Lady in Red (17 page)

Cassandra pulled the collar of her pelisse a bit closer. “I do wish the displays were more plainly marked, too. I have no idea who your Greek goddess is. Honoria, you did a much better job at the display you made of Father’s objects in the shop.”

“So I’ve often thought” Honoria stepped back so she could eye the statue a bit better. “Whoever this is, I wish to be her. She looks very fine wearing her sheet and sandals, not a goose bump in evidence.”

Cassandra giggled. “You do well enough with sandals. But the sheet? It just doesn’t seem the sort of thing one could wear with a tiara.”

Honoria smiled.

“There! I knew I could get you to smile today.”

“I haven’t been very jolly, have I? I’m sorry.”

Cassandra took Honoria’s hand and squeezed it. “We’ve all had a lot on our minds lately.”

“I am fine. I’m just… mulling.” Mainly about the mistakes she’d made in dealing with the marquis. Why was it that the very sight of the man set her defenses roaring to the fore?

“Honoria, things will turn out fine, wait and see. I wouldn’t be surprised if—”

“Cassandra! Honoria!” Portia and Olivia came into the room, the leather soles of their slippers clicking on the hard floor. “You must come and see! We found the most amusing thing.”

Cassandra sighed. “Oh, not another naked statue. They can’t glue fig leaves over them all, you know.”

Portia stifled a laugh behind her gloved hand. “No, no! Something better.”

“It is a man, though. But a real one and not a statue,” Olivia said, angling up her chin. “He has shirt points up to his ears so he must stand like this at all times. It is the most amusing thing!”

Cassandra smiled. “And large buttons, too, I daresay.”

“Shiny brass,” Portia said, holding her hands in a large circle. “Like tea dishes!”

“I wonder if it is Sir Frothersby,” Cassandra said. “I read in a scandal rag that he is the undisputed King of the Dandies.”

“It must be he, for there can be no one worse. Oh Cassandra, you
must
see him!” Portia whirled and started for the door, Olivia scurrying behind her.

Cassandra started after her sisters, then paused. “Are you coming?”

“No. I’ve seen Sir Frothersby; he is indeed a sight, even without a fig leaf. But I’d rather stay here a moment.” She gestured toward the frieze. “I fear that if I do not remember who this is, I will not be able to sleep a wink tonight.”

“I do the same thing when I cannot recall something. Very well, stay here. We will return as soon as we find Sir Frothersby.” With that, Cassandra left.

Honoria bent closer to the frieze, hunching her shoulders against the chill. Except for her hand where the talisman ring rested, she felt far colder than she should. She pulled her mind off the troublesome ring and examined the marble before her. It was a large portion of frieze that, according to the small placard resting before it, came from the top rim of the Parthenon. Unfortunately, there was little else on the placard and Honoria was left to her sketchy knowledge of Greek mythology to try and discover the mysterious woman’s name.

She tilted her head to one side, her brow low. What goddesses did she knew? There was Aphrodite and Hera and—

“She looks like you, doesn’t she?”

The rich, deep voice washed over her, and she caught her breath, closing her eyes against the sudden surge of awareness. What was
he
doing here? Perhaps… she opened her eyes, hope fluttering through her. Perhaps she hadn’t ruined anything after all! Perhaps—just perhaps—

She canned her thundering heart. Whatever had brought

Treymount here, she wouldn’t know if she continued to stand with her back to him.

Gathering her wits, she turned to face her adversary. “Lord Treymount. What a surprise.”

He glinted a smile down at her, looking devastatingly handsome, his black hair rather mussed over his forehead, his startlingly blue eyes seeming to shimmer in challenge. “Miss Baker-Sneed, how are you today? Your housekeeper told me where you might be found.”

“Oh?” So he’d sought her out a-purpose. She clutched her reticule a bit tighter, hoping her eagerness didn’t show. “You wished to speak with me?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, that amazingly sensual smile still touching his firm lips. He was dressed in morning finery, though his clothing was far more somber than the average man’s. It was odd, but he seemed to be particularly partial to wearing black. She wondered why that was.

“Miss Baker-Sneed, we need to talk, only this time I am not going to allow you to walk away. And as I have an appointment at noon, we must be swift.”

She watched him from beneath her lashes. He didn’t seem as angry as he had been last night. If anything, he seemed reluctantly amused. She smoothed the sleeve of her pelisse, trying to stem the nervous quaverings of her stomach. “Lord Treymount, I don’t believe we have anything to say. Unless, of course, you are going to reconsider—”

“Seven thousand pounds is still too much for one ring.”

A sudden pang of disappointment caught her. “Then why are you here?”

He allowed his gaze to brush over her, lingering on her lips and then hair. “I spent a good deal of time last night considering our conversation. I have decided that if we wish to resolve this little matter, then we must
both
compromise.”

The ring on her finger seemed to heat the slightest bit at his words. She frowned down at her gloved hand before straightening her shoulders and saying bluntly, “I don’t need to compromise. I am perfectly willing to sell the ring elsewhere.”

“Ah,” he said, leaning a little closer, the deep scent of his cologne tantalizing her. Sandalwood and… something rich and earthy. She lifted her nose a bit and leaned toward him, trying to catch a deeper sample.

Suddenly, she realized what she was doing. She caught his gaze, and to her chagrin, a faint, lopsided smile touched his lips. His gaze roamed over her face, then flickered down to her bosom.

Though she was encased in a very respectable morning gown, and then covered to the neck in a red wool pelisse, she still could not help but feel naked. Face heated, she pulled away, clutching her reticule before her like a shield. Ye gods, did the man do that on purpose? With the flick of a glance he made her feel undressed.

His gaze passed by her and rested back on the frieze. “The huntress, Diana.”

“Ah!” She turned to look at the marble, grasping the change of topic with relief. “I could not figure out who it was.”

He stepped forward, his chest against her left shoulder as he pointed toward the bottom of the frieze. “See the bow and arrow at her feet?” His breath brushed over Honoria’s cheek, sending a shiver through her.

“I—I—Of course. I missed that somehow.”

“It’s partially broken away. You remind me of the huntress very much.” His low voice was casting a spell over her, trickling through her defenses.

Honoria moved away, though her shoulder was still warmed from where it had rested against his chest. “My lord, this is—we are wasting time. What compromises do you propose?”

“First, I want another reassurance that I will have the rest of my week. You left in quite a bustle last night, and I want to be assured that anger has not upset reason.”

She stiffened. “I am a woman of my word. And if you hadn’t made me so angry last night, I would never have threatened to take it back.”

“We were both a little on edge last night.”

Oh pother. Did he have to be so reasonable? It took all of the wind out of her sails. She sighed and flicked an impatient glance his way. “Treymount, may I ask you something?”

His brows lifted, but he bowed. “Anything.”

His answer surprised her. She could ask him anything? Anything at all? That certainly was an interesting thought. She could ask him his favorite color. Or whether he liked brunette women over blondes. Or what he thought of a woman with chestnut hair with a white streak.

Honoria gathered her wayward thoughts. “Yes, well, I was wondering…”

“Yes?” Marcus watched his quarry bite her lip. By Zeus, she had a lovely mouth. Full and juicy as a ripened strawberry, it made his own mouth water with the need to taste it.

“Lord Treymount, seven thousand pounds is not that much to you.”

“No. But I have never in my life paid more for something than I thought it was worth. I fear I would be less than true to my own sense of value if I agreed to such an outlandish price for the ring.”

“If you have already decided that, then why should I bother even waiting the week?”

“Because I intend on finding a way to make you change your mind.”

Her hazel eyes blazed, her lips thinned, and her shoulders sprung back as if readying her for an attack of some sort. “You can’t.” And with that terse sentence, she turned back to the frieze and studied it as if her life depended upon it.

Marcus watched her, admiring the line of her profile, the delicate curve of her full bosom beneath her pelisse, the graceful arch of her neck and shoulders. It was odd, but the more contact he had with the prickly Miss Baker-Sneed, the more he found her presence tolerable. Pleasant, even. He was also becoming more and more convinced of her beauty, a fact that surprised him a good bit. It was not a conventional sort of beauty—but rather a quiet, elegant line of cheek and chin and throat. Her eyes were her most remarkable feature, brought to even more prominence by the streak of white that flashed from her temple.

He glanced about them, noting that they were alone in this room of the museum, which was to be expected at this time of the day. Most of his acquaintances were either deep in slumber or were just waking. Of course, had they been awake, he rather doubted they would be at the museum. “I am surprised to find you here.”

“Why? You know my penchant for antiquities. I believe it matches your own.” She sent him a sidelong glance. “Have you never been here?”

“Yes, I have. Many times.” Marcus wondered what she would say if he told her that he had been instrumental in convincing the House of Lords to purchase the marbles to begin with. He doubted she’d believe him, true as it was.

He stifled a sigh. Honoria thought the worst things of his character, and he supposed, in some abstract way, he couldn’t blame her. What had he done to make her think otherwise other than try to bully her into selling him back his ring? Though his intentions were good, he was afraid he’d been overly severe in his actions. That was the thought that had sent him to her house as soon as it was reasonable to visit.

He wasn’t going to apologize; after all, he’d done nothing truly reprehensible. But he had planned on explaining himself. Trying to make her understand why the blasted ring was so important. His gaze rested on her hands where they were clutched about her reticule. Through the thin leather of her glove he could see the distinct outline of the ring. “Why do you wear it?”

Her brows rose, her gaze dropping to her own hand. “I don’t know. I suppose… it just feels right.” Her brow lowered. “It fits perfectly, which surprised me because it looked far too large. But once I slipped it on—” She bit her lips.

“Yes?”

Color flooded her cheeks. “Nothing. I just—” She managed a wan smile. “I daresay the rumors about the ring affected me somehow.”

“But you didn’t know that was the St. John talisman ring until I told you.”

Her brows lowered. “That’s true; I didn’t. I wonder why…” Her voice faded off and she stared at her hand, perplexed and mulling.

He smiled a little, and leaned forward to say in a low, intimate voice, “Perhaps you felt something because the magic was already touching you, holding you in its clutches, beguiling you with the possibilities that perhaps… just perhaps, you and I—”

“Lord Treymount, please!” Her eyes flashed fire, now more green than anything else, her cheeks bright red. “I am not a naive girl to fall for a romantic legend, especially one that has to do with
you
!”

He’d made her angry, so he knew he shouldn’t have taken offense when she tried to put him in his place. But her words raced over him like a heated needle, flashing his temper to the fore. In his entire life, no woman had looked at him with such a mixture of disregard and ill-concealed contempt.

Marcus’s reaction was instantaneous. It was madness. Pure madness. But he didn’t care. As soon as this woman was within touching distance, some force inevitably began to resonate between them. First as anger tinged with reluctant respect, and then as something else…

The thought of the last time he’d allowed impulse to rule him came flashing to the fore. He’d ended up kissing the delectable Miss Baker-Sneed, a feat he’d only just begun to appreciate. Now, it seemed it might be time again.

Perhaps if he kissed her just once more, only this time very well and thoroughly, all of the tightness locked in his stomach and lower would release, and he would realize that she was nothing more than a woman. He would be freed from the curious fascination he seemed to be developing toward her.

Without further thought, he stepped forward and slid an arm about her waist.

“Lord Treymount!” She gasped, but didn’t move away.

“You are wearing the ring. Perhaps I can’t help myself.”