Candice Hern (11 page)

That awkward stir of heat in his loins flared again at the sight of her. Dammit, he must get those blasted urges under control. Why could he not direct them toward Miss Thirkill? Her beauty dazzled the eye, and yet she awakened not the tiniest twinge of hunger in him. Not like those jolts of raw desire that her aunt caused to shoot through his vitals. He was no doubt regretting the loss of Artemis, but if his traitorous body thought there was a possibility of replacing her with Lady Somerfield, it was dead wrong. How could he, when he was about to pay court to her niece?

What the devil was the matter with him, lusting after women he couldn't have?

The fact was, Thayne was not accustomed to being denied what he wanted. But he was generally not foolish enough to want what he could not have. What had happened to him? Had India changed him somehow?

Perhaps he simply needed a woman. It was time to find someone else to satisfy his urges. And soon.

"Lord Thayne!" Miss Thirkill snapped open her fan and fluttered it before her face. She raised her voice to be heard above the cacophony of hundreds of other voices. "Is this not a terrible squeeze? We will never be able to have a conversation amidst such a din. What good luck that we were able to speak together earlier today at Doncaster House."

Clever girl. She made sure those near her would know of their prior acquaintance, and that she had been to his family's home, which hinted at greater intimacy. Thayne had to admire such skillful management of the situation. Miss Thirkill was a force to be reckoned with. No wonder the duchess liked her.

"I am pleased to see you again, Miss Thirkill. And Lady Somerfield." He sketched a bow to each of them. "You remember Mr. Burnett."

His friend stepped forward and made his bows. "Ladies. It seems an age since we last met, does it not?"

Burnett's lopsided grin had won many a female heart during their years abroad. But the single-minded Miss Thirkill was not moved. She ignored Burnett and continued to smile at Thayne as she moved even closer to his side.

"I do not believe you have met some of my friends," she said, touching his arm ever so briefly with her fan. "Allow me to present them to you, if I may."

And so Thayne was introduced to several young ladies and even more young gentlemen. It was done with a subtle possessiveness, as though Miss Thirkill wanted to make it clear, particularly to the other ladies, that he belonged to her.

Amazing. Thayne had spent his entire life in command of everything around him. Except for the bargain with his father eight years ago, he had never allowed anyone to manipulate him or any situation that involved him. He was a man who liked to be in charge. But he'd had no experience of the marriage mart. The female players in this game — young ladies and their mamas alike, or their aunts, not to mention his own mother — had him easily dancing to their tune like a marionette. He had lost all control of the situation in an afternoon.

And they called women the weaker sex!

Thayne had a niggling notion to take back that control somehow, to let it be known that he was his own man and would make his own decisions. But when he looked at Miss Thirkill, he thought better of it. In the first place, he was loath to embarrass her publicly in any way. In the second place, he doubted he would find a better bridal candidate on his own, so why not let her — and her aunt and his mother — have their way in this one matter? Once he was married, his bride — whoever she might be — would discover that he would not be so easily manipulated.

Thayne and Burnett stayed and chatted with the group for several more minutes. To be perfectly honest, Burnett did most of the chatting, charming all the ladies into laughter and wide-eyed interest with brief anecdotes of their travels. With the constant shifting of people through the room, Thayne found himself suddenly at Lady Somerfield's side. A rotund gentleman made his way past and caused her to brush against Thayne.

And there was that surge of heat again.

He muttered an apology and stepped away quickly, putting a decorous distance between them.

Lady Somerfield smiled. "If you insist on apologizing to everyone you bump against, you will have no time for other conversation, my lord. Such accidents are unavoidable in a crush like this."

"Undoubtedly," he said.

"You are a man of few words, are you not, Lord Thayne? Your friend is full of tales of India, and yet you say very little."

"It is difficult to converse in such a crowd."

"Indeed. But I still mean to get to know you better, my lord. I shall insist on a lively conversation during my barge party on Thursday."

He cracked a small smile. "I cannot promise to be lively, Lady Somerfield, but I shall try, once again, to answer all your questions."

She laughed, and it reminded him of temple bells. And of another woman he could not have. "You no doubt think me an inquisitive old busybody," she said.

"On the contrary. I do not think you at all old."

She laughed again. "You are too kind, sir. But I see you do not deny that I am a busybody. It does not matter. I will expect a conversation on Thursday in any case. Do I have your promise?"

"Of course. I look forward to it." And he found that he did.

But he could not have said if it was for the proposed conversation, or for the chance to stand close to her again.

* * *

Beatrice looked about her with the pride of a successful hostess. She could not have been more pleased. The barge was lovely, the river calm, and the weather glorious. It was a perfect day for cruising leisurely down the Thames.

"What a splendid idea this was, Beatrice." Penelope was one of only two of the Fund trustees, the Merry Widows, who had been able to attend, though they'd all been invited. "Whatever made you think of it?"

Beatrice gave a little shrug. "I don't know. I wanted to do something different for Emily. We've been to so many breakfasts and garden parties and such, I couldn't bear to host another one myself. When I learned that some of the livery companies rent out their ceremonial barges when they are not in use, it occurred to me to hire one. Isn't it simply gorgeous?"

The small shallops one could rent from various bargehouses could accommodate six or eight passengers, whereas the ceremonial barges were enormous and could hold as many as fifty. The one Beatrice had hired for the day was all polished wood and gilt, with eighteen liveried oarsmen. It was a magnificent vessel, and she was very proud to have acquired it.

"It rather makes one feel important to be on such an elegant barge," Penelope said. "Very queenly. I almost feel like waving to the masses as we sail by in such splendor."

"It definitely outshines every other vessel on the river," Beatrice said. "Even in lesser boats, though, I have always enjoyed river travel. It is rather relaxing, don't you think?"

"Delightfully so." Wilhelmina, gracefully ensconced on one of the velvet-cushioned benches, held up her glass of champagne and saluted Beatrice. "Kudos to you, my dear."

Beatrice raised her own glass in acknowledgment and took another sip. She'd paid an exorbitant amount to obtain the French champagne. It was almost certainly smuggled into England, though the wine merchant pretended he'd had several pre-war cases on hand. But Beatrice had had her mind set on champagne and strawberries, and was pleased to have both in abundance. Huge silver bowls of ripe strawberries were placed about the cabin, along with pastries, cheeses, and other fruits, while footmen kept everyone's glasses filled.

"I know this party is for Emily and her young friends," Wilhelmina said, "but I am pleased you invited a few of us elders."

"They do make one feel one's age," Beatrice said as she glanced around the cabin, "do they not?"

"Nonsense," Penelope said. "I wouldn't want to be seventeen again for any amount of money, if such a thing were possible. I'm much more content with my life now."

"Yes, so am I," Beatrice said.

"So tell us," Penelope said, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Have you had any luck locating your masked lover?"

"No, and I have stopped looking. I have too much on my mind with Emily to think about secret lovers. Besides, I have become more regretful of that incident and rather prefer to forget it."

"But I thought you enjoyed it," Penelope said.

"I did. But it was madness. I should never have done such a thing. It has only served to make me crazy, worrying that some dark-haired gentleman will recognize me and announce to the world what we did together. I prefer to forget it ever happened."

"Silly woman!" Penelope said. "You should not forget it. You should find the fellow and partake of his lovemaking again. Perhaps you will be more inclined to do so once some young man has taken Emily off your hands."

"It looks to me as though that might be sooner than later," Wilhelmina said. "Lord Thayne is very attentive, is he not?"

"If you call that stiff formality of his attentive," Beatrice said. "But Emily seems determined to have him."

"Who can blame her?" Penelope said. "The man is exceedingly handsome. And a marquess. Every girl's dream, I should say."

"Emily's dream, to be sure," Beatrice said. "But I must confess I would prefer a man to show a bit more warmth of feeling. Lord Thayne is so reserved with her, so aloof. And he is terribly arrogant and proud. Even a bit intimidating. An aristocrat down to his toes."

And one who had the unfortunate ability to make her own toes curl up in her slippers when she merely happened to look at him. That, of course, was the worse problem, but it was
her
problem, not his or Emily's.

"Of course he is," Penelope said. "He is a marquess, the heir to a duke. What did you expect?"

Beatrice shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose I am worried that all his highborn detachment suggests an intractable, severe nature. He might be a difficult, demanding husband. I would not wish that for Emily."

"You are imagining troubles before you have cause to do so," Wilhelmina said. "Give him a chance. You barely know the gentleman."

"Actually, I announced to him quite boldly that I wanted to get to know him better. I have been trying to goad any kind of a response from him that is not strictly formal and impersonal."

"And have you succeeded?" Wilhelmina asked.

"I have caught a glimpse or two of something beneath that patrician restraint, but only a glimpse. I really do want to get to know him better. For Emily's sake. She is too young to understand that a rigid temperament could make for a less-than-happy marriage."

"I don't think you have anything to worry about with Emily," Wilhelmina said. "She will use her beauty as a tool to get what she wants from her husband and from life."

"And what happens when her beauty fades?" Beatrice rose from her chair and shook out her skirts. "I made Lord Thayne promise to have a conversation with me today. It is time I called in that promise. Excuse me, ladies."

Beatrice made her way carefully to the front of the cabin, threading through groups of chattering young people, both seated and standing. She stopped to speak with each group, ensuring they had all the refreshments they wanted and were enjoying themselves. She was roundly congratulated for a splendid time on the river, which made her feel rather smug with self-satisfaction.

Lord Thayne stood near Emily, who was smiling and chattering gaily. The charming Mr. Burnett was on her other side; Lord Ealing, Sir Frederick Gilling, and Lord Ushworth also stayed nearby, in hopes, no doubt, that she would favor them with a smile. But Emily's smiles were, Beatrice knew, for one man alone.

His lordship's demeanor was as formal as ever, his expression inscrutable. He nodded now and then in acknowledgment of something Emily said, and once went so far as to offer a tight-lipped smile. Beatrice wondered what it would take to receive a full-blown smile from the man. She suspected it would suit him better than his usual dour dignity.

And probably cause her knees to buckle, blast the man.

She spoke to Emily first. "Are you enjoying the day, my dear? Would you like more strawberries?"

"Thank you, no, Aunt Beatrice. Everything is wonderful." She looked at Lord Thayne. "Just perfect."

The girl had hardly left Lord Thayne's side the whole trip. Every gesture, every word was calculated to let the rest of the party know that Lord Thayne was her property, so to speak. And since this was
her
party, no one dared to disagree. A match between them seemed so right — the prettiest girl and the most eligible gentleman — that most everyone seemed to accept it as inevitable.

Thank heaven. Ophelia would be pleased.

"I'm glad you are having a good time," Beatrice said. "We shall be at Kew shortly and will be able to stretch our legs a bit. I'm sure the gentlemen will enjoy that."

She turned her attention to Lord Thayne. He gazed out the open-air cabin, through the tall, pillared arches, watching the passing scenery. The entire party had stood at the arches or stepped outside the cabin to admire Fulham Palace as they'd passed, and several other places before that. Since then, the riverscape had been gentle and quiet, with no great houses or other marvels to be seen, and so most of the guests had retired to seats inside the cabin.

Beatrice moved to stand near Lord Thayne. "There will not be much to see until perhaps Brandenburgh House, which is lovely but not terribly grand. Then Chiswick, of course, shortly before we arrive at Kew."

"There is always something to see along the river," he said.

"Yes, that is true. Perhaps, sir, you would give me your arm for a few moments and step outside with me. The view is better and the weather is fine."

And there it was again, that half smile, a mere twitch of the lips. "It would be my pleasure." He offered his arm, and led her to the deck outside. There was not much of a deck, only a small area between the cabin and the oarsmen. These barges were built to carry passengers inside, not outside. But one small bench had been placed against the cabin wall, and Lord Thayne held her hand steady while she took a seat. He released her with unflattering speed, as though her touch burned him. She was mortified to think it may well have done so. Every time she was near the wretched man, heat pooled low in her belly. Had he felt it, even through the fine leather of her gloves?