Marcus stopped pretending he was going to eat the pastie. He set the dish back on the table and regarded his hostess with a baleful eye. Of all the people to end up with his ring, why did it have to be this woman? Anyone else would have been pleased, proud, even honored to be of assistance. He certainly wouldn’t have minded tossing a favor or even a gold piece or two for their efforts. But the little minx wanted more than a guinea or two; she wanted a blasted fortune.
She tilted her head to one side, a fat sable curl resting at the curve of her neck where it joined her shoulder. “When you consider it, seven thousand pounds is not so very much for you. I’ve seen you drop that much on a mere tapestry.”
He made himself smile, though he felt like doing anything but. “My mother purchased that ring from a gypsy at a fair. She paid two shillings.”
“Then your mother was a much better bargainer than you, for I can assure you I will not let it go for so little.”
“I will not pay that much for that ring.”
She regarded him for a long moment, all amusement gone from her gaze. “You mean that.”
He smiled, and he was certain it was not a nice one. “Indeed I do mean it. I will not pay that much for that ring. However, I am willing to pay something, and whatever it is will be far more than you will get from anyone else.”
“I see.” She looked down at the ring and then sighed. “That is sad news indeed.” A frown curved her lips downward. After a long moment, she said in a slow voice, “Perhaps…instead of money…perhaps there is something else we can exchange.”
“Like what?”
“Well…” She bit her lip, her mind obviously flying over the options.
Marcus waited, wondering what she thought he might trade for the ring. Perhaps she wished for one of the tapestries he’d won whilst bidding against her. He considered this for a moment. He really didn’t wish to give up one jot of his hard won antiquities, but if it meant getting Mother’s ring back—
“The St. Johns are quite well respected in the ton, aren’t you?” Her eyes rested on his face in unwavering regard. “You are invited everywhere.”
He frowned. What was this? “True. We have never been neglected for any event that I know of.”
“You are quite high on all the best guest lists. I daresay you get more invitations than you can possibly accept.” She tapped a finger on her chin, as if putting the pieces of a great mystery together.
“I am invited everywhere,” he agreed impatiently. “Why?”
“Well, since you seem quite determined not to part with funds—”
“I am quite willing to part with funds; just not seven thousand pounds’ worth.”
“Hm. Since you will not spend the money, perhaps you’d be willing to spend some of your time.” She met his gaze, her eyes a mysterious hazel, rich with speculation.
“Miss Baker-Sneed, just what do you have in mind?”
“Simple. I was thinking about…marriage.”
For an instant, Marcus thought his ears were deceiving him. But Honoria merely waited, a half smile on her lips, a hard gleam in her eyes. “Marriage?” he asked slowly. “Are you suggesting that if I wish my ring back, I have to marry you?”
To Marcus’s utter chagrin, Honoria burst into laughter. “Ye gods, no! That is not at all what I meant. I’m not mad, you know.”
Marcus glowered. What the hell did she mean by that? “Explain yourself, woman.”
Her brows rose, delicate arches over those damnably intriguing hazel eyes. They were really more green, he realized with great reluctance. Green flecked with gold and brown.
“My lord, I didn’t mean for you and I to marry. We would kill each other within a fortnight.”
“Or sooner,” he said grimly.
“We are in complete accord on that matter, at least,” she said, not seeming the least put out by his agreement. “We would not suit at all. Not unless…” She regarded him from beneath her lashes, then shrugged. “But that is neither here nor there. It is certainly the last thing I would ever wish to happen, so it would be useless to conjecture.”
Marcus knew he should have been glad to hear such words of wisdom tumbling from Miss Baker-Sneed’s lips. But somehow it was almost a slap in the face to be dismissed so quickly. “Miss Baker-Sneed—”
“More tea?” The teapot was poised over his already full cup, steam wafting from the arched stem.
“No, thank you. Miss Baker-Sneed, what did you mean by suggesting matrimony for a trade if you didn’t mean you and I? Who did you mean?”
“My sister, Cassandra—although not for you. I wish my sister to have all of the advantages of a good marriage, but I find that I have far too few acquaintances in London to arrange such a thing.”
Marcus leaned back on the settee. “Oh?”
“Yes. Originally my aunt Caroline was going to chaperone Cassandra and see to it that she was presented as she ought. But something happened…”
He waited, brows raised.
“Aunt Caroline’s daughters are not—and Cassandra is very—Well, she would have quite overshadowed them as she is…shall we say ‘taller’?”
“Your cousins are plain and your sister is not.”
She gave an obviously relieved sigh. “Yes! I am so glad you are of a quick wit. I did not know how to say that without sounding—For my cousins are sweet natured, if nothing else. Not that it matters, for there are few women as beautiful as Cassandra.”
She said it proudly, though he had to wonder. Everyone thought their sister worthy of notice, and while he did not doubt that Cassandra was an attractive female, he doubted she was anything above the ordinary. “I see,” he said, and rather thought he did. But still it would not do. “I have neither the time nor the interest to launch your sister onto society, even to save seven thousand pounds.”
“Of course, you must do as you see fit. I am not forcing you to do anything,” Honoria said coolly, not even having the grace to look flustered. “But you should consider my request before you reject it. It is not as if you would have to do much.”
“No?”
“How much effort was it to launch your sister, Sara? I believe most of the work went to your aunt.”
“You know quite a bit about my family.”
“I was presented the same year as your sister and I saw her frequently for a short period of time.”
Marcus wondered if he had known that. “I don’t seem to recall seeing you at any events—”
“My mother died less than a month into the season and I withdrew. Not that it mattered…there wasn’t much to remember. I wasn’t all that amused by the trappings of society. Cassandra, meanwhile, thrives on them.” Honoria brightened. “Would you like to meet my sister? I can assure you that she is very prettily behaved and would be a credit to your name.”
“No. I do not need to meet anyone, thank you. For I am not going to agree to such an asinine idea.”
“No? It wouldn’t be much work for you. I am not asking for a ball or any entertainments, at least not at first.”
“Thank you so much,” he said dryly.
She grinned. Not smiled, but grinned, her soft mouth widening impishly, her eyes crinkled with mirth. Marcus tried to remember when he’d last seen a woman smile so widely—something other than the meek, polite folding of lips most women permitted themselves.
He felt his own lips soften a bit in return. “You seem to find that very amusing.”
“Well, I certainly don’t expect you to put yourself out too much.” Her grin faded and an earnest look entered her eyes. “I am, of course, perfectly willing to pay your aunt for whatever costs she—”
“Let me say this once more: I cannot and will not sponsor your sister, if for no other reason than it would give rise to rumors that would quite kill any hope you have of settling her respectably.”
Honoria’s cheeks pinkened. “Oh! I never thought—That is, surely people wouldn’t think you and Cassandra—”
“They would indeed. So your offer is n
ot very well thought out.”
Honoria sighed. How sad, but the lout was right. “That is unfortunate. Now we are right back where we started. I have your ring and you do not agree to my price.”
The marquis’s expression tightened, his eyes flashing bright blue. He leaned forward and the air instantly thickened. “Miss Baker-Sneed, do not make the mistake of underestimating me. I always get what I want.”
The words hung for a moment, cold and cutting. Honoria set down her teacup. “Since you will not agree to my request, then I have no other option but to sell the ring. Perhaps to a man I know in France who collects such objects d’art. Or a countess I know who has a passion for unusual jewelry. Whatever I do with the ring, you will never find it.”
“You are a vixen.”
She ignored the vivid anger that flashed through his eyes and traced the taut line of his jaw. This was playing with fire and she knew it. But frankly, the fact that the marquis had shown up on their doorstep just as they faced the most horrid financial straits…it could only be fate.
Whatever Honoria did, she had to find a way to present Cassandra, and if she couldn’t find a sponsor, then a large amount of funds was the next best thing. The thought of good, gentle Cassandra marrying someone far beneath her, someone crass and unworthy, was too horrid to contemplate. Honoria refused to allow that to happen.
With a renewed purpose, she met the marquis’s furious gaze and shrugged. “I believe our meeting is at an end.” She stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to that will wait no longer.” With that, she etched a faint curtsy and turned to leave.
Marcus could only stare. She had refused him and now she was leaving—walking away as if his concerns were of no moment. Anger surged through him, bold and hot. He stepped forward, blocking her way. “I am not yet through talking to you.”
“No?” she said.
“No,” he snapped.
She turned and walked around the chair, out of his reach. “That’s a pity, for I am through talking to you.”
He would never remember stepping around the chair. Would have only the faintest recollection of catching her arm and pinioning her about to face him. But what he would remember in agonizing detail would be the way he scooped her against him and held her there, imprisoned against his chest. He’d just meant to hold her, keep her there and stop her from leaving. But as she settled against his chest and he felt the warmth of her body against his, something happened. Instead of just holding her, he kissed her.
His anger kept him from being gentle. It was meant to be a punishing kiss, one destined to teach a lesson in sorely needed comportment. And at first it was just that—punishing. But his anger, which had so quickly surged, melted almost instantly in an onslaught of heated lust.
Never before had he been aware of how closely related lust and anger were. They were both primitive, intense emotions that robbed one of coherent thought and often led to extreme sorts of actions, like deeply passionate, mindless kisses.
Marcus wasn’t sure if it was because of the unadulterated lust, or because for one small second he had succeeded in silencing the divinely irritating Miss Baker-Sneed, but the kiss ignited a response that began in his toes and ended in more interesting places. To his surprise, the embrace seemed to have the same effect on his companion, for after a stiff moment, she moaned against his mouth and fell against him, her mouth opening beneath his, her body soft and pliant.
It was madness. Crazed madness. Yet he could not stop. He was primed and ready by the time she gathered herself enough to grab his arms and push herself free.
He immediately let her go, his mind and body awhirl. To his bemusement, Miss High and Mighty Baker-Sneed actually staggered back a step, her face flushed, her lips swollen and pink. She had to clutch a small tea table for support. The small candy dish and the globe on the lamp rattled as her weight rocked the table.
Marcus would have been glad for some extra support himself. He felt as weak-kneed as an hour old colt. His heart pounded in his ears, his chest ached as if he’d been running, his entire body was as taut as a finely drawn bow.
“That—That was not necessary.” She brushed her mouth with the back of her hand.
For some reason the childish gesture brought a smile to his lips and he realized that it had been a long, long while since he’d had such a reaction to a woman—to any woman, in fact. “I think it was very necessary. And pleasant, too. Damned pleasant.”
“I didn’t wish you to kiss me.”
“And I didn’t wish you to leave.” He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling strangely pleased with himself. B’God, he’d shown her. Better yet, the instant reaction had intrigued him. There was something damned taking about the little Miss Baker-Sneed. Something that begged for more investigation. “I’d say we were even.”
“And I’d say you are an ass.”
He lifted his brows. “What did you call me?”
“An ass. The braying, bullying kind.” Her gaze raked him up and down. “Is this how you get your women? By force?”
Marcus shrugged. “I have never had to force a woman to do anything.”
“Oh? You forced me to kiss you.”
“Forced? You didn’t make a single protest—not a one. Had you done so, I would have released you immediately. Furthermore, by the end, you were kissing me just as much as I was kissing you.”
Her color bloomed brighter. “You surprised me. I didn’t have time to register a complaint.”
“Because you didn’t have one to register. You liked that kiss. Admit it.”
Her nose couldn’t climb any higher. “I will admit no such thing. In fact, I will go so far as to say that I didn’t like that kiss and hope it is never repeated.”
His brows rose, a faint smile warming him. “Oh? Never?”
She shook her head. “Never.”
“That sounds like a challenge. A delightful challenge, at that.” He took a step toward her, and she scrambled away as if chased by flames. Marcus chuckled. “I didn’t steal a kiss from you. I only borrowed one.”
“I call it theft.”
“Well then…if that’s true, then I must make restitution.”
She eyed him uncertainly, and it dawned on him that it nonplused her that he was suddenly in such a good mood. That made him grin the more. “If I stole a kiss from you, then I should give it back.” He leaned forward, his gaze drawn to her lips. “Tell me, my dear, obstinate Miss Baker-Sneed, would you like to have your kiss returned to you now? Or shall we wait until a more auspiciously private time?”
Outrage heated her cheeks and sent a hot sparkle to her eyes. “You can’t give a kiss back!”
He moved closer. “Are you certain?”
She bustled to the opposite side of the chair, all prim outrage and adorable flush. “You, my lord, are incorrigible.”
“Only when someone denies me that which I want.”
“I do not give kisses to everyone.”
His lips twitched. “I was talking about my ring.”
Her gaze fell to her hand. “Oh.”
Was that a note of disappointment in her voice? Marcus decided not to find out. Not yet, anyway. The ring was why he was here and, tempting as it was, he didn’t need to become distracted by something as silly as a kiss, even a hot and passionate one. If he wanted that blasted ring back, he would have to move very, very carefully. “I have made a decision.”
“Oh?”
“I will consider your request for the seven thousand pounds.”
Miss Baker-Sneed’s amazing eyes brightened. “Yes?”
“In the meantime, I want your word that you will not sell that ring to anyone else.”
Her gaze grew dark as she considered his proposal. “You will consider it? Seriously consider it?”
“Yes.” Though it would take very little time to realize it was an impossible idea. He’d be damned if he’d pay so much for so little. “But while I am considering the idea, you will not sell the ring a
nd will keep it safe.”
Her lips pursed absently. “I suppose…Very well. But I will not wait forever. One week should do it.”
He bowed, glad to have won that concession. “One week it is, then. Until then, good day, Miss Baker-Sneed. And thank you for the incredibly tasty…” His gaze lingered on her lips. “…pastie.” With a bow, he turned on his heel and left, already working through a variety of plans that might give him back his ring as well as prolonging his contact with the thoroughly amusing Miss Baker-Sneed.
Perhaps this day hadn’t been so wasted after all.
Chapter 5
What did I do while Albermaryle was out of town? I, ah, well, I—I moved the bed. Yes, I moved it from one end of the room to the other and oh, it looks much better now! You know, that’s what I do every time he’s out of town; I just move that bed all over the place.
Lady Albermaryle to her mother-in-law, the rather imposing Lady Southland, while waiting for Lord Albermaryle’s return
White’s Gentleman’s Club was one of the more stolid bastions of male society. It was an amalgamation of dark paneling, large leather seats, excellent port, and all of the other comforts necessary to men in general. To secure this masculine paradise, no daintily slippered females were allowed within its hallowed halls.
Anthony pushed back his plate and sighed. Roasted duck with mint jelly was usually his favorite, but somehow, without Anna and the children, his meal had seemed rather tasteless. The sad truth was that he missed his family. They had all gone north with Anna’s grandfather for a tour of the lakes, and here he was, feeling like a pebble in a very empty box.
He took a drink of port and wondered if he could hurry his business in town and then join his family. They would be surprised and pleased, especially Anna. He pictured her face, her remarkable gray eyes and the rich shimmer of her red hair. A faint ache filled his heart. Somehow, over the course of the two years since they’d wed, he’d become rather addicted to seeing her face across his dinner table. How strange that happened.
A stir arose near the door, and Anthony watched as Marcus made his way toward the table. Everyone bowed or nodded, and Anthony reflected that it was strange how people just naturally seemed to defer to his oldest half brother. Marcus carried himself with an unconscious air of command…but it was more than that. It was a streak of unequivocal integrity. One knew just by looking at Marcus that not only was he strong and capable, but he was honest and forthright as well.