Duchess in Love (25 page)

Her smile transformed into something altogether more mysterious and seductive. Damn! He had better watch his step. Unless he wanted to sign up for a life supervising bridges over Charlcote Stream, he couldn't go much further than—

“No, thank you,” she said.

He couldn't remember what she was talking about.

“I would rather not continue working on estate papers in the library,” she clarified, a thread of laughter in her voice.

Cam grimaced. The orchestra had started up again. “Let's dance,” he said, taking her by the hand.

“We can't,” Gina protested. “This is a roulade, and Lady Troubridge has not yet arranged sets.”

“It's a waltz.” He flipped a coin to the conductor that shone gold as it turned over and over. The roulade turned abruptly into a waltz.

“I'm not sure this is a good idea,” Gina said, looking up at her husband. “We're supposed to be awaiting our annulment, not dancing together. People will talk.”

He considered that idea for a moment. “If you don't dance with me, I shall kiss you, right here on the dance floor.”

“
What?
”

“On the other hand, if you dance with me, I won't kiss you…at the moment.” His eyes glinted with promise.

“You had better dance, because I don't think that Bonnington will appreciate the kiss. Given Tuppy's example, he might feel honor-bound to protect your reputation by trying to floor me. And”—he grinned—“I'm not sure he's up to it.”

He danced the way he spoke, the way he lived: in bold impetuous dashes and wild seductive turns. Gina could tell that people were staring at them. She felt a prickling in her shoulders. She wrapped composure around her like chilly velvet and dared onlookers to make a comment.

Cam felt the change in her body and looked down to find that he was holding a Duchess in his arms. A Duchess with a capital D. Gina's beautiful lithe body was as rigid as a board. No one could possibly interpret their dance in a suggestive light: in fact, her chilly indifference was positively marital. He felt a ripple of extreme annoyance. He preferred his wife with a blush and a giggle.

“I believe your brother might be a member of the house party,” he said.

“Why on earth do you think that?”

“Just because.”

“Remarkably poor reasoning. If my brother were here at the party, he would have identified himself.”

“What would he say?” There was more than a trace of scorn in Cam's voice. “How do you do, Your Grace? I'm your illegitimate brother?”

“Why not?”

“What if your brother sent the blackmailing letter? Pardon me,” he said over his shoulder as they bounced off another couple.

“I don't think we should speak about this in public,” she hissed. She had lost her composure. One curl had fallen from the complicated arrangement on her head and was bobbing against her neck.

Cam thought about kissing that neck, and white-hot lust shot through his limbs. “Let's retire to the library and discuss it at liberty,” he said silkily.

“I don't know what you think you're doing,” Gina hissed, having discovered that her husband's crooked smile had the disconcerting ability to make her blood race. “We're getting an annulment. We are annulling our marriage. Our marriage is ending. Our marriage is—”

“I agree,” he interrupted.

“Then why are you courting me?”

When Gina was uncertain, she turned into a duchess extraordinaire. Her question sounded like a royal proclamation. Her eyes had never looked more commanding, her tone more utterly self-possessed.

He wanted nothing more than to shake that composure from her and return her to the impulsive, shrieking girl he had once deserted in a bluebell wood.

“I'm not courting you,” he said, condescension intentionally underscoring his tone. “I'm seducing you, Gina. There
is
a difference.”

There was a fractional pause. The music came to an end.

“Seduction would be remarkably foolish, given your wish to be rid of me.” Her tone was thoughtful. “In fact, I think it could fairly be said to be the opposite of what you desire.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I do not wish to be rid of you. And if you are not certain about what I
desire,
I would be happy to illustrate it at great length.”

The corner of her mouth curled up unwillingly.

But she caught Lady Troubridge's interested eyes and remembered the more important subject. “What do you mean, you don't wish to get rid of me? We are not even in a real marriage, for goodness' sake.”

“You asked
me
for the annulment. I like having you around—well, I like reading your letters.”

“You don't want me as a wife,” she pointed out. “Merely as a correspondent.” She colored slightly, but continued. “Seducing me will not encourage me to write you letters. You don't want me to be your wife, Cam.”

“Only because I'm not the wiving sort,” he replied. “I think the more pertinent fact is that
you
don't want me as a husband. I'd be perfectly happy to continue as we are. In fact, with a few modifications in our arrangements—”

“What are you talking about?”

“Our marriage,” he explained. Then he wondered what on earth he was saying. So, in the way of all men, he retreated.

“I hadn't found our arrangement too onerous.”

“That is not what you said. You said something about making modifications—in fact, it sounded to me as if you suggested that we halt the annulment.”

Cam felt the blood drain from his head. Had he really said
that? Surely not. His eyes drifted to his wife's creamy, delicate shoulders and long neck. He had said that.

“Well?” she demanded, voice as sharp as any Shakespearean heroine.

“There's no need to be triumphant about it,” he said, trying for an easy tone. “If you lost your nerve and decided not to marry your icebound marquess, I'd be happy to keep you on. No one could complain about the work you've done at Girton.”

Her cheeks were flagged with crimson patches. “Oh really? Isn't that nice? I can move from being the invisible wife who causes no trouble to being an invisible wife who causes no trouble, while continuing to do a great deal of work. How splendid for me. I shall give up a man who loves me and wants me to have his children, for a man who admires my letters and my management abilities.”

“It was only a suggestion,” Cam said, feeling a wash of relief. It must have showed on his face.

“I should like to know what you meant by modifications.” Her eyes were narrowed. When he didn't answer, she gave him a sharp poke in the ribs. “Cam!”

He had that amused, sleepy look about him that made her stomach tighten. “I was talking about bedding,” he replied, without even looking about to see whether anyone was listening. “If we stayed married, I think we should share a bed—at least when I'm in England, don't you think?”

“Even better!” she said shrilly, trying to ignore the little voice in her head that seemed to be—traitor!—welcoming the idea of sharing Cam's bed. “I gather that I become an estate-managing wife who raises a family alone while her husband frolics in a foreign country.”

“Ah, but we could have a good deal of pleasure before I left. And I would visit.” His whole face was wicked now. He wasn't even touching her, and she felt as if he was ca
ressing her. A glowing weakness lay low in the pit of her stomach.

She opened her mouth to say something. But what?

A cough sounded at her elbow. Marquess Bonnington gave Cam a scant bow. “The evening has deteriorated into an unpleasant display,” he said with glacial emphasis. “I propose that we adjourn to the library and practice our roles in
Much Ado About Nothing
. Lady Troubridge has just informed me that she has invited a large party to see the performance day after tomorrow.”

Gina's eyes widened. “She promised it would be a simple skit for the house party alone!”

“Apparently she changed her mind.”

Cam chuckled. “I hope she is not expecting us to match the thespian abilities of Lord and Lady Perwinkle.”

“The less said about that disgraceful scene the better,” Sebastian commented.

“Quite,” he replied.

Gina had the horrible suspicion that Cam was laughing silently at her betrothed. “Come along, then. If we are to make fools of ourselves, we might as well practice our humiliation beforehand.”

“There's the spirit,” Cam said. He turned and scanned the room. “Where, oh where, is the beauteous Ophelia?”

Sebastian frowned.

“That's from
Hamlet,
” Cam noted, adding painstakingly, “another Shakespeare play. I was referring to the more-than-beauteous Esme.”

“The line reads
Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark?
” Sebastian snapped, walking toward the library. He paused when they all reached the room. “Shall we begin with the first act?” A less dignified man might have been described as barking.

“That would be us,” Cam said in a sunny tone. He caught
Gina's hand, but Sebastian was holding her arm. “If you would allow Beatrice and Benedick to sit down?”

He drew Gina to the couch. Esme sat down opposite them, looking amused.

“You had better take your gloves off,” Cam said, handing Gina a book. He frowned when he saw the myriad of tiny buttons extending to her elbows.

She watched as his dark head bent over her wrist and he began nimbly pulling apart the small pearl buttons on the inside of her wrist. “I'm perfectly capable of reading with my gloves on.”

Sebastian made an irritable gesture and sat down next to Esme. “When you are
quite
ready,” he said, with a biting edge to his voice.

Cam drew off both gloves and tossed them aside without giving Sebastian a second glance. “There we are,” he said, in such an intimate tone that Gina felt as if she were transferred to the bedchamber.

“Begin, then!” her betrothed snarled from the opposite couch.

“What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?”
Cam said, with so much amusement in his voice that Gina's mouth curled upward, despite the fact that she was still annoyed with him.

His eyes met hers, black and laughing, and her heart hiccupped.

“We can't sit like sticks,” Cam remarked. “We'll have to act this thing out, now that we are to have a proper audience.” He picked up her hand and kissed the palm. Sebastian made a growling noise.

“Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?”
Gina said, trying to ignore the tingling in her hand.

Miracle of miracles, Esme had managed to engage her
irate future husband in conversation. “Why are you deliberately antagonizing Sebastian?” Gina hissed.

“Forgot the rest of your speech?” Cam replied with an irreverent smirk. “Prompters at the theater charge a penalty when actors haven't learned their lines properly.” His eyes drifted in such a way that his idea of a penalty was readily obvious.

“Thankfully, my memory is excellent,” Gina snapped.
“Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence!”

“Then is courtesy a turncoat,”
Cam responded. “And by the way, I think I've done you a signal favor by drawing off that boarhound you call your future husband.”

“Nonsense,” Gina said. “You are playing with his feelings the way you play with everything. Aren't you ever serious, Cam?”

“It is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted.”

Annoyance boiled in her chest. She snatched away her hand. Somehow he'd kept hold of it and was smoothing each finger in a way that made nerves tingle all the way up her arm. “I don't believe you care about anything. You're nothing more than a care-for-naught, as my old nurse would say.”

Cam's face lost a bit of its impudent seductive quality.
“Truly, I love none,”
he remarked.

Gina's jaw set. “That is just like you,” she hissed. “I insult you and your reply is a joke.”

“It's the line from the play,” he protested. “Benedick says that he doesn't love anyone.”

Gina scowled at her script.
“A dear happiness to women: they would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor.”

“You needn't sound so fervent.”

“Why not? It's true enough. You
are
Benedick, in the flesh. You love no one, except perhaps your Greek Venus.”

“I do care for Marissa. She's a passionate, loving woman.” Cam decided that he didn't have to mention that Marissa's passion was reserved for her husband.

“How lovely,” Gina cooed. “I shall marry Sebastian”—she threw a reckless smile toward the other couch—“and you can return to your cozy domestic goddess.”

Cam was happy to see that Bonnington was absorbed in a heated quarrel with Lady Rawlings. “I wouldn't call her merely cozy,” he said, dismissing the memory of his echoing house in Greece. “Marissa is such a
warm
person that she seems to fill the house with laughter. So why don't you continue with that line about your cold blood?”

“I thank God and my cold blood,”
Gina said between clenched teeth,
“I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.”

Cam gave a mock little bow of his head. “Said with true flair. Beatrice to the life. Hopefully that cold blood will sustain you during your marriage with yonder icy marquess.”

“How dare you!” Gina gasped. They both involuntarily looked at the opposite couch, but Esme and Sebastian were paying no attention.

“God keep your ladyship still in that mind,”
Cam said.
“So some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate scratched face.”