But it wasn’t Lord Devonmont whom she practically ran into as she and Virginia entered the ballroom. It was the Duke of Lyons.
“Well, if it isn’t Lady Celia,” he said with his usual dukely reserve. “And Lady Gabriel, too. What a pleasure.”
Both women dropped into curtsies.
“Come now, let’s not stand on ceremony. I’ve known you both since you were in leading strings.”
“True,” Celia remarked. Gabe and Virginia’s late brother Roger had been close friends to the duke when he was still a marquess. “And you and I have also been in shooting matches together a time or two.”
His manner cooled a fraction. “We have indeed.”
Oh, dear, since she always beat him, she probably shouldn’t have mentioned that. No man liked to be reminded of such failures.
He glanced about the great hall, which was devoid of music at the moment. “Have I arrived too late for the dancing?”
“I believe the ladies taking turns at the pianoforte are pausing to indulge in some refreshment,” Celia said. “I’m sure they’ll start again soon.”
“I should apologize for my lateness,” he said smoothly. “I had a bit of trouble with my curricle. It lost a wheel.”
“How awful!” Virginia exclaimed. “It’s such a fine curricle, too.”
“I think so.”
They fell silent. Celia was wondering how to move the conversation along when Virginia said, “Since there’s no dancing just now, Your Grace, you ought to tour the orangery. We decorated it for his lordship’s birthday tomorrow. I’m sure Lady Celia would be willing to show it to you.”
A strange look crossed his face before he smiled and offered Celia his arm. “I’d be delighted to see it.”
He sounded as if he meant that. As Celia took his arm, she caught him casting her a rather calculated glance. What was that about? She didn’t really know him all that well. He’d been abroad off and on throughout her come-out.
As they skirted the room, he said, “You look different tonight, Lady Celia.”
How was she to respond? Make some coy remark? She opted for directness. “In what way?”
“More like a lady than usual. Most of the time when I see you, you’re dressed in smocks for shooting.”
“Oh. That’s probably true.”
They walked a moment in silence. Then he said, “Perhaps we should lay our cards on the table.” His glittering green gaze met hers. “You need a husband to gain your inheritance. I need a wife to bear my heir. There’s no reason we couldn’t come to some agreement on the matter.”
She gaped at him. The duke was making it easy for her, and with practically no effort on her part.
So where was the exultation she’d expected? Where was the triumph that she’d beaten Gran at her game?
“You are very direct, Your Grace,” she said, scrambling to find her purchase in this odd conversation.
“I gather that your situation requires haste.”
“Yes, but … well … this is hasty even for me. What did you do? Wake up this morning and decide to acquire a wife?”
A thin smile cracked his reserve. “Not quite. I’ve given the matter some thought for the past few months, ever since Gabe suggested it.”
“My brother suggested that you marry me?” she said irritably. Gabe truly doubted she could gain a husband on her own, didn’t he?
“He planted the seed.” They walked out the ballroom door and headed across the courtyard toward the orangery. “May I be frank?”
“You seem to be going that direction already,” she muttered. “I don’t think you need my permission to continue.”
He chuckled. It was a surprisingly warm sound for a man she’d always thought rather cold. “As I’m sure you know, my father had a … problem.”
“You mean, his madness?” As long as they were being frank…
“Yes,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “Any woman who takes me on risks watching me go mad and perhaps passing it on to her children. So marriage to me might not be an advantage. I’ve known that for some time. It’s why I haven’t made any offers before. I am willing to risk marrying, for obvious reasons, but many women may not wish to take the same risk. I thought that perhaps in your case—”
“Given my limited choices and the urgency of my situation,” she said cynically, “I might be willing to risk it, too.”
“Exactly.”
She struggled not to show her hurt feelings. She wasn’t sure which was worse, having a man desire her only because it was “a kind of challenge” or having a man want her only for the convenience of it. Was she really so very unmarriageable?
Tears stung her eyes as they entered the orangery. The Buzaglo stove that had been newly installed kept it surprisingly warm for winter, and the gas lanterns cast a soft light over the tile walkway.
Ten potted orange trees were ranged in a line along the windows. On the opposite wall was a row of benches so people could sit and enjoy the scent and sight of orange trees in bloom or in full fruit. But even the bright ribbons jauntily festooning the pots couldn’t cheer her.
Because something else had occurred to her. How could she let Lyons make an offer if she meant to refuse him? He would think she was refusing because of the madness in his family. And if word got around that he’d offered and been rejected, it would worsen his situation. She couldn’t do that to him.
But her only other choice was to marry him. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, either. It was hard to imagine spending her life with such a lofty personage. “So this would be strictly a marriage of convenience.”
“Not exactly. I would hope we could have a normal, amiable marriage.”
Amiable. Like friends.
He stopped to search her face. “I shall give you time to think about it, my dear. I know I’ve sprung this on you rather precipitously. But may I assume that you are at least interested in my proposition?”
She might be. If … “Tell me something, Your Grace. Do you find me at all … appealing as a woman?”
He appeared startled. “Forgive me. I suppose my offer sounds rather cold-blooded.”
“A bit, yes.”
That brought a glint to his eye. “Then perhaps this will set your mind at ease.” He reached up to catch her by the chin, then lowered his mouth to hers.
She held her breath. A kiss would certainly soothe her misgivings.
But as his lips touched hers, soft, coaxing … cool, she felt a stab of disappointment. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with his kiss. It was just too …
Careful. Reserved. As if he were testing the waters. She didn’t want a man to test the waters with her. She wanted him to seize her in an impassioned embrace and show her in no uncertain terms that he found her desirable. That he wanted—
“I suggest you release the lady, sir,” growled a familiar voice, jerking her up short. “Or you won’t like the consequences.”
THE SIGHT OF the duke taking liberties had made something boil up inside Jackson that he couldn’t suppress. He’d uncharacteristically acted on impulse, and already regretted it.
Because the duke now pulled back with the languid motion of all such men of high rank to fix him with a contemptuous stare. “I don’t believe we’ve met, sir.”
Jackson fought to rein in the wild emotions careening through him. Lady Celia was glaring at him, and the duke was clearly irritated. But now that Jackson had stuck his nose in this, he would see it out.
“I’m Jackson Pinter of the Bow Street Office. This lady’s brother has hired me to … to…” If he said he’d been hired to investigate suitors, Lady Celia would probably murder him on the spot.
“Mr. Pinter is investigating our parents’ deaths,” she explained in a silky voice that didn’t fool Jackson. She was furious. “And apparently he thinks that such a position allows him the right to interfere in more personal matters.”
When Jackson met her hot gaze, he couldn’t resist baiting her. “Your bro
ther also hired me to protect you from fortune hunters. I’m doing my job.”
Outrage filled the duke’s face. “Do you know who I am?”
An eminently eligible suitor for her ladyship, damn your eyes. “A man kissing a young, innocent lady without the knowledge or permission of her family.”
Lady Celia looked fit to be tied. “Mr. Pinter, this is His Grace, the Duke of Lyons. He is no fortune hunter. And this is none of your concern. I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself.”
Jackson stared her down. “As I said the other day, madam, there isn’t enough money in all the world for that.”
The duke cast him a considering glance. “So what do you plan to do about what you saw, sir?”
Jackson tore his gaze from Lady Celia. “That depends upon you, Your Grace. if you both return to the ballroom right now, I don’t plan to do anything.”
Was that relief or chagrin he saw on the duke’s face? It was hard to tell in this bad light.
“As long as you behave yourself with propriety around Lady Celia in the future,” Jackson went on, “I see no reason for any of this to pass beyond this room.”
“That’s good of you.” The duke offered Lady Celia his arm. “Shall we, my lady?”
“You go on,” she said coolly. “I need to speak to Mr. Pinter alone.”
Glancing from her to Jackson, the duke nodded. “I’ll expect a dance from you later, my dear,” he said with a smile that rubbed Jackson raw.
“Of course.” Her gaze locked with Jackson’s. “I’d be delighted.”
The minute the duke was gone, however, any “delight” she was feeling apparently vanished. “How dare you interfere! You should be upstairs searching my suitors’ rooms or speaking to their servants or something useful instead of—”
“Do you realize what could have happened if I hadn’t come along?” he snapped. “This room is private and secluded, with a nice hot stove keeping it cozy. All he would have had to do was lay you down on one of those damned benches that are everywhere and—”
He caught himself. But not quickly enough.
“And what?” she prodded. “I would have let him ravish me like the wanton I am?”
Confound it all. “I wasn’t saying that.”
“That’s what it sounded like. Apparently you have some notion that I have no restraint, no ability to resist the attentions of a man I’ve known since childhood.”
“You have no idea what a man can do to a woman!” Jackson shouted.
She paled. “It was just a kiss.”
He strode up to her, driven by a madness he couldn’t control. “That’s how it begins. A man like him coaxes you into a kiss, then a caress, then…”
“I would never let it go beyond a kiss,” she said in outrage. “What sort of woman do you think I am?”
He backed her toward the wall. “The sort who is too trusting to realize what some men are really after. You can’t control every situation, my lady. Some men take what they want, and there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it.”
“I know more about the true nature of men than you think.” She stopped short as she came up against the wall. “I can take care of myself.”
“Can you?” He thrust his hands against the wall on either side of her, trapping her.
He thought of his mother and the heartbreak she’d endured because some nobleman had taken a fancy to her. A roiling sickness swamped him at the idea of Lady Celia ever suffering such a thing because she was too reckless and naïve to recognize that she was not invincible.
Bending in close, he lowered his voice. “You really believe you can stop any man who wants to hurt you, no matter how strong and determined he is?”
Challenge shone in her eyes. “Absolutely.”
It was time someone made her realize her vulnerability. “Prove it,” he growled. Then he brought his mouth down on hers.
Chapter Six
Celia froze. She couldn’t believe it—Proper Pinter was kissing her. Hard, boldly, with more feeling than the duke.
Good heavens.
Stung by the challenge he’d laid down, she fumbled for the pistol in her reticule, but she’d just got it in her hand when he whispered hoarsely against her lips, “Sweet God, Celia…”
He’d never called her by only her Christian name. He’d certainly never said it so … desperately. It made her hesitate with the pistol in her hand.
He took her mouth once more, and her world shifted on its axis as his kiss became wilder, more consuming. This wasn’t about a challenge anymore—not when he kissed her as if her mouth held the secret to eternity. Such lovely, drugging kisses made her blood dance through her veins.
His mouth slanted over hers, and his tongue swept the seam of her lips with an urgency that made her throat ache. Remembering how Ned had kissed her, she parted her lips for him.
He went still for the briefest instant. Then with a groan, he slipped his tongue into her mouth. Ohhh, that was amazing. When Ned had done it she’d found it messy and disgusting, but Mr. Pinter’s kiss was as opposite to Ned’s as sun was to rain.
Slow and sensual, he dove inside with hot strokes that had her eager for more. How could this be happening to her? With him? Who could ever have guessed that the passionless Mr. Pinter could kiss so very passionately?
Scarcely aware of what she did, she slipped her free hand up to clutch his neck. He pressed into her, flattening her against the wall as he ravished her mouth with no remorse. His whiskers abraded her chin, his mouth tasted of champagne, and the smell of orange trees sweetened the air around them.
It was delicious … intoxicating. Paradise.
She forgot the pistol in her other hand, forgot that they were in full view of anyone who might be outside the orangery windows, forgot that he’d just been lecturing her as if she were some ninnyhammer. Because he was kissing her now as if she were an angel. His angel. And Lord help her, but she wanted him to keep kissing her like that forever.
But a noise from the nearby stove—the crackle of a log as it settled—seemed to jerk him to his senses. He tore his lips from hers and stared down at her a moment, his eyes wild, his breathing heavy.
A change came over his face, turning his expression to cold stone. “You see, Lady Celia?” he said in his harsh rasp. “A man can do anything he wants if he has a woman alone.”
Her pleasure died instantly. Had this just been about teaching her a lesson?
Anger roared up in her. How dare he? Remembering the pistol, she shoved it up under his chin and cocked the hammer. “And if he does, the woman has a right to defend herself. Don’t you agree?”
The surprise on his face was immensely gratifying, but it didn’t last long. Eyes narrowing, he leaned closer to hiss, “Go ahead then. Fire.”
She swallowed. Though there was no ball, the powder alone would do serious damage. She could never…
While she hesitated, he removed the pistol from her numb fingers. His glittering gaze bore into her. “Never brandish a gun unless you’re prepared to use it.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling suddenly exposed. “Most men would be cowed by the very sight of a pistol,” she muttered.
“I wasn’t.”
“You’re not most men,” she said tightly.
He acknowledged that with a curt nod. Then he walked over to one of the pots, aimed down at the dirt, and fired. When the smoke cleared from the muzzle flash, he noted the lack of a hole in the dirt and faced her.
“Powder.” He glared at her. “Did it occur to you that unless you fired at point-blank range, you might merely anger the man you’re aiming for?”
“I only need it for men who get close to me,” she bit out.
“All the same, the next time you need to protect yourself, forget the pistol and bring your knee up between the man’s legs as hard as you can. It’ll make your point just as effectively and give you plenty of time to escape.”
Color flooded her cheeks. Since she had brothers, she k
new what he meant, but it wasn’t something she would ever have thought to do. A pity, for it would have served her well with Ned. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I want you to know how to defend yourself if someone’s taking liberties.”
“Even if the someone is you?”
A strange light glinted in his eyes as he pocketed her pistol. “Especially if it’s me.”
What did he mean by that? “Mr. Pinter, about our kiss…”
“I was making a point,” he said tersely. “Nothing more. Complain to your brothers about it and get me dismissed if you must, but don’t worry—regardless of what you do, it won’t happen again.”
She caught her breath. How could he be so nonchalant? He’d kissed her so convincingly, so sweetly …
It started that way with Ned, too, and it meant nothing to him either. He did it only to impress his friends.
Mr. Pinter headed for the door.
Choking down her hurt, she called out, “Where are you going?”
He paused to cast her an icy glance. “I have suitors’ rooms to search and servants to interrogate, remember?”
“I want my pistol back,” she snapped.
“You’ll get it tomorrow. Given your foolish belief that carrying it will protect you in any circumstance, it’s better that you don’t have it to hide behind. Perhaps then you won’t be tempted into private encounters with randy gentlemen.”
A hot blush seared her cheeks. “The only randy gentleman I need protection from is you. Next time I have you in my sights, I will shoot you.”
“Then you’d better not miss,” he drawled. “Because if you ever aim a gun at me again, I’ll have you arrested for assaulting an officer of the law.”
While she was still gasping, he strode from the orangery. She picked up her reticule and flung it at the door just as it closed. He was a beast! A monster! And he’d even made her forget to ask him if he’d learned anything about her suitors!
Tears started in her eyes. It was so … so typical of him to rattle her by saying such an awful thing. She would swear he did it on purpose. He was always riding roughshod over her. Kissing her passionately one minute and threatening to have her arrested the next—the unnatural devil!
A Lady Never Surrenders Page 7