Chapter 10 #2
Marguerite said, ‘I beg your pardon, I did not wish to disturb you. I was only going to fetch a book.’ She went into the bookroom, found the book she was seeking almost at once—it was prominently placed on a small table—and retraced her steps through the library, keeping well away from the players.
Annoyed, she thought, was it so difficult for him to smile, to say a few words?
Only hours ago, they had spent time together as friends, more than friends; they had even kissed.
She would never understand him. He had seemed almost annoyed with her for disturbing his concentration.
She could not have known, however, that shortly after the door had closed behind her, Argyle’s companion had said, making a move that captured his opponent’s queen, ‘Upon my word, Argyle, I have never seen you distracted by a woman before. You are letting me win the game.’
‘Not all women are the same, my friend.’ It was said easily and there was a smile on his lips.
‘Yes, I will admit she is a tasty armful. The French touch, would you say?’
‘Perhaps.’ Argyle bent his head to the board.
‘And has she captured your interest?’
‘Perhaps,’ Argyle repeated, again smiling a little.
* * *
When he went upstairs to change, Argyle allowed himself to feel cautiously hopeful.
The morning had gone well. Should he have renewed his proposal while they were alone in the curricle?
He had hesitated, wanting to be surer of her acceptance before he did so.
However, he thought they were getting on better, although Marguerite still mostly called him ‘Your Grace’, or ‘sir’, rarely ‘Argyle’, and never ‘Thomas’. Just thinking about this annoyed him.
Why could she never do as she was asked?
She must be the most stubborn, opinionated woman he had ever met.
He would get her to call him Thomas if it was the last thing he did.
He resented the fact that he was so obsessed with her that her simple appearance in the library had caused him to lose his game.
He smiled grimly and sank into the bath his valet had prepared for him, silencing the man with a glare when he complained about the difficulty of obtaining enough hot water.
When Curtis had left, he gave a short bark of laughter—would he have been interested in a meek, compliant girl?
No. He remembered the way she had kissed him in the curricle and felt his spirits rise—he had bribed the butler to seat Marguerite next to him at dinner.
* * *
If Marguerite was a little suspicious when she saw where she was seated, she was also secretly pleased and smiled at Argyle before sitting down.
She did not mention their encounter in the library and neither did he.
They talked little, but his knee touched hers under the table, and she found she did not want to move her leg.
She hardly tasted what she ate—when he turned to say a few words to the person on his other side, she did the same, but later could not recall her neighbour’s name, nor what they had talked about.
Across from her Felix Crampton kept sending her occasional glances and smiles.
She responded, since she did not want to offend him, but she did not want to encourage him, either.
She tried to avoid his glance as best she could.
Their host, the old earl, sat at one end of the table, holding forth about his racehorses and a valuable painting he had bought.
His wife sat at the other end, having surrounded herself with the most attractive men amongst her guests.
Both were exceedingly talkative, and the dinner took forever, since they spoke so much they quite forgot to eat.
But for once Marguerite was not bored—she had let herself drift into a kind of daze.
When they rose from the table Alice came to fetch her to join their usual group, and she and Argyle played cards at different tables.
Alice’s group had chosen a table apart from the others, so that their chatter and laughter did not disturb the more serious players. After a while, it was inevitable that their attention would turn to Marguerite.
‘You do seem to be the duke’s favourite girl, Marguerite.’
‘Yes, we never saw him taking anyone for a drive before.’
‘Did he kiss you?’
Marguerite felt her cheeks flame, but she managed a laugh, and tried to distract them.
‘Of course not! I was too busy driving his bays.’
‘You drove his bays! How daring!’
‘Yes, I told you I would like to do it.’
‘You are lucky. They are beautiful high-steppers.’ This from one of the men.
‘Yes, they are perfect. I much enjoyed it.’
‘But to let you drive them…’
‘You are so brave. Did you ask him?’
‘No, he offered. But he knew I was dying to.’
‘Oho! Did he propose?’
Again, she managed to laugh, narrowing her eyes. ‘Ah, that would be telling…’
‘Ooh, I would love to be a duchess.’
‘Yes, but not with him as my duke. He terrifies me.’
‘Still, I would not mind being addressed as Your Grace.’
‘Yes, but can you imagine having to confess to him you have overspent your pin money?’ There was laughter.
‘He’s so rich, he wouldn’t even notice.’
‘I am sure he would—and slay you with a single look.’
Everyone laughed again and Alice, with a shrewd glance at Marguerite’s face, changed the subject. ‘Well, I would prefer Charles to kiss me. I miss not having him here.’
‘Yes, Charles. Another of Marguerite’s admirers.’
‘Has Charles kissed you, Marguerite?’
Marguerite laughed, more easily this time, and pointed to her cheek. ‘Yes, here.’
‘Well, I would not mind kissing you there.’ This from Felix Crampton, who had managed to sit next to her this time. She rose and, putting a hand on his shoulder, bent quickly and kissed his cheek.
‘There, I will kiss you goodnight. I am going to bed.’
Felix looked up at her, surprised but delighted, a wide smile on his face. He made as if to rise, but she pressed his shoulder.
‘Don’t get up, I am leaving now. I find I am exhausted.’
A parting shot, from one of the girls. ‘From driving those horses, I can imagine.’
She smiled and said, ‘We have also been playing games all afternoon. Good night, all.’
She threw Alice a grateful glance and turned to go. As she walked to the door, she quickly looked towards the other tables; Argyle was still playing as she left the room. She hoped he had not heard them gossip about him.
* * *
Argyle had seen her leave. He’d felt her glance at him and had forced himself not to look in her direction.
From the meaningful glances her friends gave him, he knew there was talk about him—talk he could do without.
Nevertheless, he had to fight the urge to rise from the card table and follow her.
Playing cards with people who did not interest him had been excruciating after the afternoon drive, the kiss, and the dinner with his leg touching hers.
He had hardly eaten anything but drunk too much wine, which was now sitting on his stomach, making him nauseous.
Or perhaps what was making him nauseous was his obsession with Marguerite.
Had he come any closer to being able to persuade her to change her mind about marrying him?
He was not sure—she was keeping him on his toes with her surprising changes of tone.
He was burning with the desire to run up the stairs, knock on her door and have it out with her, here and now.
He would kiss her until she melted. But no—her maid was bound to be with her, and that would lead to gossip in the servants’ hall.
He could not in all propriety force her hand in such a clumsy way.
He sighed inwardly and asked his partner to repeat what she had just said—his mind was not on the game.