The Bachelor Trap (5 page)

He was concentrating on his plate, selecting something to eat. “Remember,” he said, “it was Julia who stepped on your toes, not I. As for adding to my credit—how could that be?”

“Oh, think of Lady Veronica and Mr. Coyne.” She tried to sound arch. “His credit has risen since he became engaged to her, or so I've been given to understand. And why shouldn't it? She has excellent bloodlines as well as connections. Alas for you, though, Lady Veronica is already taken.”

He turned his head and looked at her curiously. “Marion,” he said, “are you saying that you are available? Is this, in fact, a proposal of marriage?”

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That is—well, I'm glad that one of us is amused.”

“No, no. Your proposal has merit. You
would
be an asset to me if I seek the nomination. You're wellborn, a lady to the tips of your fingers, and people warm to you as they do not warm to me. On the other side of the balance sheet, I'm a rich man, and not tightfisted. You and your sisters would want for nothing. But I suppose you thought of that.”

Through clenched teeth, she said, “I am not proposing, as you know very well.”

He ignored her protest. “I'll have to give the matter some serious thought.”

She'd been hoisted by her own petard. So much for crossing swords with a seasoned duelist.

The amusement in his eyes faded and he said seriously, “But first, I would want to know about David.”

Her stomach fluttered in alarm. There was only one way to satisfy the curiosity of a man like this, and that was to tell him as much of the truth as she dared.

“David,” she said calmly, “was the man I was engaged to when I was Emily's age. He said that I was the love of his life, but he jilted me at the altar. He'd found a new love, you see, that he couldn't live without.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. My heart didn't break. I didn't go into a decline. I got over him.”

There was a long silence, then he said, “Yet it was
his
name that you mentioned when you came to yourself after your fall.”

Her pulse skipped a beat. Why wouldn't he leave it alone? “Yes,” she said, “I've wondered about that.” She hoped she sounded convincing. “Perhaps, in my heart of hearts, I still love him a little.”

He leaned toward her. “You're a fraud, Marion Dane. You're not pining for a lost love.”

She clenched her teeth. “How would
you
know?”

“Because of this!”

Under her mystified gaze, he took her plate from her and set it on a side table along with his own, then he slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her. Right there, for anyone to see, he kissed her. She should have expected this reckless gesture from the telling scar on his brow.

She was too dignified to fight him, then too beguiled to do more than clutch at the lapels of his coat for support. It wasn't the kind of kiss she expected. He didn't make her submit; he wooed her with the gentlest pressure of his lips moving on hers.

When he pulled away, she blinked up at him. His eyes smiled into hers. “We've both wondered about that, haven't we? So, now we know.”

He retrieved their plates and began to converse naturally and easily about setting up his stable and his latest acquisitions. Eventually, she was able to contribute coherently, and without too much embarrassment. All the same, she was conscious of the veiled glances cast in their direction.

By the time she went to bed, it was as bad as it could get. Rumors were flying thick and fast about the scene caused by Julia Milford and the kiss that had now turned into a torrid embrace.

Marion had just slipped into bed when Emily entered her chamber. “Is it true, Marion?” Her dark eyes were dancing. “Are you betrothed to Mr. Hamilton? That's what everyone is saying.”

“Then everyone needs his head examined!” Marion snapped. And on the subject of Brand Hamilton, she refused to say another word.

She lay in the dark, eyes open, thoughts spinning inside her head. The kiss shouldn't have happened. She couldn't allow Brand Hamilton to matter. He thought he knew who and what she was, but he really didn't know her at all.

She'd known betrayal and heartache, but she'd learned to put them behind her. She wasn't a young girl now; she was a woman, a strong and capable woman with two sisters in her charge. There was no place for any man in her life, least of all someone like Brand Hamilton. She would do what she had always done; she would persevere.

She banished all thoughts of Hamilton and focused on an unpleasant though necessary appointment she had made for the following morning. Her errand would take her to Hatchard's bookshop on Piccadilly. And when she left Hatchard's, David would be out of her life forever.

On that happy thought, she drifted into sleep.

The watcher under the portico of St. George's Church in Hanover Square retreated into the shadows when the last carriage outside Reginald Wright's house pulled away from the door. The ball was over. All the guests were on their way home, and servants were already bolting the doors and windows before finding their own beds. Lady Marion Dane was securely locked up for the night and beyond his reach.

There would be other opportunities to get to her, he promised himself—if not here in London, then on the way to Longbury or in Longbury itself. City ways were not country ways. She would not be so well chaperoned in the country.

He did not hate her or dislike her. But he feared her and the harm she could do. If she kept her mouth shut, all would be well. It would be better for all concerned, however, if she never returned to Longbury.

He mulled over that thought as he struck out toward Brook Street and his waiting hackney.

Marion walked into the morning room and came to a sudden halt. Several days had passed since that infamous kiss in the ballroom, and this was the first time she had come face-to-face with the infamous man who had taken liberties with her. Mr. Hamilton was sitting at the table with his head bent over one of Phoebe's notebooks. He had yet to see her and she was tempted to tiptoe out. It was a childish impulse that she quickly suppressed. He was Reggie's friend. She couldn't avoid him forever.

Without looking up or turning around, he said, “Too late now, Marion, to make your escape. I know you're here.” He rose to his feet, his eyes alight with amusement.

It was his amusement that rankled. He had the most expressive eyes of any man she knew. One look could make her blush, or tie her tongue in knots, or make her grind her teeth. He knew how to play her, and she was determined not to play his game.

“Mr. Hamilton,” she said, bobbing him a curtsy. “Where are the others?”

The plan was to drive out to Richmond Park for a picnic. This was largely for Phoebe's benefit, to bring some roses to her pale cheeks. No one had mentioned that Hamilton was coming with them.

“They've gone ahead,” he said. “You and Phoebe are driving with me. Phoebe will tell us when the carriage is at the door.”

“And Fanny didn't think to mention it to me?” Marion asked faintly.

It was a long way to Richmond, and the thought of being with him for any length of time filled her with dismay. Besides, it would only add to the gossip about them. Fanny must know this. Was this her cousin's way of making a match between them? She'd get no joy there.

“Fanny is being diplomatic,” he said. “She knows I have an apology to make. Will you hear me out?”

When she hesitated, he put his hands on the back of the chair next to his. “Why don't you sit down, Marion?”

It was more of a command than a suggestion. She was struck again by the dueling scar to his left eyebrow. It reminded her that there was a reckless side to his character and she had better watch her step. He stretched the rules of conduct between the sexes that she had been taught to follow, and that put her at a disadvantage.

She took the chair he held for her and watched him as he walked to the window. He moved like a fencer, she thought, gracefully, efficiently. She wondered if he knew how handsome and dashing he looked in his form-fitting dark coat and beige trousers.

He turned suddenly. “How are the toes?”

Her eyes dropped to his boots before she realized that he was asking about her own stubbed toes. “They're better, thank you.”

He took the chair next to hers. “I thought as much when Fanny told me that you'd gone to Hatchard's the day after her ball.”

“I took the carriage,” she quickly replied. Hatchard's? Why had he mentioned Hatchard's?

“Find anything interesting?”

“No. I didn't stay long. My toes started to act up again.”

He nodded and smiled. “No other ill effects from your fall at the theater?”

He was bringing up all the things she didn't want to talk about. What did he know? Why was he so curious?

“None whatsoever.” Her voice was crisp. “Mr. Hamilton, did I hear you aright? You said something about an apology?”

He shrugged negligently. “I'm coming to that. The last thing I wanted to do was cause you embarrassment. I'm sorry I kissed you in front of all those people.”

It wasn't much of an apology, but he'd said the magic words, and she was happy to leave it at that.

She was on the point of rising when he said, “Why didn't you slap me?”

She sank back in her chair. Because she'd been beguiled. She'd thought about that kiss at odd moments throughout the day, every day and every night. The taste of him was still on her lips; the iron-hard muscles in his arms could still be felt by her fingertips. His gentleness, his passion, his…

Swallowing, she said, “Because you took me by surprise. It never occurred to me that a man with his eye fixed on a seat in Parliament would act so recklessly. What do your colleagues think?”

He grinned wickedly. “Oh, they applauded. They believed that I was staking my claim to an earl's daughter before someone else snatched you from under my nose—you know, that I was trying to improve my chances of winning my party's nomination. Others, however, thought I'd had a lucky escape. Most women would have demanded that I offer to marry them after that public display.”

Now he was making fun of her. As coolly as she could manage, she said, “I should find Phoebe and see that she is warmly dressed.”

He captured her wrist and held her in a loose clasp. All amusement was wiped from his face. “No one blames you for that kiss, Marion. Everyone knows that you're an innocent and too easily taken advantage of. The blame is mine.”

Her voice was as dry as tinder. “But because you're a male, they make allowances for you. In fact, they expect you to sow your wild oats.”

A laugh was startled out of him. “Marion, an innocent kiss in front of witnesses is hardly sowing my wild oats.”

“It won't look so innocent if we're seen driving in your carriage with only Phoebe for a chaperon.”

Before he could reply, the door opened and Phoebe entered. “Lady Bethune's carriage is here,” she cried. “And Marion, it's an
open
carriage. Do hurry. Maybe we can catch up with the others.”

Marion looked a question at Brand. “Lady Bethune?”

Lady Bethune was one of the ladies who had chaperoned them at the theater.

“And Ash's grandmother,” he added. He offered her his arm. “A gentleman can't be too careful of his reputation.” And with a broad smile, he ushered her from the room.

As was to be expected, Marion confined her conversation to the females in the carriage while Brand settled back to enjoy the spectacle of Marion studiously avoiding his eyes.

And he couldn't take his eyes off her.

He'd learned a lot more about her in the last week. Sensing that a proposal of marriage might be on the horizon, Fanny had been very frank when he'd led her to talk of Marion. Emily had been the favored child, Fanny told him, and when Diana had died, Marion stepped into her mother's shoes. Not that Diana had been a bad mother, but before she had married, Diana Gunn had been a paid companion, and Marion had borne the brunt of her mother's insecurities. After Marion's father inherited the title and they moved to Keswick, Diana raised Marion to the strictest standards of deportment so that no one could point a finger and say, “I told you so.” Nine years later, when Emily came along, Diana had nothing to prove, and she allowed her younger daughters freedoms that Marion had never enjoyed.

As he saw it, the trouble with Marion was that, at seven and twenty, she saw herself as an old maid, and all her hopes and ambitions were pinned on her sisters. That's not how he saw her. In some way he had yet to fathom, he felt akin to her. There was more to him and more to her than they allowed the world to see.

He wasn't sure that the wisest thing he'd ever done was kiss her. But he'd done it anyway, and broken through her shell to find a fragility that had both stunned him and drawn him in. There was so much giving in her, and so much wanting, so much innocence and so much passion.

What made this woman so different? What made him so reckless when he was with her? Dueling with foils had lost its gloss. Marion was a bigger challenge.

He was becoming attuned to all her moods—the way her breathing altered and her lashes lowered when she felt uncomfortable. It was only when he looked into her eyes that he could tell what she was feeling.

They were going to Richmond at his suggestion. He'd heard from Fanny that Marion had stayed close to the house since the night of the ball, giving as an excuse her awkwardness with getting around with a cane. But that hadn't stopped her from going to Hatchard's. She'd stayed for only a few minutes. What had happened in that innocent outing to make her so skittish?

Had malicious tongues sent her hurrying home? He didn't mind what the gossips said about him, just as long as they left her alone. The last thing she should do is hide herself away as though she were guilty of something. She had to learn to snap her fingers at her detractors. Hence the trip to Richmond.

Thinking of Hatchard's and books had put another thought in his head, and when there was a lull in the conversation, he spoke to Phoebe. “While we were waiting for the carriage to arrive, I happened to look over one of your notebooks. The words ‘Family History' were on the cover, but there wasn't much in it except a family tree.”

“That's because,” said Phoebe, “there's not much to tell about my family. We're all so boring.”

Lady Bethune laughed. “Think yourself fortunate. Now, my family is thick with pirates and adventurers. We don't like to mention them in polite company.”

“Really?” Phoebe beamed. “Well, that's famous! Papa was the only man in our family and, though I love him dearly, I could never make up a story about him.”

“I wish I could say the same about my grandson,” interjected Ash Denison's grandmother, and everyone laughed.

“If I were you,” said Lady Bethune, “I'd be very careful about digging into family history. You never know what skeleton you may turn up. Every family has something to hide.”

Lady Bethune, Brand thought, had put his own feelings into words, but he didn't think those words would put Phoebe off; just the opposite.

Marion said, “I'm sure Longbury has an interesting history, Phoebe. Maybe you could write about that.”

Brand was thoughtful. After a moment's reflection, he dismissed the idea that Phoebe could be putting herself in danger by writing her family history. She wouldn't know the right questions to ask, and he knew that Marion would not allow her young sister to make a nuisance of herself.

It was Marion who was putting herself at risk by returning to Longbury, if there was a risk involved. He still hadn't made up his mind about that.

The sun beat down on them, the breeze was gentle and drenched with the scent of grass and trees; laughter filled the air. Marion was enjoying herself immensely. No one looked at her askance and Brand behaved like a perfect gentleman, dividing his time equally among everyone present. Ash Denison had brought his curricle, and he took all the ladies up, in ones and twos, for a brisk drive. Phoebe was in her element, and though nothing could persuade her to get on a horse's back, she enjoyed petting them and was ecstatic when it was her turn to drive with Lord Denison, though Emily was sharing the honor.

Emily was in her element as well. Ash Denison, the darling of society, had made her the object of his attentions—a heady experience for an eighteen-year-old girl. Marion paid no attention. Their visit to Cousin Fanny was drawing to a close. In a few days, they'd be setting off for Longbury. Emily was entitled to a little pleasure before they left the excitement of London for a quiet country life. No more Ash Denison and no more Brand Hamilton.