What A Gentleman Wants (9 page)

Increasingly frustrated by the willful obliviousness of everyone around her, she wheeled around, searching for the duke. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, a very grand and lovely staircase that curled around the hall in a marble spiral. He met her eyes, and Hannah realized he was waiting there for her. The two other ladies were climbing the stairs, talking and laughing, and Hannah realized in astonishment that Molly was with them. Fists at her sides, she marched toward the stairs.

“I’ll speak to you shortly,” the duke murmured as she stomped past him. Hannah stopped on the second stair, pleased that now she was looking down on him.

“I have nothing more to say to you.”

He sighed, closing his eyes in that expression of pained affront she was already coming to hate. “Sadly, I have more to say to you.” Hannah snorted and turned. “You should have taken the money,” he said under his breath. She shot him a killing glance.

“Believe me, if I had known the alternative, I would have.”

The room she found Celia and Rosalind in was almost unearthly in its beauty. She had thought the prostitute’s pink-covered room richly decorated, yet in comparison to this room, it was tawdry and shabby. To start, it was huge, probably nearly as large as the entire vicarage. The furniture, which Celia and Rosalind were uncovering with great haste, was delicately carved in lovely, airy lines. The walls were covered in pale blue silk, and the high ceiling was painted even more wondrously than the one in the hall. Hannah’s mouth dropped open as Celia swept open the drapes and the full light of day filled the room.

“Mama!” Molly crawled from under a shrouded table, her eyes shining. “I’m hiding!” Celia’s light laugh rang out as Molly disappeared again.

“Oh, she’s just the most darling child!” Celia dropped to her knees to peek at Molly from the other side. A muffled squeal pronounced Molly’s delight with her new playmate.

“She’s the very image of Celia at that age, except for the eyes,” said Rosalind fondly. Hannah murmured something in polite acknowledgement, wondering if that explained the duke’s assumption that Molly would be David’s. Nothing would excuse the way he had inquired, though. “I can’t think why Marcus hasn’t had these rooms prepared,” continued Rosalind. “I’ll make sure he sees to it right away. Do you think you’ll want to redecorate immediately?”

Hannah’s eyes widened. Redecorate this stunning room, when the things weren’t even worn out? Even if she didn’t plan to leave at the earliest possible chance, she wouldn’t consider it. “I think it’s the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen,” she said. Rosalind smiled with real pleasure.

“Thank you, my dear. I did so love this blue.” Hannah frowned, wondering what about that statement made her uneasy, but the footmen came in then with her trunks. Her two small trunks were grubby and out of place in this lovely room. As was she. Molly tugged at her skirt.

“Mama, may I have that?” She pointed to the gift box, which Celia had brought upstairs. Hannah took a deep breath. She expected there was something terribly expensive inside, and she couldn’t allow these kind women to give it to Molly under their mistaken belief that she was the duke’s bride.

“Molly, it’s very, very kind of Miss Celia to bring it for you, but…” Molly’s face was so anxiously hopeful, as was Celia’s, that Hannah hesitated. Rosalind touched her shoulder.

“Hannah, whatever disagreement you’re having with Marcus, it doesn’t affect Celia’s gift to Molly. We want her to have it.”

More protest would be rude; Hannah suspected she might have already been rude. Defeated, she nodded to Molly, who lit up like a candle and raced across the room to the box. Celia looked almost as excited as Molly ripped open the paper.

It was a doll, with a porcelain face and hands. Her hair fell in long golden curls, just a shade lighter than Molly’s, and her painted eyes were brown. Hannah watched her daughter stare at the beautiful doll in rapt adoration. Celia moved the arms and legs, then took out some clothes, just as fine as the pink satin dress the doll wore.

“Celia always wanted a baby sister,” murmured

Rosalind. “She’s been so excited about meeting Molly. I do hope you’ll forgive our intrusion.”

Hannah shook her head. “No, not at all. I—I should apologize to you. It’s a lovely gift, and very generous, but things—that is, I wouldn’t want you to mistake things between the duke and me. They aren’t what they seem.”

Rosalind’s smile was sympathetic. “They never are, dear. But David wrote us that you were a woman of uncommon sense, and perfectly suited to Marcus. He’s used to having his own way, and everyone has bowed to his wishes his whole life. You’ll just have to be strong and stand up to him, because that’s what he really needs.” Hannah smiled weakly at the reference to her sense. If she’d had any real sense, she would have seen through David’s lies and not wound up in this mess. But Rosalind had one thing right: she most certainly would stand up to the duke.

Marcus watched the skirt of her drab gray gown swish past him, climbing his stairs, heading toward his suite. Harper was hovering nearby, waiting for his instructions, and Marcus didn’t want to give them.

Damn David. It was one thing to dump a vicar’s wife in his lap—with a child, no less, a truly charming touch—and it was another to set Marcus up for a fool not only in front of London society, but facing his stepmother and sister with a tale they would never believe. Where on earth had David even met a vicar’s wife? Marcus would have sworn David would run screaming from that sort of woman. But here she was, and urging him to tell the truth. The truth, unfortunately, would break the hearts of the only people Marcus genuinely loved, and he couldn’t bear to do that.

Against his will, he growled the orders to Harper.

Marcus did not like doing things against his will, and as soon as the butler hurried off, he began turning the situation around in his mind, looking for any possible way to use it to his advantage.

If the Preston woman stayed, he would have to acknowledge her as his wife, support her and clothe her and treat her as such. Rosalind would spend a fortune of his money on her. And she had a daughter who might as well be Celia’s sister; Marcus knew just how much fun the gossips would have with that coincidence. Having three women and a child in his house would be annoying, to say the least, but he could simply spend more time away from the house, furthering his investigations and avoiding vexation all at once.

If the Preston woman left, he would have to explain why to Celia and Rosalind. Judging from what he had just seen, they wouldn’t accept it easily. If Mrs. Preston played her cards right, she would soon have two devoted allies in his family. Marcus frowned slightly. As much as he didn’t like it, perhaps it would be better to let her stay. She would divert Rosalind’s attention, which was probably preferable to having his stepmother devote her considerable energy to mending a rift between husband and wife. At best Marcus would have to endure her well-meaning but unwanted matchmaking, and at worst, she would discover the truth.

Marcus sighed. Ironically, it seemed easier to lie to his stepmother and sister and hide the fact that David had brought Mrs. Preston to London to embarrass him, at least until the furor had died down and he could shuffle her out of sight and out of mind. Then he could deal with Rosalind, after this sorry mess with David was resolved. That, he reminded himself, was more important, even though saving David’s neck was becoming more difficult and thankless with every passing day.

He went upstairs and into his suite, the unfamiliar murmur of female voices coming through the connecting door. Marcus tapped on the door to warn them, and pushed it open.

Three females turned. The fourth was bouncing on the bed, but was prompdy hauled down by her harried-looking mother. Marcus took a moment to examine the woman he had decided to let stay on as his wife. Her gray dress didn’t look as drab here in the pale glowing blue of the room, even though it was still unattractive, primly buttoned to her neck with long close sleeves. Curling wisps of dark hair had pulled loose from the knot, framing her face and brushing her neck, and her eyes had lost some of their snap. A shadow of hesitancy fell across her face as she faced him, holding her daughter by the shoulders.

“Do let us know if we can help you with anything,” said Rosalind, moving toward the door. Celia went, too, and Marcus saw the little girl’s eyes follow her. In the doorway, Celia turned.

“Hannah, would you let Molly come explore with me? Just for a bit.” Without waiting for her mother’s reply, the child flew toward Celia, who beamed. Mrs. Preston’s composure slipped another notch as her daughter grabbed Celia’s hand with a huge smile, but she only smiled when the little girl looked back and waved.

“Bye, Mama,” she called, as Celia closed the door behind them. Alone at last with his supposed wife, Marcus watched the forced smile fade from her face. She drew in a deep breath, set her shoulders, and turned on him.

“How long do you plan to allow this to continue?” Hannah couldn’t hold back her frustration any longer. “If you had told them at once, the unpleasantness would be already past, and I could be on my way home.”

He said nothing, just remained in his rigid pose near the door. Hannah was tired, hungry, caught off guard by Molly’s unexpected desertion, and at the end of her patience with the rude, autocratic duke. She had certainly done her best to be truthful, and he had done nothing to help her, even though she would have thought it in his best interest as well. “For someone who must wish me a hundred miles away, you’re doing a shameful job of setting matters to rights.”

“It occurs to me that there are advantages to your presence in London.” He prowled away from the door, hands behind his back. “First and foremost, it will prevent a great deal of humiliation for both of us. Before you protest, think how it will look to your quaint little village when you return barely a fortnight later, alone and unwed. David might be rightly labeled a scoundrel, but I doubt you would escape completely unscathed by it.

“As for myself, I admit having a bride begins to look less objectionable than naming my brother a rogue and liar who deceived a woman into marriage for the purpose of embarrassing me. Sadly, David is quite able to copy my manner and handwriting, although he hasn’t done so in years, and no doubt many would remain unconvinced that he was guilty. It would look like a selfish attempt to free myself of a rash attachment”

“You can’t honestly mean to carry on with this lie,” said Hannah in disbelief.

He gave a short bark of laughter. “Not indefinitely, I promise you. A month or so should do. Then I shall be well pleased to see you off to wherever you came from.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand you, sir,” said Hannah in just as frosty a voice. “Why wait a month? I would be well pleased to be off today.” He turned from the window.

“I do not intend to deny the marriage.”

“There is no marriage,” she said furiously. “You can’t keep me here!”

He gazed at her with something resembling a smirk. “I will not help you leave.”

Hannah pressed her lips together. He didn’t have to say the rest, that since everyone thought she was his wife, no one else would help her, either. She didn’t want to live here for a day, let alone a month. “It will be obvious to everyone within a matter of hours that we’re not married. Then what will you say?”

He lifted one shoulder. “I have said we are; why will anyone doubt it?”

“Because we don’t know each other,” she exclaimed. “Someone will notice that!”

“David has already taken care of that point.” He started toward her again, and Hannah almost took a step backward. “He’s already told Rosalind and Celia we fell in love at first sight. How acquainted can two people become in a week or two? They might notice, but they shan’t find it odd.”

“You’re mad,” she said incredulously. “Why is this easier than telling people the truth?”

He stared coolly down at her, hands clasped behind him. “I don’t want to tell Celia and Rosalind the truth.”

“I know it won’t be pleasant, but—”

“They adore David,” he interrupted. “He’s rather good at gaining women’s affections, and while that is a questionable talent, I can’t bring myself to break their hearts.”

Hannah paused. That was harder to argue with. She had a hard time believing the duke harbored such tender feelings for anyone, but he had been kind to his sister downstairs. And she was already disposed to like Rosalind and Celia, and it surely would be a difficult blow to them to learn how badly David had behaved. “I shall take the blame then,” she said in a slighdy kinder tone. “I’ll tell them I’m homesick, or inconstant, or something. I can’t fault you for wanting to protect them, but I can’t lie to them for a month.”

“Then I shall.” He walked around her and headed toward the door he had come in through.

“How will that spare their feelings?” Hannah followed him, more outraged than ever. She recanted her moment of sympathy for him; he respected his family, perhaps, but obviously he didn’t care for
her
feelings or opinions at all. “You would rather they think you so cold and unfeeling that your wife left you than that David tricked us both?”

His smile was cold. “They’ll believe the first much sooner than the latter.”

“Well—but…” Hannah floundered for a reply. What kind of sense did that make? “They looked very pleased to think you were married. Don’t you think they’ll be disappointed to find out you’re not, and that you lied to them?”

“No doubt.” He opened the door and glanced back. “This is my dressing room. Knock first, if you ever have reason to enter.” Hannah stiffened in anger, and he closed the door in her face.

“Wretch!” she said under her breath, striding away from the door. What possible reason would she ever have to enter his— She froze. Dressing room? Then this room… must be the duchess’s room. She looked at it again in alarm, then at the door more closely. Sure enough, there was no lock. Naturally Celia and Rosalind had assumed, if she were his wife… But she wasn’t, and couldn’t fathom why he wanted her to pretend she was. Surely any hurt Celia and Rosalind might feel now would be ten times worse later, even if they never discovered the truth and only thought the marriage had disintegrated. It seemed clear from what he said that they would lay the blame at his feet, and wouldn’t that be just as likely to break their hearts?