What A Gentleman Wants (13 page)

“None but the most necessary,” he said brusquely.

“Neither of us will be able to marry anyone else.” She couldn’t marry again without giving away the secret, and Hannah was not so old that she had no hope or desire to fall in love again. The duke had no heir, and she couldn’t believe he wouldn’t want one, given that he had not only property and wealth but a tide as well. He would obviously need a real wife for that.

He stretched his legs in front of him, the sun gleaming off his boots, one crossed over the other. Hannah watched them, those boots probably worth more than she’d spent on clothing in her entire life, so polished they reflected most of the light that hit them. Stephen used to sit like that, in the garden at the end of the day, one foot wiggling gently. She used to tease him about it, that he couldn’t sit still even when he tried. The duke’s feet were totally motionless. He seemed a person of great will and control, every word and action deliberate and calculated.

Except he can’t have calculated this, she thought suddenly. She realized that he was feeling his way along as much as she was—in different directions, but no more certain of the way. It somehow made her feel better, that this man who was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it, was as much at sea as she was. Perhaps the odds weren’t so completely stacked in his favor. This made her smile.

“I shall take that as agreement,” said the man next to her, and Hannah blinked. She hadn’t been paying attention, and had missed what he said.

“I beg your pardon, my mind was wandering.” He exhaled slowly through his nose, as if she tried his patience, and Hannah bristled. “It’s been a trying day,” she snapped. “Forgive me.”

“I said,” he repeated very slowly, “that I have no plans to marry. Should you wish to marry at some point, I would not object, although you would have to break any contact with Celia and Rosalind. It would most likely be prudent to alter our arrangements as well; a final settlement, perhaps.”

“But you might want to marry someday.”

“I won’t.” Then his mouth twisted mockingly. “Are you afraid I would use that as an excuse to cut off your funds?”

“No, I just think you might change your mind,” she said, annoyed again by his absolute confidence that things would go the way he wanted. “You have no heir.” He said nothing, but his eyes narrowed. “No,” she amended slowly. “David is your heir.”

“Yes,” he said. “David is my heir. It seems fair, doesn’t it? Another ten minutes and he would have been the duke. He’s already demonstrated that he’s able to get a wife, and I know for a fact he is capable of fathering a child.”

Hannah jumped to her feet in outrage. “He hasn’t demonstrated himself honorable enough to make a decent husband! He’s a liar and a scoundrel, and I wonder that anyone would want something they valued passing into David’s hands!”

The duke rose, a dark and forbidding figure in the bright, sunny garden. “A man in my position marries for one of three reasons: wealth, consequence, or connection. I am fully satisfied with my ability to create my own wealth, have as much consequence as I require, and would rather not burden myself with any more connections. I will not change my mind.” Hannah could only gape in astonishment. He cocked his head as if listening for something. “Do my ears deceive me? Has a woman missed a chance to suggest love as the reason to marry?”

“Your ears do not deceive you, but your knowledge of women does,” she managed to say. “I would have suggested companionship, but not love. Not to you.”

“Oh?” He seemed interested, neither surprised nor offended.

“You don’t want to be loved,” she declared. “You’ve gone out of your way to lie to people who unquestionably do love you. You can’t imagine how hurt they’ll be when they find out—”

“When?” Wrath suddenly kindled in his eyes, replacing the condescending amusement. “Surely you meant to say ‘if?”“ Hannah would not let herself look away. She was determined to stand up to him. He was going to win this particular battle, but he was not going to think he had bullied her into it, or that she was cowering in awe of him. It was her own decision, even if only because she had no other choice.

“Yes,” she said at last “I should have said ‘if.” Because I will stay in London, and let everyone, including your mother and sister, think we are married. I will try to act as a proper duchess might, and not embarrass either of us. In return, I accept your offer of a cottage and income, plus one other promise.“ His subtle gloating hardened into suspicion. Hannah glared back. ”When my daughter is grown, if I haven’t married again and am still considered your wife, you will provide a dowry for her and allow me to bring her to London for the Season if she wishes it.“

“How large a dowry?” he snapped.

Hannah named a huge sum. “Five thousand pounds.” Molly would never be homeless and penniless like her mother nearly was. If she had to do this, she would gain Molly’s independence, too.

The duke’s posture relaxed. “Done,” he said. Hannah jerked her head in a nod. He held out one hand with a dry smile. Hannah took it, and his fingers closed around hers as if their hands had been made to fit together. A strange tingle raced up her arm again. Starded, she pulled her hand free. How awful she should have this strange and very unwelcome reaction to him.

“Yes. Very well, then. I must go—” Do what? Her mind blanked. “Unpack,” she blurted out. He just looked at her with a dark, steady gaze. Did he know why she was so flustered? After what he’d said in the study, about intimate relations… “Excuse me,” she gasped, then turned and fled before she could embarrass herself further.

Marcus watched her go, hoping he hadn’t just made a colossal mistake.

He hadn’t thought so until that last moment, when she pulled away from him as if he scorched her. For just a second, he thought there had been a flash of something in her eyes—not anger, and not dislike. It was more like alarm, which matched his own feeling. For just that second, looking down at her upturned face lit with the glow of late afternoon, he’d been more than just satisfied she had agreed to his proposal. Which was wrong.

He cursed under his breath, striding back into the house, setting the lilies along the path bobbing in his wake. It had been a mistake to touch her in his study. He certainly hadn’t meant to plant the insidious thought in his own mind of taking her to bed. That was the one thing he absolutely could not do; if she were to become pregnant with his child while posing as his wife, he would never be rid of her, and might even have to marry her in truth. Seducing her, no matter how tempting the thought, was the worst possible thing he could do. He would have to remember that

Adams was standing outside the study door, his face worried. At Marcus’s approach, he jumped to attention and bowed. “Yes, come,” snapped Marcus, throwing open the door and resuming his seat behind the desk, still unsettled by unwanted desires. He took it out on the secretary, dictating letters at a furious pace and reeling off a long list of directions. Adams nodded nonstop, scribbling madly, although Marcus hadn’t much hope that more than half of it would be completed cor-recdy. Finally he dismissed the young man, watching in pained silence as Adams fumbled his notes and documents together and left, closing the door with a loud click this time.

Marcus stretched his legs out under the desk. One thing he had neglected to tell Adams to do was arrange for pin money for his “duchess.” After her outburst this afternoon, he wasn’t sure he should do it at all. The allowance a genuine duchess would expect would no doubt horrify her. A dry smile crossed his face at the thought of her outrage over the cost. Hundreds of pounds spent on clothes, indeed. Marcus had paid Rosalind’s bills for years, and knew he was on the hook for several thousand pounds at least. Rosalind would spare no expense lavishing the finest wardrobe London could provide on his supposed wife.

But he had already made that choice. Rosalind would be overjoyed to do it, and if ordering clothes by the trunk kept both his stepmother and the vicar’s wife out of his way, Marcus would pay the bill with relief. The two women would shop, Celia would play with the child, and he could go on with his life relatively unperturbed. There was no reason to let this… complicating attraction disrupt his plans.

He went into the hall, which echoed with laughter and squeals and doors slamming somewhere above. He stopped and frowned. “Harper.”

“Lady Celia is playing hide-and-seek with young Molly,” said the buder, long accustomed to answering unasked questions. Marcus sighed.

“Have my horse brought around.” Another door slammed, and there was a loud shriek of laughter. Marcus winced. “On second thought, make it the carriage. I’ll dine at White’s.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” murmured Harper, bowing away. Marcus went up the stairs, grumbling to himself about being chased from his own home. Turning down the hall toward his suite, he was nearly run down by his sister. Her face was flushed, her golden curls were wild, and she caught his arm, her chest heaving. She looked twelve instead of seventeen.

“Oh, Marcus,” she gasped. “Have you seen her go by? Did she go down the stairs?”

“I’ve seen no one.” He disengaged himself from her grip. “Not quite ladylike today, are you, Celia?” He pinched her chin as he said it. “What on earth is going on up here?”

“We’re playing hide-and-seek,” she informed him with a giggle. “Come join us!”

“No, thank you,” he said. “I couldn’t keep up with you.” From the corner of his eye he saw a small figure race across the hall. “Your quarry is escaping,” he murmured. Celia’s eyes rounded, and she whirled about, chasing after the now-giggling child. Marcus watched her catch up the little girl in her arms and spin around. Shaking his head, but fondly, Marcus went into his dressing room and rang for Telman. It was good to see Celia again, he had to admit, and so happy, too.

He was shrugging out of his jacket when the door opened and closed behind him, not quietly but thank-fully not slammed. “Telman,” he said in a warning voice without turning around. Had everyone in his house decided to make as much noise as possible? There was no response. He looked over his shoulder.

It was the little girl, leaning against the door. He sighed in aggravation, and she put her finger in her mouth. “No hide-and-seek in here,” he said firmly. “Go find Celia and tell her you must play somewhere else.”

“Are you David?” she asked in a tiny voice. Marcus clenched his jaw to keep from swearing.

“No, I am not,” he said coldly. “Where is your mother?”

“Then you’re Marcus,” she said, still staring at him. “Aunt Celia says you have a handsome horse.”

He sighed again, and went down on his haunches to see her. She was wary, but not afraid. It really was uncanny how much she looked like Celia. “You may call me Exeter, or sir.”

“Oh.” Her big brown eyes didn’t blink. “But your name is Marcus.”

Obviously, though, she took after her mother. “What is your name?” he asked, resigned to reasoning with her as well.

“Mary Rebecca Preston.”

“Well, since I don’t know you well, it would be presumptuous of me to call you Mary, or Molly. I should call you Miss Preston. Celia is my sister, and knows me very well, so she calls me Marcus.”

“And may I call you Marcus when I know you well?” He frowned, and she added, “You may call me Molly right now.”

He stood up and went to the door, opening it and stepping into the hall. “Celia!” His sister popped up from behind a table down the hall. “Your playmate is lost,” he bit out as she ran toward him.

“Oh, dear!” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “I’m terribly sorry, Marcus. I told her which doors she ought not to go into, but she must have forgotten.”

“I was looking for my mama’s room,” said the child, skipping into the hall. “I thought it was that one.”

“No, it’s over there,” said Cefia gently, indicating the door to the duchess’s suite. She glanced at Marcus’s face. “Come, Molly, let’s go see the horses now.”

Molly took Celia’s hand. “Oh, yes! Good-bye, Extera!” She waved at him. Celia choked on a giggle.

“Extera?”

Marcus gave her a sour look. “Good-bye, Miss Preston.” His sister laughed outright, grinning gleefully at him, but led the child away. Marcus went back into his dressing room and finished changing for the evening, now that Telman had arrived. Extera, indeed. Both Preston females seemed determined to make fools of him in any way they could. Perhaps it would be worth it to send them away. How long could gossip last, after all?

Years, he acknowledged. And next year would be Celia’s debut. While no one would blame her, a scandal would taint her through association. An estranged wife was nothing interesting; many men kept their wives and families in the country. He would just have to put up with them for a few weeks.

The best way to do that, of course, was to spend as little time as possible around them. He went down the stairs to his waiting carriage, and left.

Leaving the house provided no respite, though. In fact, Marcus reflected grimly to himself that he had apparently leaped straight from the pan into the fire by going out.

Men he scarcely knew and never spoke to stopped to greet him. His dinner was interrupted several times by people pretending to congratulate him, and in reality fishing for gossip about his sudden marriage. By the time he finished dining, Marcus was seething.

Was this a gentleman’s club, or a women’s sewing circle? He called for his carriage and set out for one of the most notorious gaming hells, seeking refuge in the company of men too dissolute to notice anything printed in the
Times
.

“Exeter!” said Robert Milleman, a slight acquaintance. “Join us? We require a fourth.”

Marcus cast an assessing eye over the table near the door. Milleman, a portly gentleman with thinning hair, and Sir Henry Trevenham. Trevenham was on his list of possible suspects. He didn’t gamble with anyone not on the list. Marcus nodded once, taking the chair opposite Milleman. Here, he devoutly hoped, he would have peace, and could accomplish something useful. In his current temper, he would be delighted to catch Trevenham with false bank notes, just so he could have an excuse to hit someone.