Her chest rose and fell. “Give me my book, Barry.”
“Do you know, I don’t believe I shall.”
“Barry,” she warned.
“Given that you threw it at me and all.” Angling away from her to prevent her from grabbing at the leather tome, he flipped through, scanning the pages.
“Lady Lydia prefers a man who can race and hunt. Hmm,” he mused aloud, lifting Meredith’s notes higher out of her reach when she went up on tiptoes. “You should have advised her to find a dog, in that case. That would have saved the lady from a lifetime of misery in marriage to dull Lord Plummer.”
“Stop it this instant.”
He merely flipped the pages, pausing again. “Miss Hartland prefers the pianoforte. A music instructor would save the girl a good deal more misery than a husband.”
Meredith ceased giving in to his very deliberate baiting. She folded her arms at her chest and went absolutely silent, donning the façade of staid matchmaker… but it was too late. She’d already revealed herself to be the same spirited, defiant minx who’d go toe-to-toe with him. And now that she’d revealed as much, it was a secret she couldn’t call back.
Holding her gaze, Barry slowly licked the tip of his finger and snapped a page, turning it noisily. “Continuing on,” he goaded.
And then, he did. Except…
His eyes flared slightly on the page.
Barry lifted his gaze briefly. “Well, now this is interesting.”
Meredith stamped her foot in an angry staccato that grew increasingly frantic, along with the furious color climbing high in her cheeks.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I find interesting?” As a girl, she would have. As a woman, she had far more restraint. It was that restraint he wanted to shake her free of.
“No,” she said simply, tapping away with that foot, hard.
“No?”
At last, she stopped the frenetic movement. “No, because to do so feeds whatever game you play, and as I learned as a child, it is always best to not indulge you in a game, Barry. My answer remains no.”
So, she’d liken him to his childhood days, when they’d played alongside each other in the nursery. Very well… two could play at that game. Holding the book out, he wandered off, presenting her with his back and making a small circle around her chambers. “Barry Aberdeen, the Marquess of Tenwhestle,” he murmured slowly, reading his name in her notes.
Meredith gasped and abandoned all earlier pretense of indifference. She flew over and planted herself in front of him. “Give that to me, now.”
Not taking his eyes off the page, he stepped around her. “His smile is pure magic… when it is not dangerous.”
This time, he allowed himself to pick his head up. “Interesting that I’m the only one who’s granted the familiarity of a first name.” He flashed a half grin. “Makes the compliment all the more personal.”
She set her teeth hard enough that they clicked loudly. “I merely used your first name because I know you.”
Yes, he didn’t doubt that. But ribbing her over it was entirely more fun.
He curved his lips up in another smile. “Is this the one? The purely magical smile?”
Meredith choked. “No,” she strangled out between great gasps for air. She slashed her hands toward the floor. “It is, in fact, neither.”
Barry tapped the book against his leg, teasingly. “Which begs the question…”
She wanted to ask him to clarify. He saw the question in the three little lines furrowing her brow. And yet, she fought herself.
Knowing her as he did, he knew she’d ultimately give in to curiosity, because that impishness, even with the passage of time and life, could not be stamped out of her.
“What?” she gritted between clenched teeth.
“How many other of my smiles have you noted?”
“None,” she squeaked, her cheeks firing crimson. “I’ve noted none.”
“Tsk-tsk. Do you know, Meredith,” he whispered, leaning in, “I find I don’t believe you.” With a wink, he lifted the book once more and read on. “He possesses a quick wit.” Barry waggled his brows. “Witty, am I?”
She made a grab for her book, but he turned, retaining his hold.
Meredith sank back on her heels and settled her hands on her hips. “Infuriating, Barry Aberdeen. You are utterly infuriating and exasperating and obnoxious and—”
“Do you know,” he murmured, making a show of scanning the pages, “I’m not finding that information in here, love.”
“It is for your match,” she said weakly.
His smile slipped as her reminder ushered in the same sharp sting from when his sister had revealed the reason Meredith was, in fact, here. And there it was… written as item three on her list. An item he’d never shared with anyone else, that she’d reduced to just two words on her page. “Enjoys flowers.” He forced himself to turn another grin on her, but this one felt strained to his own muscles. “How very tedious you make it sound.” How very tedious she made him sound.
She grabbed her book, and this time, he made no attempt to intercept her efforts. “Not at all.”
He waited for her to say something else about him… but she didn’t. Meredith simply closed those damning pages and held the pad close, as if it held some other secrets she feared he’d uncover. She eyed him warily and then finally spoke. “I trust you’re going to make this impossible for me, Barry.”
Yes, that was the safest of assumptions. He dropped his hip atop her desk. “My, I’d say you have a low opinion of me,” he said quietly, and her eyes darkened. “If I hadn’t read all those otherwise glowing words you’d written there.” He followed that with another teasing wink.
Meredith tapped her left foot so quickly it was a wonder she hadn’t drilled through the hardwood floor. This time, she didn’t take the bait.
Pity, that.
“There’s nothing wrong with marriage, Barry,” she began.
Oh, good God, surely she didn’t intend to make a case for—
“In fact, it is the natural and inevitable state for any—”
“Ah-ah,” he cut in, raising a hand to stymie the unnecessary defense of matrimony. “I’m well aware what a proper union forged between powerful peers is.” One of duty, with social expectations and future ducal responsibilities taking precedence. One where people were reduced to pawns.
Meredith set her book on the desk, bringing his gaze to an unnoted-until-now etching of initials there.
MD and…
What looked like a heart and…? He narrowed his eyes. Who was the boy whose name she’d marked on that mahogany surface?
“Why don’t we cease playing games, Barry?” she asked crisply, bringing his gaze away from those partially obscured letters beside hers. “Based on your reaction to my role and your ill opinion about marriage, there is no way you’ll allow me to fulfill my responsibilities here.”
The wheels in his mind spun happily on. “On the contrary.”
The lady sprang forward. “Beg pardon?”
It was endearing how her entire body arched toward him and the answers she sought.
“If you are to play matchmaker for me, I expect you’ll allow me to play matchmaker for you.”
She shook her head slowly. In denial? In confusion? Or mayhap both.
Smiling, Barry tapped a fingertip on the top of her book. She followed his hand… and promptly sputtered. “Wh-what? Absolutely not…”
Barry winged an eyebrow.
Clearing her throat, Meredith gave a toss of her plait, and the dark braid bounced at her shoulder. “Not that there is anything wrong with matchmaking. It is simply that I neither want nor require a husband.”
He made to pounce on the hypocrisy of that very statement, but his ears snagged and lingered upon the faintest thread of emotion that slightly husked her voice. “I… see.” Meredith would disavow marriage. She had her secrets, then. Intrigue stirred, a desire to know them. “Either way,” he went on, “I�
�m not looking to matchmake you with a husband.”
Meredith tipped her head, an endearing befuddlement reflecting in her previously shuttered expression. “But you said…”
“That I intend to play matchmaker for you, as well… which I do.” As he spoke, Barry slid closer to her. “You, Meredith Durant, have forgotten how to enjoy yourself and life.” He braced for her denial. Yet, that she didn’t dispute that point spoke more volumes than the entire collection in his family’s libraries. “As such, I’m determined to play matchmaker between you and some activity to occupy you.”
Her mouth moved several times before she got words out. “I have an activity—”
“Other than your work,” he whispered, catching her plait to give it a small tug. Only, now that he had those tightly plaited strands in his fingers, instead of teasing, he found himself stroking the end of her braid between his thumb and forefinger. Soft as silk, with shades of fire woven in the auburn strands.
Meredith’s lips parted, and her lashes fluttered.
Barry brought his mouth close to hers. Desire rolled off her in seductive waves that threatened to take him under in this game he played. A game that had shifted into a moment of something more. “I’m going to help you find pleasure”—her breath hitched—“in life again, Miss Durant.” And it took a force the weight of Atlas’s strength to step away from her.
The breathless minx didn’t blink for several moments. Confusion clouded her eyes. “What?”
Did he imagine the disappointment in her hoarse voice? He thought not.
“A deal. I’ll allow you to serve in your role as matchmaker, and you are to allow me to help you find again what brings you happiness.”
“No,” she said on a rush, her previous defensive, stern-faced edge back up. “I’m not agreeing to this.”
“Then I’m afraid the deal is off, Miss Durant.” He sketched a bow and made for the door.
“Wait,” she called after him. He continued forward, drawing out the moment. “Wait, Barry,” she repeated, a greater stridency in her voice. Her cotton skirts whirred slightly in the quiet as she raced over to join him. “I’ll… allow it if, and only if, your plans for me are scheduled for first thing in the mornings.”
Plans for her. He proved as wicked as the reputation he’d built, for her words conjured a host of images he’d dearly love to bring to life, all of which ended with Meredith Durant in his bed, in his arms. “Scheduled plans?” he drawled. “I do say that rather defies the whole purpose of fun.”
“Barry,” she said warningly.
“First thing,” he allowed.
She tipped her chin. “Six o’clock.”
Ah, the poor chit thought she knew him so well. She expected that he was still the same boy who’d despised rolling out of bed and who’d slept until the afternoon sun crept into the sky. He nodded slowly. “I… suppose I might allow it.”
“No. Mm-mm.” She shook her head. “These are the terms.”
Barry made a show of releasing a long sigh. “Very well, but I only reluctantly agree to the hour. The terrace gardens at six o’clock.”
The chit had no idea he was already ten steps ahead of her.
“And during those times, we’ll discuss possible brides.”
“No,” he said instantly. That was where he drew the bloody line. “My time is not for work, but rather, play.”
“Play.” As if he’d uttered a black curse from the streets of the Dials, Meredith pulled a distasteful grimace. “We do not have much time, Barry.”
“Ah, but you, love, are the best. Are you not?” This time, he did tweak her braid and managed to let the alluring strands go.
“That is neither here nor there.”
“I’ll allow your questions and discussions about my future bride, but only during the planned activities my mother has. That is your window.”
“Fine,” Meredith muttered. “Now, go.” She gave him a slight shove in the way of Meredith of old. “But don’t use the front door.”
“Oh, I know.” He made for the one that linked her chambers to Emilia’s girlhood rooms.
“You know! Which means…” She gasped. “You weren’t leaving. You were bluffing.”
“Indeed,” he drawled, not so much as glancing back as he slipped from the room.
The moment he’d shut the panel, he let the triumphant grin tip his lips.
Poor Meredith Durant. She had no idea she’d just been had. Barry had no intention of finding a wife anytime soon and every intention of teaching the young woman how to have a good time.
Chapter 8
Six o’clock in the morning had been a disastrous idea.
Meredith had not always been an early riser. However, as she’d become a self-made woman, she’d fashioned a strict schedule for herself and had adhered to it with a religiosity. And never before had she struggled to rouse herself.
But none of those times had she had to contend with a night of tossing and turning, pacing and counting sheep. It had all proven futile. Until she’d abandoned all hope of trying and made herself take copious notes on the very person who’d robbed her of sleep—Barry.
She’d been besieged over and over by the memory of a wickedly grinning, grown Barry Aberdeen.
She made her way to the terrace gardens.
He stood, a hip perched against the stone railing as he whistled a cheerful tune, looking very well rested. While his attention was directed out, she used the moment to study him unobserved. Attired in a dark green wool tailcoat and a pair of buff trousers, he was a study in elegance, set apart from every last man who donned black or sapphire. He commanded colors as easily as he had Meredith’s dreams.
Barry abruptly stopped whistling, and she made her feet move just as he turned.
The moment his gaze landed on her, Barry grinned widely, and her heart sped up, for she could almost believe that smile was for her. “At last! I thought you’d reneged on our terms.”
At last…
Because she was, for the first time in her career… late.
“Forgive me, my lord, I’d urgent matters to attend first,” she lied, praying he wouldn’t focus on her bloodshot eyes or the circles lining them that gave her the appearance of a racoon.
“An agreement is an agreement.” Barry straightened. “I’ll expect those minutes to be made up in the evening hours, Miss Durant.”
Miss Durant. It was the first time he’d referred to her in that formal way since their run-in months earlier. And given that she’d been insisting he honor Society’s rules on proper form of address, there was a peculiar twinge at the absence of her name as it had previously fallen from his lips.
Arriving late. Lying. Lamenting the proper use of her surname. It was decided: She’d been corrupted.
He’d corrupted her.
He held an arm out. “Shall we?”
For the first time since she’d entered the gardens, Meredith noted the equipment resting against the wall. “What is this?” she blurted.
“Bah, I know it’s been awhile, Meredith, but with the way you once fished, I trust you’ve not forgotten what a rod is?”
Actually, she hadn’t… She just hadn’t thought of fishing since she’d left Berkshire… In London, there were no lush hills to race over, and the only ponds were artificial ones meant for following one’s charge around. Wistful, she drifted over and touched her fingertips to the fishing rod. When was the last time she had fished? She’d been gone so long from this place, but even before she’d left, she’d become more focused on rushing off to meet a man who’d been exciting in the moment.
How much safer all would have been had she fished instead.
Feeling Barry’s piercing gaze on her, Meredith drew her hand back. “I’m not entirely certain I even remember how to fish,” she said gruffly. “Nor have I ever seen a… rod like that.”
“Ah, but then, that is the purpose of this venture.” He collected the rods in one hand, then offered her his spare arm. “Is it not?”
Meredith curled her fingers, reflexively gripping him.
Yes, corrupted her, indeed.
Whether he noted her appreciation of his form, he gave no indication. He led the way through his family’s gardens onto the paths they’d traveled many times before, usually with him calling after her and Emilia to wait up as he struggled to match their strides. The overgrown brush and trees glistened with the morning dew drops, those beads shining like crystal under the sun’s rays. Every step she took drew her deeper and deeper into the lush landscape, and Meredith briefly closed her eyes and allowed Barry to lead her onward.
She inhaled deeply of the crisp, clean scent of the pristine Berkshire air. When she opened her eyes, she found Barry’s stare upon her.
She felt her cheeks pinken under his scrutiny. “I’d quite forgotten the smell of the country.”
His eyes lingered on her lips, which were too thin to ever appeal to any man. “Beautiful,” he murmured. And her heart quickened, for she could almost believe he’d spoken in that hushed murmur, his eyes still riveted on her mouth, about her.
Not another word passed between them as they made the remainder of the trek to the stream.
Barry set down the basket and poles and then proceeded to unfasten the buttons of his jacket.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Nothing improper, Mare,” he drawled as he shrugged out of the emerald article. “Unless you want me to, of course.”
“No,” she said quickly. Meredith caught the glimmer in his eyes. “You’re teasing.”
“Only if you want me to be,” he murmured, and this time she shivered with an awareness of the promise there.
He set the garment on a stone boulder marked by red paint that had been faded by age and the earth’s elements.
Despite the fact that she was even now alone with one of Society’s notorious rogues—in fact, a client who was disrobing—she was drawn forward. As Barry removed his boots, Meredith sank to a knee and touched her fingertips hesitantly to the rough outline of a heart on the boulder. The initials contained within were faded but for the hint of the M in her name. How very appropriate for that naïve time in her life.
A Matchmaker for a Marquess Page 9