could have had anyone in London; why would he choose her?”

“She must be carrying,” suggested the second voice. “I’ll wager she seduced him.”

The first woman snorted. “How? What on earth would make Exeter take
her
to bed?”

“The same thing that drives men to make love to governesses and parlor maids,” said the third woman carelessly. “They do it because they can. You should wonder rather what made him marry her.” The first woman cursed and the second woman giggled. “Never mind Exeter; he has a heart of stone anyway, Susannah. Fix on someone you can control. Now, I, on the other hand, have my sights on a certain rogue just returned to town…” Hannah sat motionless as the conversation behind her turned to other people, her drooping hair forgotten. So that was what people thought of her: drab and plain and old, a schemer who trapped a duke into marriage. Suddenly she wasn’t sure she was enjoying the ball so much after all.

“Do you require assistance, madam?” A maid appeared at her elbow, startling Hannah out of her thoughts. “A cup of tea, perhaps?”

“Er…” There was a burst of laughter from the unseen women. Hannah leaped to her feet. “Thank you, no.” She edged past the curtseying maid, not wanting to run into those women, and hurried back to where the duke was waiting for her, at the bottom of the grand staircase.

He was standing, tall and elegant, his eyes moving over the crowd. As she reached his side, he turned, his intense gaze fixing on her. Hannah took his proffered arm, flushing to the roots of her hair, very glad he had stayed by her side all evening, realizing just what he had protected her from. She held her head high and tried to smile graciously at the other guests, whose curious stares now made her feel gauche and awkward and very, very exposed.

“Everyone is talking about us.” The duke shot her a glance.

“Yes,” he said. “The whole reason we attended tonight was to give them something to talk about.”

“They have certainly found something,” she whispered back. “When shall we leave?”

Marcus barely kept from frowning. What was the matter now? Things had gone rather well so far, he thought, much to his surprise. The vicar’s wife had excellent manners, and seemed to lack the propensity to rattle on and on as most women did. He could sense the mood of the room, once seething with curiosity about them, had begun to shift. People were falling for the illusion they were presenting, losing interest in them. This might yet prove to be a wise decision. The evening had been such a success he couldn’t even regret too much missing Grentham and Evans in the card room. “It’s early yet,” he replied. “Supper’s not been served.”

She inched closer to his side. “I wish to leave.”

He couldn’t stop the frown this time, and cut short their circuit of the room to turn her into a sheltered corner. “Why?”

“I’m tired.” He quirked a brow, and she flushed. “I’m tired of being stared at and whispered about. We’ve attended, and made a proper spectacle of ourselves. How much longer must we stay?”

Marcus cut a quick glance around the room. Even tucked back here, people were watching them. He hated it, too, and wasn’t terribly disposed to argue with her about leaving. But it would be pointless to leave early, when public opinion was still undecided. “A little longer,” he said. “We haven’t danced yet”

She blinked up at him with snapping blue eyes. “If you wished to dance, you ought to have said some-thing earlier. What will our dancing do, that hasn’t already been done? I think people have gotten quite an eyeful of your plain, provincial duchess!”

Marcus looked at her. If it had been any other woman, he would have thought she was fishing for compliments. Plain? Whatever else she might be, no one here could think that. He was mildly surprised to realize she was one of the more attractive women in the room, especially animated as she was with anger. Her face was flushed, her full mouth rosy from being pressed into a thin line, and her bosom heaved with every breath. Even her hair was tempting, some of the coal-black curls trailing down her ivory neck, almost as if an impatient lover had mussed her in a frantic kiss… after pulling her into a secluded corner such as this one… An alarm sounded faintly in his head. Perhaps it was time for them to leave after all.

“Ah, cousin! I thought that was you.”

Marcus started out of his thoughts. In front of him, Hannah gasped, her cheeks growing pinker. Marcus instinctively reached for her, pulling her back to his side before turning.

“Good evening, Bentley.”

His cousin laughed. “And a good evening to you, Exeter! I see you’ve brought your duchess out of hiding at last.”

“Indeed.” Marcus had never much liked Bentley, but one couldn’t be rude to family, especially not publicly. “My dear, may I present my cousin, Bentley Reece. Bentley, my wife.”

“How do you do,” she murmured, letting Bentley bow over her hand. Marcus saw how his cousin’s eyes moved over her face and then down, and the interest that sprang into his face. Something visceral and primitive made Marcus want to wipe that interest away. She might not be his real wife, but Bentley didn’t know that. Marcus absolutely refused to sit back and watch his cousin make love to the woman everyone in London thought was his adoring wife.

“What a very great pleasure it is to make your acquaintance,” Bentley was saying to her. “My cousin has long been suspected of being a monk; he’s frustrated many a hopeful young lady. But I see now he was merely biding his time until the loveliest woman of all crossed his path.”

Marcus shot him a black look, but Bentley’s admiring attention never wavered. At his side, Hannah’s hand crept around his arm. “Thank you, sir,” she said, sounding more breathless and flustered than he had heard her sound tonight.

“Felicitations, Exeter,” said Bendey with a roguish smile. “There’s no end to your luck, it seems.” That was Bentley, always ready with a compliment and a subtle jibe. Bendey turned back to Hannah, his avid interest undimmed, particularly in the neckline of her gown. “Might I beg the honor of a dance?”

“So sorry, Bendey, I’ve not even had the honor yet myself,” said Marcus before she could reply. “Do forgive me.”

Bendey laughed incredulously. “Come, man, you’ve not released her the entire evening! Allow the rest of us a chance to appreciate your good fortune, even if only for a waltz.”

On no account did Marcus intend to allow Bentley to get her alone and quiz her. She could say something completely innocent that Bentley would twist around into a shocking little tidbit to scandalize the ton. Bent-ley was a notorious gossip and dandy, and his reputation with married women was even worse than David’s. Marcus was quite sure that Bendey, contrary to implicit rules, would take even greater pleasure in seducing his wife than any other woman, if he were allowed the chance. Marcus absolutely refused to allow it.

“Not tonight,” he said coolly. Thankfully the next dance was beginning, and Marcus gave Bendey a curt nod as he led her toward the dance floor. “One dance, and we can leave,” he murmured in explanation. She nodded, letting him draw her into his arms without protest. She felt soft and supple beneath his hands, and that alarm sounded in his head again, louder and more strident. He forced his eyes away from the stray curl that looped around her ear, tickling her neck.

Hannah kept her eyes fixed on the duke’s top waistcoat button and concentrated on her steps. She liked to dance, and found she liked the waltz, although dancing it with Celia and her dancing master was one thing, and dancing it with the duke another. She tried to take the opportunity to bring her temper back under control, while ignoring how easily his hand spanned her back.

She considered what people in Middleborough would have said if the most eligible man in town had married suddenly. There would have been a great deal of curiosity, to be sure, and some gossip, aldiough not this rabid prying and sniping. She thought so, anyway. She must try to ignore it, Hannah told herself with a philosophical sigh.

“Now,” murmured the duke, interrupting her thoughts, “what happened?”

She lifted one shoulder. “I overheard some gossip.” He arched a brow. “In the retiring room,” she explained.

“Ah.” He swept her around the floor very easily. Hannah stole a peek over his shoulder; people were still staring at them. She raised her head and met the duke’s eyes. “Women,” he said with a wealth of understanding

Hannah waited, but he said no more. When she couldn’t bear it any longer, she asked, “What about women?”

A dry little smile bent his mouth. “You overheard women talking,” he clarified. “No wonder you heard what you did.” She frowned. “More than one woman here wanted to be a duchess. There aren’t nearly enough dukes for them all, let alone unmarried dukes of relative good fortune. It was jealousy you heard.”

Of course. Hannah felt a little bit better. “They did say you could have had any woman in London.” A flicker of irritation crossed his face. That made her feel even better. He didn’t like being gossiped about any more than she did. “They think you chose badly.” He shot her an unreadable look. “Do they.” She nodded. Of course he must be right. She was silly to take it to heart. “One even suggested we must have married only to ensure a legitimate heir.”

The duke paused midstride. “More champagne?” he said abrupdy, pulling her off the floor and lifting his hand at a passing servant. Hannah took the glass he handed her and sipped, even though she’d already had a great deal more than she should have. “May we leave now?” she asked. “We’ve danced.”

“Yes.” The duke drained his own glass. “Absolutely.” Relieved, Hannah took another sip—that champagne was lovely, just lovely—and handed her glass back to the footman. The duke offered his arm with-out looking at her, and they started for the door.

“Good evening, Exeter.” Hannah felt the duke’s arm flex under her hand before she located the speaker. She swung around, too fast, and had to hold on a bit tighter to keep her balance. It was a woman, and she was smiling at him familiarly. An involuntary frown knit Hannah’s brow for a second. She didn’t like the woman for some reason. It wasn’t just the way she was looking at the duke—heavens, no—but there was something else… What was it? She was a very beautiful woman, so fair she seemed like an ice maiden. Her light blond hair was fashionably styled— Hannah could recognize that now—her skin was a creamy white, and even her gown was a pale violet.

Her only fault was her eyes, which seemed to protrude from her head just a bit too much.

Then those eyes moved to Hannah, managing to assess her from head to toe in a single glance, and her smile turned vaguely condescending.

“Good evening,” said the duke in his usual cool, remote voice. “May I present to you my wife. My dear, Lady Willoughby.”

Lady Willoughby’s eyes snapped, but her smile didn’t waver. “Good evening,” she purred, bobbing ever so slightly. “How delightful to meet you.”

The voice did it; Lady Willoughby was the woman in the powder room who thought her plain and old. Something, probably the champagne, cut through Hannah’s restraint with an almost audible snick. She straightened, gripping the duke’s arm, and beamed back at the hateful woman. “Lady Willoughby. How do you do?”

“Very well, thank you.” Lady Willoughby turned back to the duke. “I wanted to offer my congratulations on your marriage.”

“Thank you so much,” said Hannah. “How very kind of you to be so happy for us.”

Lady Willoughby shot her a sharp glance. “Indeed. It was quite a surprise to a great many people.”

Hannah raised her brows and turned to the duke. “Whyever so?”

He appeared caught off guard. “Er—I am not usually hasty.”

Lady Willoughby trilled with laughter. “No, never! Everyone knows Exeter is the very soul of caution and calculation.”

“Oh, dear, are you, darling?” Hannah tipped back her head to give the duke a fond smile. “I must confess, I haven’t seen that side of you.” He seemed frozen, staring down at her as if she’d gone mad. She turned back to Lady Willoughby, enjoying herself a great deal. “I’m so sorry,” she said gaily, “it’s been such a whirlwind”—she tapped her fan on the duke’s arm—“we’re constantly discovering new things about each other.”

Lady Willoughby blinked. Twice. “Yes, of course,” she said in a stilted voice. With a visible effort, she smiled again. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“And yours, Lady Willoughby,” she replied with a smile. The duke’s arm was like iron under her fingers. He was going to blister her ears for this, but she didn’t care, just for the pleasure of putting that sour look on Lady Willoughby’s face.

“If you’ll excuse us, madam,” said the duke, through his teeth from the sound of things.

“Of course,” she replied, in the same manner. “I do hope we shall meet again.” Hannah wanted to giggle at how furious they both sounded. She hadn’t meant to anger the duke, but he had said he wanted people to think theirs a love match. How else did he expect her to persuade people? Especially gossiping people like Lady Willoughby.

Marcus hustled her out of the ballroom as fast as he possibly could. What on earth was she trying to do? In his arm, she hurried along, picking up her skirt and giving him a sparkling glance brimming with laughter. She looked like a woman sneaking away for a passionate rendezvous, and Marcus cast an apprehensive glance behind him. The duke of Exeter did not sneak away, with anyone, for any reason.

But when they reached the front steps and he’d sent a footman running for his carriage, she turned her face up to his, and he suddenly didn’t know if he meant to reprimand her or kiss her. “What are you about?” he settled for asking, annoyed at himself for even considering it, no matter what she looked like in moonlight.

His supposed wife lowered her eyes, although her pleased little smile belied any contrition. “I’m sorry, it was too much to resist. She was so spiteful.” She raised those flawless blue eyes to him. “But it’s what you wanted, isn’t it? I’m just trying to do what you want me to do.”

Marcus took a deep controlled breath. That was not what he wanted her to do, not if he wanted to keep his head. “I asked you to play a proper duchess, not a clinging vine.”