The Marriage Lesson (28 page)

“Who he is?” The dowager frowned in a skeptical manner. “He knows perfectly well who is. He is Thomas Effington, the Marquess of Helmsley, and one day, God willing, he’ll be the ninth Duke of Roxborough.”

“No, that’s what he is. Not
who
he is.”

“Then who is he, my dear?”

“He’s a man who writes terribly bad poetry and, even though he knows it’s bad, refuses to stop because of the pleasure he takes from it.” The words poured out. “He’s a man who hates to admit he’s wrong even when he knows full well he is. He is funny when he wants to be and funnier when he doesn’t. He has a quaint stuffy streak when he’s trying to be proper and an annoying sense of honor when it suits his purposes. He’s quite stubborn and wants what he wants when he wants it. And . . . ”

A knowing smile quirked the corners of the old woman’s mouth. “And you are in love with him.”

“I’m not.” Marianne met the dowager’s gaze and helplessness washed through her. “I am.”

“Then marry him. I know he wishes to marry you.”

Marianne shook her head. “For all the wrong reasons.”

“Are you so certain? Men never know their own minds. It’s precisely why we marry them.”

“But what of his actions? Haven’t they proved something?”

“Only that he is determined to get his own way.”
And so am I.
“Nothing that he has done has dissuaded me from continuing with my plans for my life.”

“Ah, yes, a life in pursuit of adventures.” The dowager’s blue eyes twinkled.

“How did you know that?”

She laid a hand on the younger woman’s arm. “My dear Marianne, has no one told you? I know everything.”

Marianne swallowed hard. “Everything?”

“Everything I need to know.” She smiled in a smug manner and folded her hands in her lap. “And any number of things that are none of my business whatsoever.”

“Oh, dear,” Marianne murmured, trying not to wince at the thought of precisely what the dowager could know.

“I must confess, I do rather admire you.”

“You do?” Marianne stared. “Why?”

“You have the gift of intelligence and a strength of purpose rare in one so young. You will make an excellent duchess one day.”

“Your Grace, I—”

The lady quieted her with a wave and nodded at her grandson. “Thomas, too, has never allowed obstacles to deter him from his chosen path.”

Marianne’s gaze slid to Thomas. “He is determined.”

“Please do.” Marianne smiled. “I could certainly use it.”

“Adventure, my dear, is as much a state of mind as anything else. One can travel the world and never find the excitement to be found within arm’s reach.

“Remain true to yourself, but understand happiness may not always be found in the plans we have laid out for ourselves but rather in the unforeseen turns life take us. Do not close your mind, or your heart, to the unexpected twists of life. It is those unsuspected paths that could well lead to the greatest adventures of all.” She settled back in her chair. “There, now, wasn’t that wise?”

Marianne laughed. “Indeed it was.”

“I thought it would be. And now, if you would be so kind as to do me a favor?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Anything?” The dowager raised a brow. “Including marrying my grandson?”

“Your Grace, I—”

“Never mind.” She waved away Marianne’s protest. “That was not entirely fair of me, although I have never hesitated to disregard fairness when it serves my purposes. And I, too, ignore obstacles in my way. It is a family trait. I will simply ask that you consider his suit with an eye as much toward what he cannot bring himself to say as what he can. And one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Do try, dear girl, to keep him out of the ivy. It quite upsets the gardeners.”

    *    *    *

“I did not want to intrude.” Thomas leaned forward and brushed a kiss on her cheek. “I do hope you were telling Lady Marianne what a good catch I am.”

“My lord,” Marianne said, a warning in her voice.

“I have been doing nothing of the sort,” the dowager said primly. “I have been telling her what a scandalous, stubborn scoundrel you are.”

He raised a brow. “That should further my cause.”

“I had hoped she would take pity on you, or at the very least see you as ripe for reforming and rise to the challenge.”

“Your Grace—” Marianne started.

Thomas chuckled. “And has it worked?”

His grandmother sighed. “I fear not.”

“Pity.” He studied Marianne thoughtfully. “I had thought to announce my betrothal tonight.”

“Did you? To whom?” Marianne asked in a casual manner.

“To the only woman to whom I have ever issued a proposal.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Her voice was cool in contrast with the spark in her eyes.

“I would indeed.” He met her gaze squarely but directed his words to his grandmother. “She would be hard-pressed to cry off after a public announcement. While she is not concerned about gossip in regards to herself, such an incident would reflect poorly on her sisters, and I suspect she would prefer to avoid that.”

“I daresay, Thomas,” the dowager interrupted, “that is perhaps not the best idea you’ve had today.”

He glanced at his grandmother. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Yes. Take her off and waltz with her.” The dowager waved at the dance floor. “Or better yet, take her into the garden and convince her that there is much to be said for an arrogant, pompous ass if he is the right arrogant, pompous ass.”

“Your Grace, I’d really rather—”

“Excellent suggestion, Grandmother.” He gripped Marianne’s elbow and started toward the terrace, ignoring the stiffness and twinges of pain that accompanied every step.

“The mazes are even lovelier at night . . . ” The dowager’s voice trailed after them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Marianne said through clenched teeth.

“Smile, my dear. We wouldn’t want to attract attention.” Thomas steered her through the open doors.

“Very well.” A forced smile lifted her lips. “I’m smiling. Now, what are you doing?”

“Taking my grandmother’s advice.” They crossed the terrace, down the steps to the path to the garden. He stopped at the fountain and released her. “This should do.”

“Well?” She folded her arms over her chest. “What do you have to say?”

“Who is he?”

“It’s Pennington, isn’t it?”

“What’s Pennington?”

“Or is it Berkley?”

She glared. “What are you talking about?”

“The other man in your life!”

“What other man?” she said slowly.

He stepped toward her. “I know, Marianne.”

“You know what?” Her voice was cautious.

He gritted his teeth. “I know you have another suitor.”

She backed away. “What makes you think so?”

He hesitated. He could tell her he knew all about her
Country Miss
adventures and the suitor she’d written into her stories. But that secret knowledge gave him the least bit of an upper hand, and with Marianne, he needed every advantage. At least for now. “It scarcely matters how I know, but I do. Now, who is he?”

She stared at him for a long moment, then a pleased grin spread across her face. “You’re jealous.”

“I am not,” he snapped.

She laughed. “You are. How delightful.”

“Delightful?” He pulled his brows together and scowled. “It’s anything but delightful. I will not have the woman I intend to marry courted by another man. Now tell me who it is.”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “No.”

The dim hope in the back of his mind that perhaps she had invented this new suitor vanished with her words. Anger and the oddest touch of pain surged through him.

“Why do you want to know, anyway?”

“Competition? There is no competition. I am not some sort of prize you can win as easily as you won the Ride today.”

“I did do a fine job.” He grinned in spite of himself. “But it certainly wasn’t easy.” He narrowed his eyes. “Nor is this. Now, who is he?”

“I shan’t tell you.” She turned and started around the perimeter of the fountain. “It’s really none of your business.”

“It is my business.” He fought to keep his voice under control. “You are my business.”

“Hah! I am your obligation.” She fairly spat the words at him.

“Do you really think so?” An idea took shape in the back of his mind.

“What else am I to think?”

An idea that probably was as ill-conceived as anything else when it came to Marianne. “Very well.”

She stared suspiciously. “Very well what?”

“I have done all in my power to discharge that obligation and I shall do no more.”

“What are you saying?”

“It’s simple, my dear. I told you once I know precisely when to walk away from a game. I rescind my offer of marriage.”

“Thomas!” Shock colored her face. “I don’t . . .  you can’t . . . ”

“I’m just trying to find the right words.” She paused.

Her gaze met his and they stared at each other for an endless moment. He would have given his entire fortune to know exactly what she was thinking.

She squared her shoulders. “If that’s what you want.”

“It isn’t at all what I want. However, it is what you want, isn’t it? What you have always wanted?” He circled the fountain.

“Yes, of course.”

“Then I concede defeat.”

“Good.”

He jerked her into his arms. “However, there is no reason why we cannot continue to have our private adventures.”

“None at all.” She stared up at him, challenge in her eyes.

“Although now that I am no longer trying to convince you to marry me, I will no longer risk my neck in my attempt to emulate the romantic heroes in your books.”

“Is that what you were doing?” she said under her breath.

“For whatever good it did me, yes.” He brushed his lips across hers. “I nearly killed myself for you.”

“That would indeed have been a shame.” She slid her arms around his neck. “Although I do appreciate the effort.” She brought her lips back to his and he savored the feel of her mouth on his and her body molded against him.

Her gaze searched his face. “Yes, well . . . ”

He tightened his grasp and kissed her again. A no-nonsense kiss with all the skill he possessed and all the passion she alone could trigger in him. At long last he drew back and stared into her brown eyes, glazed with desire and perhaps a bit of confusion. Good. He wanted her confused and off balance. It was her turn. He’d wager no other man could leave her in such a state. And regardless of what he said aloud, he’d allow no other man to try. “Now, then, we should return to the ball.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

He escorted her back inside and made it a point to stay by her side for the remainder of the evening. Let Pennington and Berkley or whoever else might be in her life try to get close to her. Not tonight. And not ever.

Marianne was remarkably quiet. Oh, she smiled politely and made idle conversation, but if he knew nothing else about her, he knew her well enough to know when there was something on her mind. And with luck, that something was him. It was all he could do not to chortle with delight.

She could make all the plans she wanted for her future, but her future would be with him and no one else. He had no intention of allowing her to go off in search of adventure. No intention of allowing her out of his life.

And no intention of allowing any other man to take his place.

    *    *    *

She should be pleased. After all, she’d gotten exactly what she wanted. Or perhaps, an annoying voice muttered in the back of her head, it was what she deserved.

Thomas was charming and attentive and never let her out of his sight. Even during those few dances she’d shared with someone else, she was all too aware of his gaze on her every minute. Neither Pennington nor Berkley approached her. She wondered if Thomas had said something or simply made it clear with his unspoken vigilance that their attentions were not welcome tonight.

Not that she really cared. His jealousy was gratifying, yet it was born of a sense of possession no greater than if she’d been a prime bit of cattle. If he truly cared for her, she would have relished evoking such a response in him. As it was, it simply didn’t signify.

She moved through the remainder of the evening as if in a waking dream. Why was she so overset about all this? Shouldn’t she be relieved that Thomas was abandoning his quest for her hand? She’d never been interested in marriage.

Until she fell in love.