What A Gentleman Wants (16 page)

She didn’t dare try to cover herself. She could barely move her arms as it was, with all the pins holding the bodice together. No doubt if she tried to, the whole dress would just fall apart. Hannah could only stand in mute awareness, her breath strangely shallow as his eyes slowly rose to meet hers again. He wasn’t at all embarrassed that she’d caught him looking. Her skin tingled. What was he drinking, staring at her with heat in his gaze? What would he do now? And why did that question make her heart race and her stomach knot?

She shifted her weight, horrified again at her reaction to him. Good heavens, what on earth was wrong with her? She barely knew mis man, and didn’t even like him, but he had only to look at her in that smoldering, knowing way and her every nerve tensed in anticipation.
Of nothing
, she told herself sternly, gripping the invitation.

“Does it?” he murmured. She blinked up at him. “Meet with your approval.” Although his voice was as detached as ever, she was sure he sensed every awful thing she was feeling. When he looked at her that way, she was sure he could see right into her mind. Which was possibly even worse than his seeing her half-undressed like this.

“Yes!” She thrust the invitation back at him. “Yes, that will be perfectly fine.”

He didn’t take it. “You may keep it. Adams has already entered it in my diary.”

Hannah lowered her hand. “Oh. Yes, of course. I— I’ll tell Rosalind as well.”

“She already knows. She chose that engagement.”

Color flooded Hannah’s face. And Rosalind hadn’t said a word to her. She must have insisted he tell Hannah himself. Hannah pressed her lips together. She could survive this well enough, if only Rosalind would leave off her persistent matchmaking. It was embarrassing, and none of Rosalind’s concern, and Hannah was having enough trouble keeping her thoughts off dangerous ground without Rosalind unhelpfully pushing her there.

“Well, what else is there?” she snapped, catching him staring at her again. “I shall do my best, if you’re agonizing over being seen in public with me.”

The harsh set of his mouth softened a tiny bit. “On the contrary, my dear wife,” he said softly. “I wasn’t thinking of that at all.” And he turned on his heel and left her there, stunned speechless. He was quite good at that, Hannah reflected, holding up the skirt of her gown to stomp to the door and call Rosalind and Madame Lescaut back. Just once she would like to end a conversation with him not feeling tongue-tied and stupid. Or perhaps she should wish to feel only that, and not any attraction to the wretched man.

She showed Rosalind the invitation when the seamstresses had finally peeled the gown off her. “Why, how wonderful,” gushed Rosalind, as if she’d never seen the invitation before. “How eager he must be to show you off!”

“He told me you chose it,” Hannah said.

Rosalind’s face fell. For a moment she looked wildly annoyed, but she mustered another cheery smile. “Yes, I had forgotten. Which gown shall you wear? Madame Lescaut has finished the blue silk with the Brussels lace—”

“Please don’t pester him on my behalf,” said Hannah in a very low voice, barely moving her lips. Madame Lescaut and her entourage were on the other side of the room, but sound carried very well in these high-ceilinged rooms with their polished floors and acres of windows.

“Nonsense.” Rosalind waved one hand. “Every man needs a little push.”

Hannah let out her breath slowly, ducking her head as if to read the invitation again as she struggled with her temper and her conscience. There was genuine warmth in Rosalind’s voice when she spoke of the duke, and Hannah didn’t doubt Rosalind was only trying to aid his happiness—and Hannah’s. She didn’t know everything was a fraud. She didn’t know they were lying to her.

Guilt crashed in on Hannah. Rosalind was exerting enormous effort to make Hannah into a well-mannered, well-dressed duchess, and even trying to push the duke into love with her. And in return, she was destined for bitter disappointment on all counts.

“Rosalind, I must tell you…” The words flew out before she could stop herself.

“Yes?” Rosalind smiled brightly.

The duke and I…“ Hannah couldn’t do it, she just couldn’t. She had given her word. It was not her fault the duke had a generous and loving stepmother. ”That is, he’s already told me certain affairs of his are none of my concern,“ she mumbled. ”I’m afraid—I’m afraid you mistake the nature of our marriage—“

“In what way, dear?” Rosalind asked, her eyes probing. Hannah closed her mouth, trapped. “There, I suspected as much,” went on the other woman in a soothing tone. “I’m not blind, you know, and I could see that things were… well, let’s say I thought a little push might be beneficial. I don’t wish to interfere in your marriage, but if Marcus has fed you some nonsense about society marriages, you must not listen to him.”

“No?” echoed Hannah stupidly.

“No,” said Rosalind firmly. “It’s not a very admirable thing, that society expects a man like Marcus to have a wife and a mistress, but you must not accept it.”

Hannah felt like a rabbit with one leg in the snare, knowing she was doomed and help!ess to save herself. “I don’t think I have the power to change his mind,” she said, thinking frantically for a way to change the subject. Perhaps what she should wear to the ball…

Rosalind laughed. “No power! A woman always has a great deal of power over a man who wants her, and as for a man who loves her, well! Marcus is the sort to care deeply for someone, or not at all. Nurture the feelings that led you both into marriage, and he’ll never stray from your side.”

“If he doesn’t care to be loyal, I shan’t go about nagging him not to stray,” said Hannah, speaking absolute truth. The duke would laugh in her face if she suggested such a thing, and if he wanted to have mistresses and flaunt his affairs, there was little she could do, especially since she wasn’t even enjoying his attentions now. No. She frowned a little. That sounded wrong; more rightly, she wouldn’t suffer from the continued lack of his attentions. Not a bit.

“It’s not that I believe he wants to betray you,” Rosalind was explaining. “Men are simply expected to do it, even men who claim to respect their wives. But what a man wants and what will make a man happy are often two different things. Mark my words, he’ll be happier if he’s not spending his nights in the arms of another woman.”

Without warning, the thought of the duke spending the night in her arms filled her mind. Hannah shrugged, trying to banish the image before it could wreak any more havoc on her composure. “I don’t see how I can prevent him, if that’s what he wants.”

“Make sure he’s in your bed every night,” said Rosalind promptly. Hannah choked.

“Well—I—it’s not that…”

Rosalind laughed lightly. “Nonsense, my dear. He may be my stepson, but he’s still a man.”

Yes, a man who had stood looking down her half-stitched gown with a great deal of interest. Who had suggested they might share intimate relations. Who made her heart jump and her skin tingle just by looking at her. He was the very last man in the world Hannah should even think of having in her bed for one night, let alone every night. “Thank you for your advice,” she managed to squeak, before forcibly turning the conversation to ball gowns and other, less dangerous, topics.

At precisely two minutes before nine, Marcus left his suite and went downstairs. He was not looking forward to this evening, and hadn’t been since the moment Rosalind stormed into his study and demanded that he take his duchess somewhere.

“You’ve married a wonderfully intelligent and sensible woman, Marcus, but you are treating her like a child,” she’d accused him. “People are beginning to say you are ashamed of her.”

He’d bitten his tongue to keep from suggesting he might be. The vicar’s wife might be passably attractive, but it was clear she was not a society lady. She wasn’t a lady at all, he had fumed to himself, cursing David yet again. She greeted servants like equals and allowed her child to run wild all about the house and garden, instead of being tucked away in the nursery. When he had dined with the ladies, Marcus had been appalled to discover she apparently wasn’t very educated, for she made no effort to lead the conversation, displaying none of the witty banter society would expect in a duchess. As little as Marcus valued public opinion, he didn’t particularly care to look like a fool, either, and he had a bad feeling that keeping Hannah Preston might have been a very foolish decision indeed.

Still, when he had gone to inform her that they would attend the Throckmorton ball—again at Rosalind’s prodding—she’d looked vastly improved. Shockingly improved, he grudgingly admitted. And he was mildly relieved to see that she didn’t appear to be intimidated by the prospect of going out. He hoped this evening went off without a disaster. He hoped Rosalind had taught her enough to survive. He hoped it would all be over quickly.

The hall was empty, though. He waited a moment, then beckoned Harper. “Where are the duchess and dowager duchess?” Rosalind knew he expected prompt departures.

As Harper opened his mouth, Rosalind appeared at the top of the stairs. “Marcus! There you are.” She hurried down, and Marcus frowned. She wasn’t dressed for the ball. “Celia has a dreadful stomachache. I can’t leave her.”

His frown turned ferocious. “Rosalind,” he warned. She patted his arm.

“There, I know you’re worried about Hannah. You can endure one night without going off and playing cards, surely? It’s her first ball, dear. You must know how important it will be for you to introduce her to society.” He exhaled sharply.

“Rosalind, you cannot expect me to stand at her side all night. Celia will be fine. I’ll wait for you to dress.” If the completely uncharacteristic acceptance of tardiness surprised his stepmother, she didn’t show it.

“Marcus, she feels wretched. Men don’t understand these things.” He slapped his gloves into his palm, realizing she had tricked him. He had counted on Rosalind being so delighted to present a daughter-in-law to the ton that he had underestimated her matchmaking instincts. He couldn’t let the same mistake happen twice. Rosalind smiled brightly over his shoulder.

“Oh, Hannah, how lovely you look!” Marcus turned, slowly, reluctantly. Hannah was picking her way down the stairs, holding her silk skirts very carefully, unintentionally exposing her legs almost to the knees. At Rosalind’s greeting, she smiled.

“How kind of you to say so. I feel like I’ve been made a princess for the evening.” She stepped off the bottom stair and let her skirts fall. Marcus raised his eyes to her face, having looked his fill at her very lovely legs. Unfortunately, this view was just as unset-ding. Her midnight blue gown with white lace trim was low-cut and close fitting, setting off her figure to unexpected advantage. Her hair was no longer pulled into a plain knot, but was arranged more loosely, with curls artfully teasing her ratüer graceful neck. She was far more than passably attractive tonight. She glanced at him. “Good evening, sir.”

“Madam.” Aware of Rosalind’s scrutiny, he lifted her hand nearly to his lips. Her fingers flinched, but she didn’t resist. “Shall we go?” Harper stepped forward with his hat and coat, and a footman swirled a satin cloak around her shoulders.

“Good-bye! Have a lovely evening,” said Rosalind, beaming at them. Hannah stopped cold.

“Are you not coming?” she asked. Marcus almost smiled at the dismay in her voice. Rosalind sighed, steering her toward the door.

“No, sadly, Celia is unwell, and she’s not so old that she doesn’t want her mother about. I shall be so sorry to miss your debut, but Marcus will stand in my stead, and really, who better to introduce you than your husband?”

“But…” She swung around, her alarmed gaze seeking his. Marcus quirked one brow, knowing better than she possibly could what Rosalind was up to, and merely offered his arm. What did she expect him to do, decide they should all stay home with Celia?

“Do give my regrets to Lady Throckmorton,” Rosalind added. Slowly Hannah put her hand on his arm. Harper opened the door, and Marcus led the way out to the carriage.

Hannah let herself be handed into the carriage. She wasn’t sure, but she suspected she’d just been tricked. Rosalind hadn’t looked terribly worried about Celia, and the duke had that grim expression he so often wore when displeased. “Is Celia really ill?” she asked when the door was shut and they were alone.

“No doubt she would say so, if asked.”

That sounded like confirmation. She couldn’t suppress a frustrated huff. “I am quite tired of being maneuvered like this.”

“Aren’t we all,” he muttered.

Hannah pursed her lips. “We could turn the tables on her, you know. Return early, or not even go at all.”

He sat motionless. “I beg your pardon.”

“After all,” she went on recklessly, “Rosalind tricked us; why shouldn’t we repay her in kind? If we return home and sneak up the servants’ stair, no one need know.”

“Except the servants,” he replied dryly. She waved one hand.

“Then we could climb the large tree outside my windows. I certainly needn’t summon a servant in order to go to bed.”

“Climb a tree?” he said incredulously. “To get into my own house?”

“Of course,” she said with a laugh. “Surely you did it as a boy.”

“Indeed not” He paused. “Surely you didn’t, as a girl.”

“I most certainly did. My brothers taught me.” She was growing attached to the idea now, even though she knew she could never bring herself to shred the glorious silk gown she wore by climbing a tree. It was strangely fun to twit His stuffy Grace about it, though. “I would go first, to show you how it’s done,” she offered innocently.

Marcus clamped his lips together to keep from replying. He could picture her all too well, hiking up her skirts and climbing a tree with those long, slender legs in white silk stockings. He was disgusted with himself for even letting himself imagine sneaking through the dark garden with her, then watching her—from below—as she climbed into her bedroom window. Which he would also have to climb into, since there was no tree outside the duke’s suite. And then… Did she really not need a maid to undress?