by Amanda Scott
She stared at him, shocked to silence. Then anger took over, filling her, quickening her breathing, and sending hot flames to her cheeks. Gritting her teeth in an attempt to hold her tongue long enough to think, she glared at him, struggling to control herself. But when that gleam of mockery she disliked so much flashed into his eyes, she lost control. “You do not know what you are talking about,” she said. “You, of all people, a spoiled son of a duke, brought up to think yourself the grandest among the grand. Who do you think you are, Marquess? You think that title of yours gives you the right to do as you please and to order others as you choose! And when someone does something not by your command, you come the great lord over them. Well, you are not so great, sir. You will not command me. Why, you scarcely know me, so how can you make such dreadful accusations? And what do you think you are doing now?” The look in his eyes as he advanced sent a tremor up her spine. “Stay back, Thorne!”
“I do know you, Gillian.”
“No! I warn you, I will not—”
But she could say no more, for he had snatched her into his arms, given her a shake, and silenced her with his lips. His anger turned swiftly to a passion she could not withstand, for it left her breathless, and the heat of his lips against hers came as such a shock to her that she did not even try to struggle to free herself. The heat of his kiss seemed to radiate through her entire body, kindling her nerves to life and putting every word she had wanted to say to him straight out of her head.
His hands were clutching her upper arms and suddenly he thrust her away from him, releasing her, then standing and glaring at her almost, she thought, as if he hated her.
She stared back at him, raising the back of one fist to her lips, pressing it against them as if she could thus cool them. Instead it merely strengthened the memory of his lips against hers. She felt tears in her eyes and wanted to brush them away, but she couldn’t seem to move at all.
At last Thorne said grimly, “You’ve got physical courage, Gillian. I can certainly attest to that. But you lack the courage of your convictions. I can prove you don’t know what you’re talking about, that in fact you despise the only person you know who truly does always speak plainly to you.”
“I don’t! Who?”
“Your stepmother.”
The tears spilled over then, but they left him unmoved, and when she brushed them away he was gone.
10
GILLIAN TRIED NOT TO think about Thorne and succeeded for as much as an hour at a time in diverting her thoughts to other matters. She discovered that she had become overnight an object of extreme curiosity to the beau monde, and she had all she could do to smile and make polite conversation when it was necessary. Since she had assumed that the Langshire ball had been canceled, she was not at all prepared to learn the following week from Lord Dawlish that although the duchess had postponed it a week, she had decided to go ahead with the ball. Nor was Gillian glad to learn when she received her invitation the very next day that both Estrid and Dorinda expected her to attend it with them.
“But of course you must go, Gillian,” Dorinda exclaimed the afternoon before the ball. “If you do not, I shall have to spend the entire evening explaining to people why you did not, and goodness knows what I can say to them!”
“There can be no question of your not going,” Estrid said flatly. “As you see, the invitation contains not the least mention of any betrothal, so there can be no good reason for you to offend her grace by refusing to attend.”
“I have no wish to offend her,” Gillian said, striving to remain calm, “but surely you must see that to attend would be an intolerable strain for me, ma’am.”
“Not at all,” Estrid said. “You pride yourself on your breeding, miss. Let us see some of it now, if you please.”
With the memory of Thorne’s upbraiding still perfectly fresh in her mind, the rebuke struck home in a painful way, and when she received a kind note from the duchess, assuring her that her presence was desired and that all care would be taken to ensure her tranquility and to disarm any gossipmongers, Gillian knew that only a person of extreme ill-breeding would refuse to go.
The week passed all too swiftly, for there were any number of activities to fill the time. She did not see Thorne, but she saw Corbin, Crawley, and Dawlish. All three paid frequent calls, clearly intent upon raising her spirits but diplomatically silent about Thorne. Dorinda mentioned him frequently enough, bemoaning the fact that they did not see him, but Estrid did not speak of him at all. Indeed, the countess seemed to be in a world of her own. She was clearly enjoying her sojourn in the city, and twice that week was known to have gone out again after they had all returned to the house for the night. As for the earl, they saw little of him, for he spent most of his time at his club.
The night of the ball, Gillian stood quietly while Meggie helped her don her dress, a delicious confection of white crape, draped with an Indian sash that was richly embroidered in purple and gold and drawn up at the left with gold tasseled cording. Her bodice and train were likewise embroidered with purple and gold, and Meggie arranged her hair in braids and loose curls, ornamented with three gilded feathers on a narrow white satin band. But even knowing that she was looking her best did nothing to quell the butterflies flitting wildly in Gillian’s stomach.
There was nothing to distress her in her reception at Langshire House. The duke and duchess and their son each greeted her in the same manner as they greeted their other friends. Why she should find it impossible to look Thorne in the eye she could not imagine. And why she should be irritated when without so much as a glance at her he led another damsel out for the first dance she did not know either. She did not want to create a stir by dancing with him herself, but discovering that the damsel in question was his cousin Dawlish’s sister, who had recently announced her forthcoming marriage to an eminently suitable young man, did nothing to assuage Gillian’s annoyance. Nor did it help to see that his next partner was Belinda Crawley, for Crawley’s sister was an exceptionally pretty girl, and Gillian was glad to see her claimed at once afterward by the wealthy Lord Dacres.
The Langshire ball vied in brilliancy and numbers with any given that Season. The company consisted of above two hundred persons, including such notables as the Prince of Wales and Mr. Charles James Fox, notable politician and incurable gossip; and, at the conclusion of the third dance, five supper rooms were thrown open to reveal tables displaying a profusion of every delicacy in season. After supper, the dances would be resumed, to continue until nearly five o’clock in the morning.
Gillian danced every dance, but she did not enjoy herself much and found it difficult to pretend to be in good spirits. She smiled obediently when Dawlish told her an amusing story, and responded appropriately each time she was asked to dance, but she had all she could do to keep her gaze from drifting in the wake of a tall, dark-haired man who seemed to dance in turn with all the prettiest young women in the room, including her stepsister. Corbin was not there, but Crawley appeared just after the supper rooms were thrown open to invite her to take supper with him, and she was nearly betrayed into looking around before she agreed.
He smiled. “Don’t say no, I beg you. I have my heart set upon dining in your company. Moreover, my mama will insist that I take my sister down if you do not take pity on me, and that would destroy a reputation I have been at great pains to create.”
That drew a smile from her. “Would it indeed, sir? I think you must be trying to bamboozle me, for I saw you approach my sister Dorinda before you came to me.”
He smiled. “I hadn’t a chance with her, however, for Corbin was before me, and despite his foppish attire, he has nearly as nasty a right as Josh has, so I didn’t like to interfere. But you see before you a very sad fellow. Lady Gwendolyn Darcy, on whom I had pinned my fondest hopes, has most unfortunately cast her handkerchief to a fellow from Perth, of all unlikely places, and means to set up housekeeping in Scotland. You don’t happen to know of any other heiress who might suit me,
do you?”
Certain he was teasing, she chuckled and said, “I know of only one, sir, a wealthy widow in Exeter to whom my uncle paid court for a time, but she must be at least in her mid-sixties.”
“Why, that is of no account, ma’am. Only tell me what she is worth, and if it is more than two thousand pounds per annum, I shall bid you adieu at once and take the first coach to Exeter.”
“Good gracious, sir, are you as hard up as that?”
“Worse,” he said glumly. “My estates are so weighed down with debt that they’ll soon slip right out of Nottingham and sink beneath the fens of Lincolnshire. Even my tailor has begun to press me to pay my bills, and one’s tailor is very nearly the last one to dun a man, you know. I promised I would encourage all my friends to patronize him, but the damned fellow had the cheek to tell me he didn’t want them, having no doubt they would be just as remiss in their payments as I am.”
“Well, that was very unkind,” Gillian said. “He cannot even know all your friends, and surely some of them would pay. There is a table over there, sir,” she added with a nod.
“So there is,” he said, moving to hold a chair for her. “I will leave you here and see what refreshments are offered, shall I?”
He was gone but a few moments, and in that time she tried to convince herself that she was not hopefully watching passing couples. When he returned and she still had not seen Thorne, she decided that the marquess must have chosen another supper room.
Crawley put a loaded plate down in front of her and seated himself, saying in a different sort of voice from the casual one he usually employed with her, “You won’t see him, ma’am. He is under strict orders to give you a wide berth tonight.”
Startled, she looked at him, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “I ... I wasn’t. That is ...”
His smile was warmer than she had ever seen it before. He said quietly, “He has been the very devil of late, ma’am, playing deep and drinking deeper. Thought you ought to know. That is, Mongrel thought so. Corbin warned him to keep his fingers out of the pie, but for once I agree with Mongrel. Josh has been a vastly different fellow since you entered his life, ma’am. All his friends were sorry when you cried off.”
“Has he told you the truth about us?” she asked abruptly.
“Not much of it,” he said, crooking an eyebrow. “He said only that he had met you once before he read of his betrothal to you and that he thought you had cause to be grateful to him.”
“I did, indeed,” she said with a reminiscent smile. “He was most fortunately at hand to rescue me when I was cut off by the tide. He did not tell me his true name, however.”
“Baron Hopwood!”
“Yes. We were both very wet afterward, because there was a storm, and so when we returned to my home, he did not stay to meet my family. I told everyone about his kindness, and someone who did not believe the tale placed that announcement in the South Devon Gazette, never dreaming it would go any further. When it did, Thorne came to Devon, as you know, to straighten things out. His father ... that is ...” She hesitated, uncertain whether she ought to say any more.
“You needn’t explain,” Crawley said gently. “I have known both Mongrel and Josh since we were lads together at Eton, and I know the duke’s temper. Josh has been in his black books once or twice before, you see, and I daresay it was made quite plain to him this time that there was to be no scandal.”
She nodded. “I saw at once that a false betrothal would not answer, but Thorne refused to allow me to cry off, and now that I have done so, he is furious with me. Well, you know that, of course. I daresay he is unaccustomed to having his will crossed by anyone,” she added forlornly, “let alone by a mere female.”
“Aye, he is that,” Crawley said. His demeanor was thoughtful, and his attention seemed to have wandered.
Dorinda and Dawlish came up to their table then to ask if they wanted to stroll with them in the garden, putting an end to further confidences. When they returned to the house, Gillian’s hand was claimed at once for a cotillion, and she forced herself from then on to keep her attention on her various partners. Not until Dawlish approached her again in the small hours of the morning did she feel able again to relax her guard.
“Mind if we sit this one out?” he asked. “My feet hurt and I’d give a fortune for a proper drink. Been gabbling for hours. My voice has well nigh dried up and disappeared.”
“I do not mind in the least, sir. In fact, I should welcome a glass of lemonade. I believe there are still refreshments in the little supper room off the gallery.”
“Oh, Lord, yes,” he said. “One thing about my aunt is she don’t starve her company. We’ll find anything we might want.”
They met Thorne coming out of the little room, and to Gillian’s amazement, her stepsister clung to his arm. Dorinda was laughing at something he had said, but she drew up in surprise and said, “Why, hello, Gillian, I wondered where you had got to. I declare, I’ve not laid eyes on you since we left you alone in the garden with Crawley.”
Thorne had been gazing into space, but at these innocent words his eyes focused sharply, and Gillian thought for a moment that he would speak to her, and curtly at that. She held her breath in anticipation, but he said only, “You still here, Mongrel? Thought you’d have run along home hours ago.”
“Not such a cawker as that, dear boy,” his cousin said mildly, adding in an even more casual way, “Matter of fact, we were just chatting about the masquerade to be held at Ranelagh next week. Crawley and I are getting up a party, you see, and Lady Gillian is going with us. Care to join us?”
Dorinda said quickly, “It sounds like a delightful party, and we shall be delighted to join you, I’m sure, but just now you must excuse us, for Thorne has promised to show me some new steps for a Scotch reel, and I hear the music beginning. We must hurry, Thorne, or we’ll not find a single place left in the set.”
Thorne bowed, his harsh gaze sweeping across Gillian in such a way that she had all she could do not to tremble. When they had gone, there was a moment’s silence before Dawlish said, “He’s three parts gone, you know. It is to be hoped he don’t trip over her whilst he’s trying to show her those dashed fool steps.”
Gillian giggled, then clapped a hand to her mouth. “I beg your pardon. I cannot think what came over me. One would think that I, rather than his lordship, had been at the wine.”
“Daresay it ain’t just wine, ma’am,” he observed with a sour grin. “More like to be brandy, and a good deal of it. Got a head like a damn mule, Josh has, and he can behave like one, too, when he’s had a bit over the mark.”
They went into the supper room. Discovering that they had it to themselves and remembering what he had said before, Gillian said, “You ought not to have said that about the masquerade, sir. We had not talked of any such thing, as you know very well.”
“Oh, we hadn’t talked of it yet,” he said, grinning at her. “I meant to speak to you, however. We—that is, Corbin, Crawley and I—decided a few days ago that it would be the very thing. That is to say, we thought it would be fun to get up a party to go to the public festival at Ranelagh next week. Think of it—concert, fireworks, and a grand masquerade—and you may repose complete faith in us to protect you from any untoward experience. You will enjoy it hugely, ma’am. Do say you will go with us.”
Gillian had already reproached herself for letting Crawley see that she wore her heart on her sleeve. She would not make the same error with Dawlish. Knowing she owed it to herself and to her kind protectors not to mope herself to death, she agreed at once that she would be delighted to accompany them to Ranelagh, adding only, “If my stepmother does not disapprove.”
“Oh, she won’t do so,” Dawlish said with another grin. “We aim to invite her to go, and your uncle as well, ma’am. ’Tis to be a family party. Why, I mean to invite some of my relations, and Crawley means to invite his mama and Belinda.”
“Then I can scarcely say no, can I?” Gillian said. Dawl
ish hadn’t said as much, but his last, rather airy speech and the memory that he liked to be helpful led her to think he and his friends meant to encourage the marquess to attend the masquerade too. She tried to think of a grand costume to wear, one that would make him stare, but Dawlish, coming to Park Street to inform her that plans for his party were well in hand, shook his head and laughed when she asked for advice about a costume.
“No use in going to such a bother,” he said. “These public masques are always such crushes that it don’t do to be going to a lot of trouble. Most ladies carry loo masks and wear dominoes over ordinary evening gowns. You have no notion what a nuisance a grand costume can be if it don’t let you sit down comfortably. There is to be a concert as well as the dancing, you know, and one always likes to wander about the gardens. Take my advice and wear what will be most comfortable.”
Dorinda, coming into the drawing room in time to hear the comment, laughed and said, “Oh, yes, I mean to wear only a silk domino over one of my white muslins. You ought to do the same, Gillian. The nights have turned warm, you know, and you will not want to be bothered carrying a shepherdess’s crook or any such thing. Merely carrying one’s indispensable is trouble enough.”
Gillian allowed herself to be overborn, particularly since her uncle also declared that costumes were a nuisance. “Take my word for it, girl,” he said the next day in the morning room when she raised the subject, “the men who wear costumes won’t be gents, and you won’t want to make a figure of yourself if the other ladies in your party don’t mean to wear them. Your stepmama won’t wear one, surely, and nor will the duchess.”