What A Gentleman Wants (23 page)

Without thinking he glanced down at her. It was un-settling, that she hadn’t filled in the silence with mindless chatter, like every other woman he knew would have done. He hated chattering women, but somehow this was even more disturbing. He felt as though his thoughts must be audible to her, that she was quiet because she was listening in on the torment in his mind.

She glanced up as he stole another look at her. For a moment their eyes met, before her lashes fell. Marcus jerked his own eyes to the front, his heart thumping erratically as he realized he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was always the one who turned aside; she walked away from him on the Throckmor-tons’ steps when all he could think about was kissing her, and she stopped him in the library when all he could think of was making love to her. What in God’s name was happening to him?

He had to stop this. He was a duke, a man of reason and responsibility and control. He would not act like a besotted fool over any woman. He could not. He must not.

In the kitchen he deliberately stayed back, watching as she stirred up the fire and hung a kettle over it. She moved around the room as if she knew it well. Marcus was quite sure Rosalind would never come down to the kitchen at midnight to make her own tea, and he was positive ladies like Susannah wouldn’t even know where to find their kitchens. But Hannah appeared very much at ease here, just as she had appeared at ease in the Throckmortons’ ballroom.

“Would you like some biscuits?” she asked, cutting into his thoughts.

“Er, no. Thank you.” He stepped back out of her way as she set out a teapot and measured out the tea. It wasn’t the polished silver teapot normally used for tea. It must be the servants’ crockery, he realized in surprise. What an odd turn his life had taken lately. Who would have guessed the duke of Exeter would be sitting in his kitchen in the middle of the night, drinking tea out of stoneware cups?

“Do you come to the kitchen often?” he asked, still adjusting to the thoroughly novel concept of being there himself. She smiled ruefully, pouring the water into the teapot.

“Oh, no. I think the cook’s heart couldn’t bear the strain. But I was accustomed to doing it at home, and—” She stopped abruptly. “Do you take sugar with your tea?”

“Yes,” he murmured. He followed her lead and took a seat at the long wooden table, its top worn smooth from years of use. She sat opposite him, preparing his tea before handing it across the table. Home. What was her home like? What had her life been like? He sipped his tea without tasting. What had her marriage been like? For the first time, Marcus admitted he was curious. “What was your home like?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She smiled and shook her head. “Nothing like yours. Very small and plain, but cozy.”

No one would ever call Exeter House small or plain. Marcus suddenly wondered if she liked it, or preferred small and cozy. “Do you miss it?”

“Home?” The question seemed to fluster her; she picked up her tea with a jerk, then set it down. “Well, yes, at times. But I won’t be returning to the vicarage in any event, so there’s no point in missing it.”

Ah. The vicarage. Home of the late vicar. Her husband. Marcus took another great swallow of tea, damning his own curiosity. “What was he like? Your husband.”

“Stephen?” Her face softened, and an unfamiliar feeling squeezed his stomach. “He was kind, and generous, and gentle. Understanding, almost to a fault, and so very patient.” Unlike him in every way. Marcus stared at his tea and sighed. “He came to Middlebor-ough when I was sixteen,” she went on. “He was only twenty, and the previous vicar had been there for over forty years. Stephen worked hard to win the people over, working in the fields, helping with the sick, always willing to lend a hand. Everyone realized soon what great fortune it was to have him in our town.”

“Including you.”

“Of course. My mother died when I was ten, and I had two younger brothers to care for. Stephen would often walk me home from town. I got very lazy, counting on him to help carry my baskets.” She smiled as if remembering, and that strange squeezing inside him grew tighter, almost painful. “When I was eighteen, he asked me to marry him, but my father wouldn’t allow it until I turned twenty.”

“Why not?”

“If I left, there would be no one to cook, and clean,” she said with a rueful smile. “But finally he relented, when my brothers convinced him I might never get another offer, and he might be stuck with me forever.”

He couldn’t imagine her not getting another offer of marriage. And of course she had, from David— which she had accepted. Why was he even asking these questions, Marcus wondered morosely. He ought not to have come. Nothing good could come of his curiosity about her home and family and husband. The less he knew of her and her life, the better, he told himself. “I see,” he said.

Hannah fussed with her teacup, hideously torn. The conversation seemed to have ground to a halt. Perhaps she should respect that and drink her tea in reserved silence. But she didn’t want to be reserved at her nightly tea, she wanted to be herself after a day spent pretending to be a duchess. She wanted to be… friendly with the duke, she told herself, shying away from anything else. If they had to continue this pose for several more weeks, they might as well try to get along. Crossing her fingers that this wouldn’t earn her another scolding for unduchesslike behavior, and that the glimmer of interest he’d betrayed wasn’t just a few polite questions, she took a deep breath.

“But the more I see of London, the more I like it. There’s ever so much more happening here than in Middleborough. Molly is just delighted with everything in Exeter House.”

“Indeed.” His grim expression lightened. “Although hardly designed for children, I recall Celia loved it as well.”

Hannah smiled. “The secret passages and hidden cupboards! I imagine every child would like them.” She paused, considering. “Why are there so many in the house?”

“One can only suppose my ancestors had something to hide,” he said dryly. Hannah glanced up, caught the telltale twitch of his mouth, and burst out laughing. “I believe one proud Exeter hid an entire battalion in the bowels of Ainsley Park,” he went on. “In case Cromwell had decided to cross him again.”

Then as now, the duke of Exeter brooked no opposition. Hannah repressed her smile. “I didn’t know Ainsley Park had hidden passages as well. That may be the only thing Rosalind hasn’t told me about.”

“Oh?”

“Goodness, yes. She’s very fond of the place.” She chuckled. “Of course, Rosalind is under the impression I shall live there—that is, that we shall…” She stopped, wishing she’d not.said that.

“Ah.” The duke looked into his tea. “I see.”

Rosalind had told Hannah she was already making plans to remove to the Dower House, that she hoped to remain near enough to see Hannah and Marcus a great deal, not to mention their future children. Rosalind was quite sure the duke would resume his residence there, now that he was married and would soon have a growing family to house. He cannot raise children in London, she’d exclaimed. “She’s certain you’ll take up residence there, now that you’re married,”‘ Hannah said carefully.

His mouth twisted. “Rosalind wants this supposed marriage to succeed.”

That was true. No one knew it more than Hannah, who had to endure all Rosalind’s matchmaking. She wondered if he knew about it. “You’re very fortunate to have a stepmother who loves you so,” she said instead.

One corner of his mouth hitched upward. “Yes. So I keep telling myself. It’s impossible to be angry at her whilst I remember she only wants me to be happy.”

“She’s harangued you as well?” Hannah asked without thinking. He glanced up, eyebrows raised, and she flushed deep red. “That is, I—I knew she had spoken to you about the Throckmorton ball, but… but I didn’t know… or rather, didn’t expect that she would have… said… more.” She stopped, wishing she had done so sooner.

“She has most definitely said more. I misspoke earlier; she wants
us
to be happy, and is determined to do anything and everything to achieve that end.” He paused, watching her with an odd expression. “She’s spoken to you, then?”

“You have no idea,” said Hannah honestly. The duke would be livid if he knew half of what Rosalind had confided about him and his affairs. “The only one worse is Celia, but at least Celia confines herself to singing your praises, and not to advising me on the best way to—” Again she stopped, horrified at the way her mouth was running on ahead of her brain. She had almost told him Rosalind was urging her to seduce him!

“The best way to what?” he asked.

Hannah ducked her head and concentrated on stirring her tea. “Have a happy marriage,” she mumbled.

After a second he seemed to understand. He coughed once, then again, and finally murmured, “Indeed,” in a rather strange voice.

“It’s part of the reason she’s ordered so many new clothes,” Hannah blundered on. “The only way to distract her is by shopping.”

“She seems to have combined her efforts, then.”

For a moment Hannah blinked at him in confusion, still distracted by remembered conversations with Rosalind about fulfilling her marital duties. Then realization hit her, with a bloom of heat low in her belly. It was the same feeling she’d had when he brought her the first ball invitation and had seen her in her half-stitched gown. Her skin seemed to tingle and tighten with awareness of the two thin layers of silk that were all that covered her. They covered her rather well—she hadn’t been daft enough to wear one of the more daring negligees—but it was one more thing she didn’t need to think about.

Refusing to let herself avoid the issue, trying to keep the conversation on a friendly but not too friendly track, she gave a slight shrug. “You did tell me not to argue with her.”

“And on this you decided not to defy me,” he said wryly.

She widened her eyes. “How dare you imply that I’ve been obstinate and uncooperative.”

“Have I implied that?” He frowned. “If I have, I apologize. I should have said reluctant and unwillingly cooperative.”

That’s much better,“ she replied at once. ”If I’m to be accused of something, let it be the right thing.“ She sipped her tea, meeting his startled eyes over the rim of the cup. She winked, and grinned.

“I see.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Then let me add to that judgment the far greater point that you have been remarkably persuasive in your role.” Hannah only just kept her mouth from falling open in surprise, which seemed to amuse him. He lifted his cup to her in salute and inclined his head.

“Why—why, thank you,” she said, flustered. “I’ve done my best to follow directions…”

“Or not, as the mood may take you,” he murmured. She blushed.

“I have
tried
to keep my word.”

He hesitated. “Has it been every bit as dreadful as you feared?”

She wasn’t sure if he were laughing at her or not. “I never feared it would be dreadful.” Well, she had, but she had thought he would be the dreadful part. “I’ve come to like Rosalind and Celia a great deal,” she rushed on. “Molly and I shall miss them both very much.”

“Ah.” Marcus tried to fight a rush of disappointment. He’d almost forgotten that part of the bargain. He was becoming rather accustomed to her presence, he realized; he even liked it. His life would return to the well-ordered, monotonous existence he’d always had when she left, and he would no longer be distracted from everything else by the way she put her head to one side and smiled that wry little smile, as if she were amused by some secret joke only the two of them knew. He would no longer sit and stare out his window when he should be working, wondering what was so entertaining in the garden that he could hear her laughing all the way in his study. He would no longer find himself coming home at odd times just to see what she was up to at the moment.

But he couldn’t forget that she was leaving, not when she obviously hadn’t forgotten. She was already thinking of how she would miss Celia and Rosalind. Not him. “They’ll return to Ainsley Park in Kent for the winter,” he said. “London is quite deserted once the weather turns cold.”

She fiddled with her teacup. “But you shall not go with them?”

He shook his head, watching the way the candlelight gleamed on her loose hair. “No. I visit for the Christmas season only.”

She looked up. Her skin was radiant and golden in the dim kitchen. “Why only then?”

He shrugged. “Ainsley Park is Rosalind’s home. I don’t wish to intrude on her.”

Hannah glanced at him in surprise as she refilled their cups. Ainsley Park, of course, belonged to him, not to Rosalind. “I—I thought it was your home as well. Rosalind told me you were raised there.”

“I was. But it was my father’s favorite residence; when he married Rosalind, he brought her there. David and I were soon sent off to school, and…” He stopped. “Then after my father’s death, responsibility kept me in London more often than not.”

That wasn’t quite what she had expected to hear. The responsibility, yes, and no doubt it was true. Hannah knew how much work it took to run a modest farm and a small cottage. She could only imagine the effort it must take to keep an estate the size of Exeter running—and not just running, but running smoodrly and serenely.

It struck her then that she and the duke weren’t so different after all. She had married a man she didn’t know to avoid living where she would be out of place, while he merely ceded possession of his main estate. She knew from Rosalind that the previous duchess had died when the duke and David were five, and that Rosalind had married their father when the boys were only ten, and Rosalind a mere eight years older. Perhaps it had been hard for two boys to feel included in their father’s new family, especially once Celia was born.

She ducked her head and stirred her tea. “I can understand that.” She smiled wistfully, adding a small lump of sugar to her cup. “I didn’t want to live with my father and his new wife, either.”

His brows went up. “Indeed.”

She flushed. “Yes. I was to move back to his house when… when I met David.” That caught his interest; she could practically hear the air crackle with it, could almost feel it in his intense, direct gaze. He didn’t ask, but Hannah took a fortifying breath and told him. “That was why I accepted David’s offer, you know. Molly and I would have been an unwanted burden on my father, who was recently remarried. David offered me a marriage of convenience that was, well, too convenient to refuse. I did so want to remain in control of my own household.” She raised her eyes and looked around the massive kitchen, finer than the one she had left in the vicarage, and thought of all the elegance and finery beyond it. Her lips quivered. “Obviously I miscalculated a trifle.” He sat frozen, stiff and still. She leaned forward, letting her amusement show more plainly. “I’m not very much in control of anything, am I?” she confided with a laugh.