Chapter 9
Ihate art galleries. So pretentious, Christian thought moodily. He eyed the painting they were currently inspecting, a rather blurry-looking portrait of a mournful long-haired woman.
Perhaps there was some fine, deep meaning that he was missing. Or perhaps it was simply a poor collection of paintings.
Why on earth did my sister want to come here? What clue have I missed?
He glanced around the gallery, frowning.
The Castwell Art Gallery was made up of one large room with a mezzanine around the top half of the space.
Pictures hung on the walls, seemingly at random.
There were no other nobles here currently.
There’d been no mention of the gallery in the Society papers, and it was certainly not a fashionable spot.
Efforts had been made to make the gallery a little more interesting. For example, sculptures were set in rounded alcoves, flanked by large stone pillars. Anybody wanting to look at the sculptures in private might step behind a pillar and earn themselves some privacy.
Daphne, who had a great interest in the arts, had wandered off with Edwin in tow. Since their marriage, the two had seldom been apart. Still, when Christian invited them to accompany him, he had hoped she would try a little harder to chaperone Thalia.
He had not told them the truth. He had simply said that he wished to take a young woman out to an art gallery and let their imaginations take care of the rest.
The young woman in question stood beside him, scowling at the mournful portrait.
“I wish I had more taste for art,” she murmured, “but these paintings are all rather bland. Pretty but not breathtaking. I prefer a more fiery scene, you know. Judith cutting off the head of the Assyrian is one of my favorites.”
“Of course, it is,” he muttered, biting back a smile.
She scowled at him. “Are you teasing me?”
“Naturally. But if you would like me to stop, all you must do is ask. I am always happy to oblige a beautiful lady.”
Thalia shot him an incredulous look. “Are you flirting with me?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “There’s no need to sound so horrified.”
“Isn’t there?”
“No.”
“Well, I might have thought that you would contain yourself. After all, this is supposed to be a mission to track down your sister, is it not? Can you not be serious for two minutes?”
Christian narrowed his eyes, stepping towards her. Her eyes widened, and he heard her breath catch in her throat. She did not step back, however. No, she was entirely too proud for that.
“My sister will not be served by my breaking down in tears and curling up on the floor,” he responded evenly. “I can assure you, my dear, that my face is like a large lake. You might see the calm surface, but you cannot guess what is underneath.”
“That is a stupid metaphor,” she scoffed. “One can jump in a lake. Anyway, there’s generally not much there except silt, pondweed, and fish. Now, I can’t tell what is inside your head, but I can assure you that my head is not full of silt and seaweed.”
“Seaweed? In a lake?” he wondered aloud.
She gave an annoyed growl, loud enough to make a frilly-clothed woman beside them flinch and spin around in horror. “You are the one who introduced this ridiculous metaphor to the conversation.”
“It is a perfectly good metaphor.”
“It is not. It is stupid.”
“Perhaps too lofty a concept for you?”
Thalia looked like she wanted to stamp her foot, but wisely decided against it at the last moment. The woman scrambled away, casting horrified looks over her shoulder.
Perhaps we are a little too loud.
Thalia was clearly preparing to say something, and Christian found that he was looking forward to whatever sharp retort she had. But then she glanced over his shoulder, and her eyes widened.
“Oh, Lord,” she mumbled. “Jonathan is here.”
“Ah. Well, I suggest you hurry across the gallery to where Daphne is. I shall talk to him.”
Thalia shot him an almost grateful look. Turning on her heel, she scurried off, vanishing into the crowd. He watched her go, a smile tugging at his lips.
When this business is over, I think I will miss her witty responses.
There was no question that they would go their separate ways once their fake engagement had fulfilled whatever purpose she had. Sensible young women like Thalia did not ally themselves with notorious rakes.
Drawing in a breath, he turned around, pretending to scan the rows of pictures and just so happened to glance over at the crowd.
Sure enough, there was the Marquess of Hawton hurrying towards him, a look of determination on his face. Christian strode towards him, smiling as if just having noticed him.
“Lord Hawton, what a fine surprise!” he exclaimed, holding out his arms in welcome. “You decided to join us after all, then?”
Jonathan paused, warily glancing around. Perhaps he hadn’t expected a friendly welcome.
“Where is my sister?” he asked bluntly.
“Why, I believe she’s over there. Indeed, you can just see her from here.”
The two men looked in the direction Christian pointed, and he bit back a chuckle.
Thalia must have sprinted to reach Daphne in time. The two women stood together, deep in conversation, both staring at a painting, seemingly entranced. Edwin stood behind them, smiling fondly at his wife.
It was a perfect tableau.
Some of the concern melted from the Marquess’s face.
“I see she’s safe,” he managed feebly. “That is good.”
“I agree.” Christian nodded. “You were concerned?”
“I shall be blunt with you. You are making your interest in my sister known, yes? Can I assume that is the point of all this?”
Christian tilted his head. “And do you feel that you really have to ask such a question?”
The Marquess narrowed his eyes. “You know your reputation, I imagine. The Lord of Scandal. I can’t imagine why you wear that so proudly. And yet here you are, moving through Society as if you have a right to do so.”
Christian let a slow smile creep onto his face. “Be careful, Lord Hawton. Offending a duke is never a fine idea, and offending me is likely to cause you a great deal of trouble, I can assure you of that.”
The Marquess gave a tight smile. “I have great plans for my sister. I hope for her to marry very shortly. Before the month is out, in fact.”
Christian paused. “Why the hurry?”
“She isn’t getting any younger.”
“But you believe that a marriage can take place within a month?”
“I think it will be good for her.”
“Ahh, so you are acting in her interests? What a fine brother you are.”
A tense silence fell between them.
The Marquess eyed him with open dislike. “I shall speak plainly.”
Christian grinned mirthlessly. “Please do.”
“I would be glad to see you wed to my sister. However, I intend for her to marry shortly, as I said, and you are not known as a serious man. If you do not intend to offer for her, or if you move slowly, then you will miss out. I know gentlemen who will marry her instantly.”
Christian pursed his lips. “But how would you manage that if your sister’s affections lie with me?”
The Marquess laughed incredulously. “Be serious, Your Grace. We are both men of the world. My sister will marry the man I choose for her. She is a dutiful sister and a proper lady, so she will do as she’s commanded.
If you wish to marry her, then move quickly.
” He let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders.
Christian was a few inches taller than him. He straightened his spine slowly, taking a step forward.
The Marquess paled slightly, but to his credit, he did not back away. Perhaps he had a little of his sister’s courage, then.
“Let me be plain, seeing as we are speaking so frankly with each other,” Christian murmured smoothly.
“My betrothal to your sister will soon be official. It will be common knowledge, and preparations for a wedding will begin. In the meantime, I expect a good deal more respect from you towards my future Duchess. I notice that you speak easily of commanding her. My Duchess will not be commanded. I hope that you do not intend to push either me or my future wife into following your wishes. You might be a marquess of great standing, but I am a duke, and you do not wish to cross me. Do you understand?”
The Marquess did not seem to know what he wanted to do or say. On the one hand, he paled at Christian’s low, menacing voice. On the other hand, his eyes brightened at the magic word betrothal, and they sparkled further at the word duchess.
“I see,” he said. “Thank you for telling me. You are welcome in my home, to make your proposal officially then, and you are welcome to my sister. Just make good on your promise.”
Christian smiled serenely. “Is that all you wished to speak to me about?”
The Marquess pursed his lips. “I suppose so.”
“Wonderful. Now, I shan’t keep you from your important business from which you have doubtless taken time off to come and visit us. Your sister is safe, as you can see. Chaperoned. In public. I can imagine nothing that would keep you here, Lord Hawton.”
If the Marquess noticed the contempt in Christian’s voice, he did not show it. He nodded, smiling faintly to himself, and turned on his heel.
Christian stayed where he was, watching him slip away through the crowd. Once the man was gone, he turned and moved back towards the others.
Daphne and Edwin saw him coming and pulled away, leaving Thalia standing alone in front of an exquisitely carved statue. She stood very close to it in the shadow of a large pillar. She was staring so intently at it that when he stepped next to her, she flinched.
“Oh, I thought you might be Jonathan.”
“I believe your brother has gone home.”
She let out a sigh of relief. “I thought he’d changed his mind and come to take me away.”
“No. I told him we’re making our engagement official soon, and that seemed to satisfy him.”
She threw him a quick, grateful look. “Thank you.”
Christian tucked his arms behind his back. “So, are you going to tell me what terrible thing you’ve done?”
Thalia blinked. “What?”
“Well, your brother is quite determined to marry you off as quickly as possible. He scarcely lets you out of his sight. He talks about commanding you into marriage and making you do your duty, when anyone with eyes can see that you do not wish to marry. Why is he acting so protective?”
“He’s my brother,” she mumbled lamely.
“Brothers are protective of their sisters, yes,” he conceded. “But the Marquess behaves more like a jailor than a concerned brother.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter? You have certainly done something. Come, tell me what it is. Did you try to elope? Try to go to university? Tell me.”
“It is none of your business! And for your information, I have not done anything.”
He snorted. “Now that I cannot believe.”
“No, of course you cannot. But not everybody is a scandalmonger like you.”
“Scandalmonger? What a fine word.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
“Come, I must hear whatever story is behind the tight reins he keeps on you.”
“There is no story.”
“I cannot believe that either.”
She rounded on him. “No, of course you cannot believe it. But not everybody is like you, Your Grace.”
He turned to face her, a slow smile tugging at his lips. A quick glance around revealed that the gallery had begun to empty for luncheon, with only a handful of visitors remaining at the other end of the room.
“And what am I like, then?” he asked sweetly.
Thalia narrowed her eyes, balling her hands into fists. “You are so… so….”
“So what? Come on, my dear. Spit it out.”
She growled and turned on her heel. Before she could stride away, however, he seized her wrist, tugging her back towards him.
Thalia yelped in surprise. Taken off-guard, it was easy enough to back her up against the pillar. Neatly tucked between the pillar and the wall, they would only be seen if somebody stood directly in front of the statue and glanced sideways.
Christian rested his forearm on the stone above her head, grinning down at her shocked face. “Come on, Thalia, we should speak openly with each other,” he purred. “Don’t you think?”
“No!” she shot back.
Her pupils were blown, her cheeks flushed. The blush had begun to inch down her neck, and he wondered how far it would go. Down her chest, between two perfect breasts, and over her belly?
Heat pooled in his gut.
Thalia’s breathing quickened, but her eyes never left his face. “This has gone far enough,” she breathed.
He lifted a hand, letting his knuckle trace the underside of her jaw. “If you would like me to step away,” he whispered softly, “then you have only to say the words, my dear.”
Her pulse hammered in the side of her neck. He let his fingertips brush the hot line, curving down to skim the front of her throat. Her lips parted.
“I do not want to cause a stir,” she whispered.
“Oh, now I know you are lying because you have never been afraid of causing a stir, have you, Thalia?”
“I…”
“You are no wallflower, oh no. You’re something else. Something sharper and brighter. Something unusual.”
She said nothing, merely staring at him.
The last of his restraint snapped. Leaning forward, Christian pressed his lips against hers.
She tasted hot, of salt and tea. He felt her suck in a breath before her hands clawed at his shoulders, fingernails digging in hard enough to cause little pinpricks of pain.
Arousal shot through him, and he wound an arm around her waist, pressing her against his chest.
She gasped again, and he swallowed the sound, sliding the tip of his tongue over her lower lip, almost tasting the heat inside.
He leaned back, mostly to breathe, and fitted his lips to the pulse point in her neck. She sucked in another breath, fingers scrabbling at his collar. He felt her fingers rake through the hair at the back of his head, curling and tugging.
Too much. This is a mistake.
How did it go so far so quickly? Stop it, you fool.
Before he could move away, or redeem himself by pulling back and apologizing, a voice called out, “Christian? Where on earth have you gone?”
Damn. That is Edwin.
They pulled apart, both gasping. Thalia stared at him, her lips red and a little swollen, her eyes wide.
Angry? Disappointed? Confused?
He couldn’t fathom her expression.
“I…” she began weakly.
“I am sorry,” he said shortly. “This must not happen again.”