Slightly Scandalous (19 page)

She stared at him. "Promise me you will not be persuaded to come to Lindsey Hall," she said. "This needs to be ended now-as soon as possible after tonight."

"You are afraid," he asked softly, rubbing his nose over hers again and teasing her lips with his own, "that you will not be able to resist my body much longer?"

She tutted. "I have never in my life met such a conceited man," she said.

"I am mortally afraid," he said, "that I will not be able to resist yours."

He meant it too. Having Lady Freyja Bedwyn in bed, he suspected, would be the sensual experience of a lifetime. Unfortunately, he would never know for sure. She was a lady-an aristocrat. She was out of bounds. But a betrothal, he was finding, even a fake one, was setting severe temptation in his way. In hers too, it appeared-despite her words she was making no concerted effort to get away from him.

"I could begin the feast here," he said, nibbling at her lips with his teeth, "and work my way down to your toes. Toes are a marvelously erotic part of the anatomy. Did you know that?"

"I did not," she said firmly, drawing her head back a few inches to glare at him. "And this is quite improper talk. You are laughing at me. Your eyes give you away every time."

"Do they, sweetheart?" He dipped his head to nuzzle her neck where it joined her shoulder. She hunched the shoulder and tipped back her head. Her fingers twined in his hair and clutched it. "And do they also tell you that I might never reach your toes? I might be distracted by something altogether more erotic halfway down."

He heard breath hiss into her. This might be the moment to protect his nose from acquiring a bend of its own, he thought, but when he lifted his head he could see that her lips were parted and her eyes heavy-lidded. She did not have fisticuffs on her mind, then.

"We ought not to be here," she said. "We ought to be with your grandmother's guests. They will wonder where we are."

"They will think that we are stealing a few moments for ourselves," he told her. "They will be charmed."

She moved her head forward then, closing her eyes as she came, and kissed him fiercely on the lips, opening her mouth, opening his, and invading him with her tongue.

She had both arms coiled about his neck and he had both hands splayed over her buttocks when the door opened.

"Ah," the cold, rather languid voice of the Duke of Bewcastle said as Joshua opened his eyes, lifted his head, and slid his hands up to a more decorous position on either side of her waist, "here you both are."

He stepped into the room and closed the door quietly behind him as Lady Freyja spun around, flushed and slightly disheveled.

"Do you ever think of knocking, Wulf?" she demanded haughtily.

He raised his eyebrows and looked faintly surprised. "No," he said after pausing to give her question some consideration. "A servant directed me here."

Freyja was horribly embarrassed-partly because she had launched herself with such lascivious intent at the marquess, partly because Wulf had walked in and caught her at it. It was only after the marquess had moved his hands that she had realized where they had been. And of course they would have been in full view to Wulf-she had had her back to the door.

She glanced down hastily but was reassured to find that the low bodice of her gown still covered everything it had been designed to cover. Now, she thought crossly, she was going to look doubly pathetic in a few days' time when this farce was all over.

Wulfric had not come to drag her back to the party by the hair, it seemed. He settled into one of the gilded chairs, rested his elbows on the arms, and steepled his fingers-a characteristic pose when he had something of some import to say.

"Sit down, Freyja," he said, indicating the other chair before joining his fingertips again. "I understand that there was a great deal more at play during the infamous ball at the Upper Rooms one week ago than presented itself to general observation."

Freyja, seating herself and feeling the marquess come to stand behind and slightly to one side of her chair and set a hand on the back of it, suddenly felt no doubt at all that Wulfric knew everything.

"It would appear," he continued, "that quite unknown to most of the guests present, there was an unseemly rush to win the race over which of two betrothals, both involving the same gentleman, was to be announced first. Am I correct in this assumption, Hallmere?"

There was a predictable thread of laughter in the marquess's voice when he answered.

"Not exactly," he said, "though according to my cousin Constance, the marchioness was hoping to advance our apparent courtship to such a degree that an announcement would have seemed superfluous. I preferred to defend myself with offense."

Wulfric leveled upon him the sort of keen, icy look that had most ordinary mortals withering up in the vain hope of disappearing altogether. Freyja did not look to see if the marquess was one of them. She should, she supposed, be feeling enormous relief. The worst part of ending the masquerade-telling Wulf-was to be avoided. She might have guessed that he would discover the truth for himself.

"This betrothal is to end as soon as the Marchioness of Hallmere and her daughter have left for home, I assume?" Wulfric asked.

"With heartfelt thanks to Lady Freyja for saving me from a life sentence and apologies for any inconvenience to her, yes," the marquess agreed.

"It has not been inconvenient, Wulf," Freyja added firmly. "Indeed I agreed gladly to the scheme. And the tedium of life in Bath has been considerably alleviated during the past week."

"During which time you have been enjoying excursions into the hills and surrounding countryside at all hours of the day, alone with a gentleman who is not your betrothed," Wulfric said. "And embracing him."

"That was just tonight," she said. "And on one other occasion," she added for honesty's sake now that the lies had been dispensed with. "You are not going to be gothic about this whole thing, are you, Wulf? I am five and twenty years old. I do not need to be hedged about with chaperones and guardians as poor Morgan does."

He transferred his inscrutable gaze to the marquess.

"Your aunt's prediction, made to me not one hour ago, will prove perfectly correct when you abandon my sister within the coming week," he said. "She will be delighted. Lady Freyja Bedwyn will be humiliated."

"Nonsense, Wulf," she said crossly.

But he did not even deign to look at her. His silver gaze was fixed on the marquess, who chuckled softly.

"Neither of which outcomes is to my liking," he said. "What are you suggesting, Bewcastle? That I marry Lady Freyja after all? I doubt she will have me."

"That-publicly, at least-should be her decision," Wulfric said. "Would you not agree?"

Freyja shot to her feet. "Nonsense," she said again. "I agreed to this scheme because it amused me to do so. I did not do it in order to trap the Marquess of Hallmere into marrying me. I do not want him-or any other husband for that matter."

His eyes were laughing, she saw when she strode past him on the way to the desk. She sat down on the chair behind it, as far from the two men as she could get. How very stupid all this was.

"Perhaps," the marquess said, "we can stage another scene in the Pump Room in a few days' time. Have you heard of the first one, Bewcastle? I am afraid Lady Freyja showed to less than advantage on that occasion. On the next, I can assure you, everyone's sympathy will be with her as she punches me in the nose and invites me to go to hell. Everyone will congratulate her for so publicly freeing herself from her betrothal to a rogue."

Wulfric, Freyja could see as she stared broodingly at him, was not amused.

"The day after tomorrow, Hallmere," he said, "you will accompany Lady Freyja and me to Lindsey Hall, where you will formally make the acquaintance of our family and neighbors. We will have your betrothal properly announced and celebrated. If by Christmas or the spring she has decided that after all she does not wish to join herself in matrimony to you, then the necessary announcement will be made-by me. She will be frowned upon, of course-that cannot be avoided now-but she will not be pitied."

"I believe," the marquess said, turning to glance at her, "Lady Freyja does not wish me to come to Lindsey Hall."

She compressed her lips. How many minutes had passed since she had assured the marquess that Wulf never gave orders to his brothers and sisters? This all sounded very like a firm ducal command to her.

"Lady Freyja will be glad of an escort for the next week or two," Wulfric said. "Her brothers and their wives will be coming to Lindsey Hall, having been invited to attend the christening celebrations for the new grandson of our neighbor, the Duke of Redfield."

Freyja sat bolt upright in her chair. Celebrations for the christening of Kit's son? And she was now trapped into going home, with or without the Marquess of Hallmere? She was going to have to attend? To smile and grin at everyone and pretend to be happy for Kit and the viscountess and the earl and countess?

The marquess had turned to face her fully, his hands clasped behind his back. He was looking far more serious than usual-almost grim, in fact.

"If it is Lady Freyja who is to decide if and when our betrothal is to end," he said, "then it is she who must decide whether I come to Lindsey Hall or not."

She should set him free here and now. Indeed, she should march out into the party right at this moment and make a public announcement of the end of their betrothal. It had been a ridiculous farce from the start. At the same time the marquess could make a public announcement that he was not going to marry his cousin Constance. There would be an end of the whole stupid mess.

With the pathetic humiliation of a broken engagement behind her-news of it was bound to drift homeward sooner or later, probably sooner-she was going to have to attend the christening party for Kit's baby and smile and smile until her face felt permanently stretched.

"You had better come for a week or two, then," she said ungraciously. "We will contrive to quarrel at the end of it-it should not be difficult."

Wulfric got to his feet. "I believe," he said with distant hauteur, "you have neglected Lady Potford's guests for long enough."

He strolled to the door and let himself out without a backward glance.

The marquess looked at Freyja.

"Good Lord," he said.

"Triple damnation," she said.

He grinned and then-quite predictably-laughed.

"So we live to kiss again," he said, waggling his eyebrows and offering her his arm.

"Over my dead body," she assured him, lofting her nose into the air and passing him on her way to the door.

"A cliché unworthy of you, sweetheart," he said. "But I sincerely hope you do not mean it. I would be incapable of enjoying such a kiss-as would you too, of course-and I would hate that for both of us."

CHAPTER XI

Two days later Joshua found himself riding along the king's highway in the midst of the impressively large entourage of liveried coachmen, footmen, and outriders escorting his grace's crested traveling carriage and baggage coach to Lindsey Hall in Hampshire. Who could have predicted the bizarre sequence of events that had brought him to this moment? He could not decide whether he should be quaking with terror or doubled over with helpless laughter.

But he was not a man much given to terror. And watching people in every village through which they passed gawking in awe and bobbing curtsies or pulling at forelocks and the drivers of every vehicle they passed respectfully pulling over to one side of the road until the procession had gone by was endlessly amusing. He could probably behave this way if he wished, he supposed-he was the Marquess of Hallmere, after all. The thought tickled his fancy.

He wished he could share the joke with Lady Freyja. But she, much against the grain, he suspected, was riding inside the leading carriage with the duke. Besides, it was possible that she was so accustomed to this form of travel that she would not see anything humorous about it. He wondered what they were talking about. Probably nothing at all, or else the weather or the passing scenery. Bewcastle had made no further mention of the betrothal since the evening before last.

Joshua was feeling perfectly cheerful as he looked forward to arriving at Lindsey Hall. It was true that he was fairly caught in parson's mousetrap until Lady Freyja in due course decided to set him free. He was entirely at her mercy. But she was a woman who would always play fair even if she also played rough, he believed. Besides, she had no more wish to marry him than he had to marry her. In the meantime he liked her. He had not yet tired of her company. Quite the contrary-he found her conversation and wit and spirit quite as stimulating as those of any of his male friends. And he found her dashed attractive. Maybe too attractive-he was going to have to tread carefully in the coming days or weeks or however long he was expected to stay in Hampshire.

They reached Lindsey Hall during the middle of the afternoon. Joshua followed the carriage through the gates and along a straight, wide avenue lined with elm trees. The house soon came into view at the end of it. It was neither medieval nor Jacobean nor Georgian nor any other single architectural style. It was a mix of many styles and clearly a mansion that had been in the family for generations and "improved" upon and added to many times. The result was surprisingly imposing and pleasing.