Chapter 4
Of course, he’d misheard. That went without saying. There was no way that a shy, nervy young woman like Lady Thalia had just said that to him.
In a voice that was just a little more strangled than it should have been, Christian managed: “I beg your pardon?”
She blinked, something like panic flashing in her eyes. “I d-d-didn’t mean… That is to s-s-say, I didn’t quite express… I, ah…”
He waited patiently. It seemed the right thing to do.
At last, she composed herself, shooting him a steely glare through her round spectacles. He stared back, mildly fascinated.
She’s got more of a spark than I expected.
She was certainly bold to meet his eyes after saying that.
“I misspoke,” she said sharply. “I shall explain. Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no.”
“What I was thinking was that you were more feisty than I had anticipated,” he chuckled.
“And I bite,” she retorted.
“How fascinating. But then, as to your spirit, I did think that there must be something about you to attract my sister. I imagine wallflowers do not interest her.”
“Didn’t you say that you weren’t as close to your sister as you once were?” she shot back. “By my reckoning, you have been back in England for two or three years, and yet your sister is still a stranger to you. For shame.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Have a care, my dear. Besides, some gentlemen are fond of biting.”
She breathed in. “Oh, this is a nightmare.”
“I must confess,” he added, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “that out of all the ladies who have sought my attentions, you are the boldest.”
“I am not seeking… I do not want your attention! I do not want you to touch me!”
“Now, that I believe,” he chuckled, shaking his head.
Some of the panic faded from her eyes. He wanted to laugh aloud. Did she really think that he was going to attempt to ravish her right here on the balcony with a door that opened directly onto a busy ballroom?
He supposed she might believe that. After all, he had a distinctly rakish reputation amongst the ton these days, and it was not all unearned.
“You promised an explanation,” he reminded her, watching with interest as a blush crept up her neck. “Let’s hear it, then.”
She took off her spectacles, the lenses flashing in the moonlight. After angrily polishing them, she shoved them back onto her nose and fixed him with another scathing glare. Once again, he felt the urge to grin but forced himself to stay calm.
She was as nervy as a thoroughbred horse, and it seemed a real danger that she might lose her nerve and do something ridiculous, like vault over the stone balustrade and plummet down onto the courtyard below, where she would either suffer a broken limb and floods of tears or hare off into the darkness of the garden.
He was jolted out of that somewhat ridiculous imagining by Lady Thalia clearing her throat once more.
“I do not wish to marry,” she stated flatly. “At least, not yet. This shocks you, I daresay.”
“Not at all. My sister is not inclined towards matrimony at present. I consider that to be her business and none of my concern.”
Lady Thalia gave a tense smile. “Yes, well, my own brother is not quite so forbearing. He is determined that I marry, and quickly. He keeps throwing suitors at me, and I cannot… c-c-cannot breathe. I want a rest from it all. And so I want an engagement. A betrothal in name, that’s all I require,” she finished, meeting his eyes.
“I shall be sure to release you at the end of it. And if I do not, well, I’m sure you’ll be quite happy to jilt me.
Or you can release Laura in my direction if you prefer. She would knock some sense into me.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You do not enjoy your pernicious suitors? I’m reminded of a passage from Much Ado About Nothing.”
“Do spare me the Shakespeare. That is my request if you’re amenable to it. Well?”
Her eyes brightened. After a moment, she awkwardly stuck out her hand, as if hoping to shake his. He took her hand carefully. Her palm was warm and a little damp. She really was nervous.
He turned over her hand, bent down, and pressed his lips to her knuckles, careful to meet her gaze and hold it. The flush shot back into her cheeks, turning her as red as beets.
“We have a bargain,” he said softly. “It is done.”
She tugged her hand out of his, mumbled something incoherent, and darted past him and into the ballroom.
After the cool solitude of the balcony, the heat of the ballroom was almost unbearable.
People pressed in around Thalia from all sides, laughing directly in her ear, elbowing her in the sides, and generally jostling her around as if she were not there at all.
One man leveled his quizzing glass and exclaimed, “I say! That’s the opera singing girl!”
She shuddered, pushing past him. Her blood pounded in her ears, giving her no rest.
Have I really just done that? Did I ask the Duke of Thornhill to marry me? Well, to pretend to be engaged to me, at any rate.
She blinked repeatedly and even pinched her arm but did not seem to wake up. It was all real, then. She really had done it.
And he had agreed. She supposed he would have to agree if he wanted her help to find Laura.
That was something else that sparked her concern. Where had Laura gone? Why did she leave in such a hurry? And why did she not tell Thalia? They told each other everything.
Or so she’d thought.
Well, it didn’t matter. If Laura was keeping a secret, she must have a good reason.
For while the Duke did not seem to be a particularly good brother, he was certainly a protective one.
It did appear that he truly cared about his sister.
He wanted her to be safe, and Thalia found that she believed him.
He would let her carry out whatever quest had dragged her away from home.
At last, she stumbled out of the pressing crowd and heaved a sigh of relief. Already, sweat had begun to bead on her forehead and at the back of her neck. Hastily, Thalia wiped it away. Ladies were not meant to sweat, after all. Ladies glowed or something nonsensical like that.
This lady certainly sweats. And these undergarments are beginning to pinch, she thought sourly.
As willowy beauties dominated Society, other, stockier women seemed to be lacing their stays tighter and tighter in order to achieve a narrow waist. Her new dresses seemed to expect that she would be using one of these tightly laced garments.
She allowed herself a moment to breathe, considering her next move. She could return to the library, or perhaps…
“There you are,” snapped a furious voice at her elbow. A hand seized her wrist, making her squeak.
It was, of course, Jonathan, glowering down at her. He leaned forward, putting his face close to hers.
“If you sneak off once more for the remainder of the evening, I promise you that I shall burn every book in the library in front of you,” he hissed. “I have had quite enough of being embarrassed by my sister; I can promise you that.”
She swallowed. “Let go of me, Jonathan. You’re hurting me.”
He pointedly released her wrist and threw a quick, apprehensive smile at the man standing behind him. “Here she is, Mr. Pembroke. My sister was simply taking the air, you see.”
Mr. Pembroke looked about fifty and had not aged particularly well.
He was mostly bald, except for a few sprays of brownish-gray hair sprouting out around his ears and at the back of his head which he insisted on growing long and combing over his bald dome.
Thalia wondered why none of his friends had taken him aside and firmly told him to shave off all his hair and be done with it.
Aside from the hair issue, he seemed to be a reasonably ordinary man with a bland, uninteresting face. He was said to be worth a fortune and made tens of thousands of pounds a year. He had yet to produce an heir, which was doubtless why he was so keen to remarry.
Mr. Pembroke gave a disinterested grunt.
“You will dance with Mr. Pembroke, Thalia,” Jonathan instructed firmly.
Swallowing, Thalia leaned towards him. “Jonathan, please. I do not care for Mr. Pembroke, and I am fairly sure he is mostly indifferent to me. I daresay he is only thinking of marrying a marquess’s sister. We have nothing to say to each other.”
“Well, that hardly matters,” Jonathan responded primly. “Love grows after marriage, as everybody knows. You’ll have things in common.”
“Such as what?”
He missed a beat. “How should I know?”
“Because I am your sister, and he is the man you want me to marry. You should know both of us a little bit.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’m thoroughly sick of your insolence. Look what I found in the library.”
She knew what he was going to produce in the instant before he did it.
Sure enough, out came her dance card, which she’d tucked in her book.
She mournfully wondered if she had lost her place and decided that she must have.
Jonathan would not have thought to mark her place with anything else once he’d plucked the dance card free.
“And there you are, you see?” he growled, tying the card onto her wrist just a little too tight. “You are dancing the waltz with Mr. Pembroke. It’s written down.”
Thalia’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She had only danced the waltz a handful of times during the dancing lessons Jonathan had forced upon her, and she had not excelled.
“Jonathan, not the waltz. I’ll stand up with him for the quartet or…” she trailed off as Mr. Pembroke approached, apparently having lost patience. He carelessly extended a damp-looking palm towards her.
“I believe the waltz is starting, Lady Thalia,” he sighed. “We had better take our places.”
There was no escape. Ladies didn’t refuse gentlemen, and if they had a name marked in their dance cards, nothing short of a twisted ankle or perhaps a sudden death would spare them from standing up with that gentleman.
Reluctantly, she extended her hand towards his.
“Lady Thalia, I do hope you are not giving away my dance.”