A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (118 page)

Peter’s head felt like Wellington’s
army was marching through it. Blast, how had this happened
again?

“
Will you please go down to
supper, as well?” he asked Sinclaire. “Explain our absences as you
will.”

His friend inclined his head with a
look of pity in his eyes, then went on his way.

Twice, women he had had no intention
of offering for would become his wife.

Twice, Utley was to blame.

Devil take it.

Chapter
Fifteen

Meg fastened the buttons on Jane’s
lilac muslin much more quickly than she ever had before. “A quick
brush of your hair, and then you’ll be out the door and back to
your ball, miss.”

Sadly, Jane had no desire whatsoever
to return to her own come-out ball.

As soon as she did, Peter
would likely announce their
engagement
—an engagement she had
never agreed to, and wouldn’t ever agree to even if she felt it was
necessary.

But honestly, why on earth should such
a thing be required, when all she wanted to do was open her shop
and make gowns for the ladies of society? Surely it wouldn’t matter
in the grand scheme of life if she’d been compromised. Nothing
truly scandalous had happened. Not really.

And even if it
had
happened, her
dressmaking skills should hold far more moment than her reputation,
if all she was doing was sewing gowns, for goodness’s
sake.

In all honesty, a hint of scandal
might draw more curiosity about her and cause some ladies to visit
her shop that otherwise might not.

Let the gossips gossip. Jane couldn’t
care less.

But obviously, for some
ghastly reason she had yet to decipher, Peter
did
care.

Drat.

Why had he suddenly decided to play
the part of the gallant hero? To ride in on a white charger and
rescue the poor, unprotected damsel in distress? To turn against
everything she had come to know of him and to think of
him?

Life would certainly be much less
complicated if people would simply behave as they ought, or at
least maintain a sense of consistency within their actions. How was
she supposed to know how to respond to his ever-changing
moods?

Bloody infuriating man.

“
All finished now, miss,”
Meg said, returning the silver-plated brush to the vanity before
Jane. “Hurry along. You mustn’t keep Her Grace waiting.”

This was one moment that Jane wished
her assigned lady’s maid were not so efficient. “Thank you, Meg.”
She stood and started for the door before coming up with a possible
excuse to delay. “I don’t suppose there is anything you need
assistance with this evening, is there?”

Meg’s fierce frown served as her
answer.

“
I suppose not.” Jane
sighed and reached for the door knob.

“
Miss?”

A reprieve. Thank God. She said a
silent prayer that it would keep her for a few hours and that the
guests would tire of awaiting her return, even whilst recognizing
the foolishness of such a prayer. “Yes, Meg?”

“
I hope...I hope you’ll
consider keeping me on as your lady’s maid once you are His Grace’s
duchess, ma’am.” Meg flushed. “It has been a pleasure to serve you,
and I know that it will all be quite an adjustment for
you.”

“
Oh...” Goodness, she had
no earthly idea how to respond.

“
I should very much like to
assist you in any way you need.”

“
I see. Thank
you.”

Double drat. Would Meg have to give up
a coveted position in the house if Jane left? But she couldn’t
worry about that. She had to think of what was best for
herself.

“
Thank you, miss. Now be on
your way, before Her Grace sends a search party up for
you.”

Leave it to Cousin Henrietta to do
just such a thing. The woman was certainly determined once she
decided something needed to happen. All signs pointed to her siding
with Peter on this particular matter. Especially since she was so
determined to see each of her offspring marry.

Jane opened the door and strode into
the hall, almost running headlong into Peter only two steps outside
her chamber. She let out a tiny squeak of surprise.

All right, fine. She virtually
screamed, if truth be told.

He took hold of her upper arms to
steady her, which kept her from toppling into him and kept both of
them from falling to the floor in a massive heap of flailing limbs.
Even after she regained her equilibrium, he maintained his grip on
her.

Someone had come along and relit the
various candles in the hall, casting a seductive glow in his eyes.
For the first time, she recognized that they were two different
colors—one an intense green and the other a deep, passionate blue.
They bored through her. She wished she knew what his expression
meant—the fierce eyes, clenched jaw, the pulsing vein in his
temple.

Peter’s hands were as taut and tense
against her arms as he had seemed only moments earlier, when he’d
discovered her in Utley’s clutches. He’d looked like a lion,
preparing to attack then. Stalking. Prowling. Dangerous.

“
Are you all right?” His
voice melted into the recesses of the hall, barely more than a
whisper. It felt like a trembling caress sliding over her
ears.

She nodded, unable to find her voice
for once. His question held more moment than simply asking after
her stability. That much was clear. But there was no time now—no
time to sort it all out. Tomorrow she would have to make him
understand she wouldn’t marry him.

His reputation would
survive intact if she called off the so-called
engagement
after it had been
announced—she held no compunctions about that. Only she would face
the scorn of the
ton
.

From everything she had
seen of the
beau monde
during her time in London, their derision would be fleeting,
at most. In weeks, or even days, they would move on to the
next
on dit
and
Jane Matthews would be merely a passing memory.

Gradually, Peter released his hold on
her and let his arms drop to his sides. “We should return to the
ballroom. Our guests are expecting us.”

“
Our
guests,” she whispered beneath her breath. Drat, drat, drat.
He was already speaking of them as though they were a unit, two
halves of a whole. Perhaps she shouldn’t wait until morning to
disabuse him of this ill-advised notion.

“
Yes. Our
guests.”

How could his voice be so
calm? How could he not be as mortified about their current
situation as she? He’d made it abundantly clear in all of their
previous interactions that he found her to be as capable of
fulfilling the role of his duchess as she was likely to spend the
night rolling around in his stables. Peter could not
possibly
want
this
marriage.

And hadn’t he told her only a few
nights ago that he’d never wanted to marry his first wife either?
That it had been far from a love match, but a marriage forced by
Utley?

He would resent her forever if she
allowed the farcical marriage to occur.

She had to stop him.

Before she could say another word, he
took hold of her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm,
holding it there with a touch more force than truly necessary, and
pulled until she had no choice but to follow along behind
him.

“
Smile. Don’t let them
see...try not to show them how upset you are, Jane.” His voice
cracked slightly as he spoke, but he continued forward, guiding her
down the stairs. Voices and laughter intermingled with the clinks
of silver on china as they drew nearer to the formal dining
room.

He stopped and faced her just as they
arrived before the open French doors leading to the supper guests.
“I know you don’t want this. But I promise to protect you. I
promise I will take care of you.” Peter fixed her with a stare.
“You’ll never want for anything, Jane.”

What nerve. Never want for
anything, indeed.
What of love,
she yearned to fire back at him—but was too busy
to speak, as she was forcing the tears stinging her eyes to
subside.

Being short of words had never been an
affliction Jane suffered before. The things this man did to
her!

He resumed his position at her side
and advanced again. As they entered the great hall, filled with
more chandeliers, and wall sconces, and flowers in pots and vases
even than it was with people, Jane prayed her face held a smile and
not the greenish, sickly pallor her stomach suggested was more
likely. All eyes followed them as they approached Cousin
Henrietta’s table near the dais. With each step they took, the
gentle hush grew more pronounced until the silence was
deafening.

They were all watching her—waiting for
her to react, to trip and fall, to make some sort of social
blunder. Little did they know, she was priming to make the biggest
social blunder of all. They would have their laugh at her expense.
Perhaps not tonight. But it would come.

When they arrived at Cousin
Henrietta’s table, Peter pulled her to a stop and his mother stood.
The stillness of the hall threatened to rob Jane of her courage.
She looked out upon the sea of faces, and they all blurred together
into a riot of color.

Peter spoke. She knew he must have.
But she didn’t hear a word. Instead, she focused on keeping her
knees from buckling beneath her, on pretending to be
happy.

After long moments, the room erupted
into applause. The crowd of faces rose, smiling at her. Sophie and
Charlotte rushed over to embrace her. It was all she could do to
stay on her feet during the ordeal. They must have said something
to her—she didn’t know.

She only knew she couldn’t go through
with this marriage.

The applause died down and the
revelers returned to their supper. Another tug on her arm brought
her to a seat at the table next to Peter. She sat with a blank
stare at the plate before her. What was she to do now? Sitting was
good. She didn’t feel nearly so faint with a chair beneath her,
where before, Peter’s arm had been her only support. Perhaps she
would not thoroughly embarrass herself tonight.

Perhaps she would survive the
remainder of the ball and last until morning.

But then she would have to put an end
to his ridiculous notions, once and for all.

Peter leaned toward her and spoke into
her ear, softly, so no one else could hear. “Eat. You will be ill
if you don’t.”

She might be ill if she did. Jane
scowled back at him but took up her fork and made an effort to
comply. Collapsing into a faint would certainly not be the best
plan. After a few bites of roasted pheasant, however, her stomach
responded with a ravenous growl; she ate with more vigor after
that.

From across the table, Sophie caught
her eye. Oh, how she wanted to sit and talk with her friend. That
would not be possible for several more hours, at the least. Sophie
already planned to come to her chamber tonight, though, to discuss
the afternoon’s visit with Jane’s solicitor. Then they could work
out a plan together.

Lord knew Jane’s mind was not
functioning properly at the moment. She desperately hoped Sophie’s
was. Someone had to be able to think for her.

Well, someone other than Peter, at
least.

~ * ~

“
Go upstairs. Get some
rest,” he said to Jane after the last of their guests had finally
left Hardwicke House. “We have a long day ahead of us
tomorrow.”

She looked up at him with
pinched-together eyebrows and pained eyes. Christ, the night’s
events had taken a lot out of her. Granted, she had taken it all
relatively well, all things considered. But she was
unhappy—probably devastated. Life had never prepared her for any of
the things she was about to experience.

A vicar’s daughter! How
would she ever cope with becoming a duchess overnight? Simply
being
out
in
society was sometimes more than he felt she could handle with a
modicum of decorum, given her escapades of late, but to be a
duchess?

Not to mention becoming a
mother.

And his wife.

He said a silent prayer of thanks that
he had his mother and sisters with him, still. They could help her.
They could teach her what she needed to learn. At least as far as
her new role was concerned.

Mama would guide Jane through
this.

And Peter would follow through with
the promises he’d made to her earlier.

He may not be a man she
loved, or even
could
love. But he’d damned well be certain she had everything she
needed and wanted. She would be happy if it killed him. She would
be honored. He would preserve her reputation.