Chapter 8
“Why, Lady Thalia, it’s not like you to sleep so late!” Mabel exclaimed, throwing open the curtains.
Thalia groaned, pressing her face into the pillows. “I was not asleep. I was simply lying in bed, wishing to sleep.”
Mabel threw her an unsympathetic look. “Well, you’ve missed breakfast. It wasn’t kept for you.”
Of course, it wasn’t, Thalia thought bleakly. Jonathan always punishes me for missing mealtimes. Or missing anything that he has scheduled.
Well, she wasn’t hungry, and if she was, she could quite easily ask Mabel to fetch her something.
“Your bed looks as though it hasn’t been slept in,” Mabel added, frowning. “Generally, your sheets are all in knots of a morning. Did you not sleep well?”
No, I didn’t. I didn’t return home till late, and then I lay awake for hours, thinking.
And Thalia had a great deal to think about; that was for sure. The Duke—Christian—lay at the heart of it all.
She sat up, yawning. A tiny meow caught her attention, before a blur of orange fur flew through the air, landing neatly on the end of her bed.
“Oh, Orange,” she sighed. “Did I lie in bed too long? Did I miss our morning games?”
“The wretched cat has been yowling around the kitchen for ages,” Mabel chuckled, tickling Orange’s ears as she went by. “He missed you.”
“I shall try not to lie in bed so long tomorrow,” Thalia promised. “I had… strange dreams, that’s all.”
Strange dreams. As if her meeting with the Duke could be written off as merely strange dreams.
Mabel turned back from the window, hands on her hips. She surveyed Thalia, still in bed.
“You seem in no hurry to get up,” she observed.
Thalia frowned. “Why? What’s the rush?”
“Ah,” Mabel sighed. “I daresay I should have started with that. You have guests, My Lady.”
Thalia flinched. “Guests? Why? Who would come calling so early? It’s far too early for calls. Are you sure you aren’t mistaken, Mabel? Perhaps they are Jonathan’s friends.”
“That they are not,” Mabel snorted. “I don’t know how to explain this, My Lady, so I’ll simply say it. The Earl and Countess of Trowbridge are waiting in the parlor downstairs. What’s more, the Duke of Thornhill is with them.”
Thalia blinked. Had she fallen back asleep after all? Was this all some kind of dream?
No, reality resolutely refused to budge.
“Oh,” she managed faintly.
“Are they expected? His Lordship did not seem to think so.”
“Is… is Jonathan downstairs with them now?” Thalia squawked.
“I’m afraid so. He looked a little nonplussed, but the Duke does not seem to be the sort who accepts a no. So, they’re all standing downstairs, very cozy and pleasant. On an unrelated note, I should hurry down if I were you. The Duke says that he is here to see you and won’t go without seeing you.”
Thalia paled and threw back the sheets. “Oh, heavens.”
“Care to explain what’s going on?” Mabel asked evenly.
“Not at the moment. Perhaps later. What should I wear, Mabel?”
Mabel considered, pursing her lips. “That depends. Do you wish to attract the Duke or bore him?”
“What?”
“If you wish to attract him, then the blue silk dress. If you wish to repulse him or simply bore him, I would choose the dove-gray dress. It’s pretty enough on you, but men like bright colors and new fashions.”
Thalia pulled a face. “Is there a middle option?”
Mabel reached into the wardrobe and pulled out a sprigged white muslin dress. “This one, I daresay.”
“Right.” Thalia tugged her hair out of her braid. “That will do.”
A tense silence hung over the parlor as she approached. Thalia tugged at the cuffed sleeves of her sprigged muslin dress, resisting the urge to pat her hair to ensure that everything was in place.
She paused at the door, feeling a wild urge to whip off her spectacles and put them away. Jonathan always said that she looked better without them. But she could not see without them.
With a sigh, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Immediately, four faces turned to look at her.
One was Jonathan, who was standing uneasily by the fireplace.
There was Christian, of course. He’d settled himself in an armchair, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, arms stretched out over his lap as if this were his house and the rest were graciously welcomed guests.
His face did not change when he saw her, but she could have sworn that there was a glint in his eyes. The look vanished almost as soon as she noticed it, however, and she wondered if it were her imagination after all.
Two strangers stood by the window, a tall, handsome man and a smaller woman in glittering gold silk, chin lifted, stare fearless.
“Thalia,” Jonathan said crisply, his voice like the snap of a whip. “There you are. What possessed you to come down so late? The Duke is here.” A flash of uncertainty lingered in his eyes.
Thalia could guess what her brother was thinking. He did not like the Lord of Scandal, but the man was also too much of a prize to ignore. Far too much of a prize. Offending a duke was never a good idea.
“I did not expect us to receive guests so early,” she responded.
Anger and panic flashed across Jonathan’s face. She saw genuine amusement pass over Christian’s expression.
“Thalia,” Jonathan sputtered, “you simply cannot speak—”
“No, she is quite right,” the woman interrupted, stepping forward.
She caught Thalia’s eye and gave a wry smile, extending her hand.
“We are extremely rude. However, Christian will not be dissuaded when he has his heart set on something. We should not have come so early, but the necessity of this will become clear. Hello, my dear. It is Lady Thalia, is it not? We have not been introduced. I am Lady Trowbridge, but you may call me Daphne.”
Thalia blinked at the ease of the woman’s manner. She certainly hadn’t expected to be met with such informality.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” she managed, taking her hand. “I did not mean to be rude.”
“Christian wishes to visit the Castwell Art Gallery,” Daphne explained, glancing between Thalia and Jonathan. “It closes rather early in the afternoon, I’ve been told, so we had to visit early. He was determined to take you, of course. I assume you discussed the visit?”
“They did not,” Jonathan interjected. “My sister would have told me of any planned excursions.”
Daphne’s gaze flickered briefly and thoughtfully back to Thalia, but she said nothing.
“The invitation is coming now,” Christian spoke up in an almost bored drawl. “I would like Lady Thalia to accompany me. And you too, of course.”
The casual inclusion of Jonathan was clearly an afterthought.
He reddened, nostrils flaring. “I have an engagement,” he muttered, as if he could not make up his mind whether he was pleased or disappointed at missing out. “Another time, perhaps.”
“Very well,” Christian answered, picking at invisible specks of dust on his knee. “I shall just take Lady Thalia, then.”
Jonathan puffed out his chest. “I think not.”
“It will be quite proper,” Daphne assured him. “My husband and I will be there. The Castwell Art Gallery is a most respectable place and very public. We shall bring her back directly. All will be well.”
Jonathan opened his mouth, clearly planning to argue, but Christian spoke up, sounding just as disinterested as before.
“Shall we ask Lady Thalia what she would like?”
Jonathan reddened further.
Thalia bit back a smile.
There is nothing my brother would like less than to ask what I would like. But in company, he can hardly pretend to be careless of my interests.
Sure enough, Jonathan glanced from face to face with increasing annoyance. The Earl’s expression remained cool and stony, giving nothing away. Daphne kept up a pleasant but determined smile. Christian simply stared at him, lips faintly curled, as if he knew a secret nobody else did.
At last, Thalia cleared her throat. “I would like to go, Jonathan. There’ll be no harm in it. If you could postpone your engagement, perhaps you could come with us.”
He won’t. He despises art galleries, and he hates men like the Earl and Christian.
Now that she thought about it, the Earl of Trowbridge had occasionally been featured in the scandal sheets, generally alongside Christian.
There were others too, a little group of rakes who seemed to be causing havoc in London.
The Earl’s recent marriage to Daphne had occasioned a good deal of talk, but as far as she could tell, the two were extremely happy.
“Very well,” Jonathan snapped. “But I shall tell you now, Your Grace, that I would like to receive prior notice if you plan to take my sister on outings. That is not too much to ask, I think.”
“Not at all,” Daphne answered on Christian’s behalf. “Well, we should leave shortly, anyway. Put on your shawl, Lady Thalia.”
Thalia scuttled out of the room before Jonathan could think up an excuse to keep her behind.
Do I want to go? she wondered, snatching a shawl from her wardrobe. Surely, I cannot be looking forward to spending time with that wretched fellow and his dubious friends.
Of course, this trip to the gallery was in pursuit of Laura. It had nothing to do with her, but Jonathan would draw only one conclusion: that Christian was trying to court her.
Well, Christian is a bigger prize than Mr. Pembroke. But then, a bigger catch is harder to reel in. Jonathan is a careful man.
No time to worry about that.
Throwing her shawl around her shoulders, Thalia hurried back downstairs.
Their guests had moved to the foyer, standing in front of the open door. A grand, green-gilt carriage waited outside. Was it the same carriage that had taken her to Christian’s house last night? No, she thought not.
Jonathan stepped in front of her before she could join them.
“I trust you’ll be sensible,” he hissed. “Lady Trowbridge is the only reason I am letting you go. You are not to be separated from her, do you understand?”
“Yes, Jonathan.”
“And you must be careful. The Duke’s interest in you…” He paused, considering. “It confuses me. He is not seeking an heiress. He is a rake, but something in his manner… Well, never mind. Tread carefully, but remain open to possibilities. A very great match might lie in your future, Sister.”
Oh, I think not, Thalia thought sourly, but contented herself with a faint smile and a nod.
Jonathan gave a tight, thin-lipped smile and patted her cheek. “Try and enjoy yourself,” he said, stepping aside.
The others had now moved outside. She noticed a pair of horses saddled up and waiting beside the carriage.
“Edwin and I prefer to ride,” Daphne explained. “But Christian has brought the carriage. However, if you prefer to ride with me, then…”
“I shall be fine,” Thalia responded firmly and immediately regretted it.
An uncomfortable, bumpy ride on somebody else’s horse would surely be better than an awkward journey with only herself and Christian in the carriage.
Daphne frowned, glancing first at the carriage and then back at the door, where Jonathan lingered, arms folded in obvious displeasure.
“I shall ride with you in the carriage,” she decided. “Make yourself comfortable while I explain to Edwin.”
Thalia trudged towards the carriage and hauled herself inside. Christian was already there. Somehow, she hadn’t expected that.
He sat in the corner, sharp gaze fixed on her. Clearing her throat, she settled down in the opposite corner.
“You had better sit beside me,” Christian remarked. “Daphne gets terribly nauseous if she faces the opposite direction of travel.”
Thalia bit her lip. “Oh.”
Obediently, she shifted to the opposite seat. That brought her far too close to him.
“I did not expect to see you here so soon,” she murmured, keeping a careful eye on the door. Part of her expected Jonathan to appear and drag her away.
Christian sniffed. “I told you I would be here. Why would you not expect it?”
He smelled of some spicy herb that she couldn’t quite place. It was not unpleasant, quite the opposite. Was it cologne?
“Yes, well, I should like to remind you that the purpose of this fake betrothal is to make sure my reputation is not ruined,” she stated coldly.
That isn’t the true purpose. But you cannot tell him the true purpose, can you?
Christian chuckled. “Then one should choose one’s fake betrothal more carefully.”
Thalia folded her arms. “You’re right. One should be more careful about whom they agree to help, too.”
She pointedly did not look at him, although his gaze burned into the side of her face. Heat spread, curling through her chest and plunging down into her gut. She shifted, not entirely sure what to do with the sensation.
She had, of course, read her fair share of novels.
Many of those novels featured romance. But when the heroine saw the hero and fell madly in love with him at first sight, it was always a little different.
There was no mention of any heat. Her heart fluttered, the narrator informed the readers, and perhaps she felt likely to swoon.
She might actually swoon, depending on the author.
But there was no prickling sensation on her skin. No tightening of her gut. No pulsing between her legs, a tiny tug, a new sensation that was not uncomfortable but still felt remarkably wrong.
Or perhaps Thalia had simply glossed over those parts.
Christian sighed, making her jump, and slid up the seat towards her. He moved an inch too far, and the outside of his thigh pressed against hers. At once, heat shot up her leg. The touch seemed to scald somehow, and the pulsing in her core intensified.
She stiffened, sitting up straighter and squaring her shoulders. “Move away, Your Grace,” she hissed.
Christian pursed his lips. “I was going to apologize for turning up unannounced, but if you are going to be unpleasant about it…”
She rounded on him. “You are dragging me into something that may cause me a great deal of harm. You cannot seriously expect me to be pleasant.”
“In fact, I do. It’s in your best interest to be seen with me, Your Majesty, if you want anybody to believe that you are my betrothed.
When our engagement becomes public, a great deal of scrutiny will be leveled at you.
If I were you, I would concentrate on preparing for that.
And as for me, I would like my sister safe at home before Society notices her absence. ”
She glared, leaning forward. “Laura is my dearest friend.”
“Well, she did not mention you very often. I have never heard of you.”
“She never spoke of you either. One might have assumed she did not have a brother.”
He growled. “You are quite the expert on my sister, aren’t you?”
“Well, one of us has to be. You barely knew her, from what I can gather.”
Christian’s eyes narrowed.
Have I gone too far?
There was no time to wonder about that because at that moment, Daphne clambered into the carriage and slammed the door shut behind her.
“Shall we go?” she asked cheerfully. “Good gracious, why are you two glaring at each other like that?”