When a Marquis Chooses a Bride (8 page)

She almost gaped at the young woman. “I am sorry, I do not understand you.”

Her eyes widened at Dotty's confusion. “Why, having to stand up with Lord Merton of course.”

“Indeed.” Miss Featherington nodded. “He is a very good dancer, but has no conversation at all.”

“As far as I am concerned”—Miss Smyth raised a brow—“one is allowed to be dull when one is a marquis, and he is very good-looking.”

How could they say such mean things about Merton? Anger burbled up inside Dotty, but she maintained her calm mien. “I do not find him dull or without conversation in the least.” All three ladies stared at Dotty as if she'd gone mad. “I think he is very charming,” she said, warming to her topic. “In fact, just yesterday, he helped me rescue kittens from some boys who would have drowned them.”

This time Miss Meadows's jaw dropped. “If anyone else would have told me that story, I would not have credited it.”

“Admirable indeed, but what pray do you discuss?” Miss Smyth asked.

“All manner of things.” Or rather, now that Dotty thought of it, she had spoken of a wide variety of issues, Merton merely nodded at the appropriate times, except for the once or twice he had paled slightly. “And he's a very good listener.”

Now
that
was the absolute truth.

“I think he is taken with you, Miss Stern,” Miss Featherington said. “For he rarely says a word to me when we dance.”

“Perhaps he
is
shy,” Miss Smyth added. “I suppose even a marquis can be uneasy around others.”

Whatever it was about Merton, he fascinated Dotty. She enjoyed speaking and dancing with other gentlemen, but when Merton's gaze met hers, his eyes warmed and there was nothing boring about him. Her next partner arrived to claim his dance. The evening seemed to drag on forever before Merton finally was bowing to her to claim his waltz.

“Miss Stern?”

She relaxed into his arms, never fearing he would miss his step or trod on her toes. This time she decided to allow him to speak first.

The silence stretched for several minutes until he finally asked, “Are you interested in how the kittens are doing?”

“Yes. I would love to hear about them.” How happy she was he had brought up the subject. By the end of yesterday afternoon, she'd convinced herself he had been trapped into taking them.

His expression was stern, but his eyes twinkled. “My mother took it upon herself to name them. The female is Camille, which means of unblemished character. I'm certain that is currently the case, yet one wonders for how long. The male is Cyrille, which means lordly. I think Mama could have used a little more discretion in naming him. He seems to have taken it to heart and has already cowed my footmen and entranced the maids. Although my butler still seems to have the upper hand with him, for the moment at least.”

Dotty was unable to hold back a giggle. “Oh dear, I hope he is not causing too much disruption?”

“Only to me it appears.”

She stopped smiling. “I'm so sorry. What has he done?”

This time he grinned. “He attached himself to me the first day and nothing I do will convince him I am better off without his company. This evening, he tried to accompany me.”

Thea laughed again, a light tinkling sound that caused Dom to puff his chest out, just a little. He wasn't sure any lady had ever been truly amused by him before.

“I take it your butler was able to stop Cyrille?”

“Only by the expedient of grabbing him by the neck.” Her eyes flew wide and he hastened to explain. “I assure you, it did no injury to the kitten. I am told that is what their mothers do.”

Her face fell for a moment. “I wonder what happened to her. The kittens are only a few weeks old.”

“I doubt we'll find out, unless those boys come with another bag of cats.” If they'd not been in the middle of a crowded dance floor, Dom would have pulled her into his arms to comfort her. He gave himself a shake for thinking such thoughts.

“Perhaps they will and then we could have one of the servants follow the lads.”

He did not know another lady who had as much compassion as she had. “Do you try to save everything?”

“When I'm able to, yes.” She worried her bottom lip, obviously thinking of the kittens. “I believe it is our duty to help others, including animals.”

Duty
. There was that word again. Was he ignoring his obligations by dancing with Thea, knowing he should not consider marrying her? His uncle would be appalled, yet Dom had never had so much fun or been so drawn to a woman.

Thea lit corners of his soul he had thought permanently darkened. All he wanted to do was crush her to him and kiss her, run his hands over her body and make her his.

After tonight, he could not see her again. He would find some excuse to return to his estate. Worthington was right. If he remained in Town, he'd not be able to stay away from her, and that was not fair to her. Her father had probably spent a great deal to bring her out with hopes she'd find a proper match. And it could not be him.

Dom's stomach twisted at the idea of her in another man's bed, but she was everything his uncle had warned him against. No fortune, not of the peerage, and a reformer. Why did he want her so badly?

“After all,” she said, “most people do not choose to be in a bad position.”

Her beliefs were the exact opposite of those his uncle had taught him. Yet, rather than debating her, he nodded. When the dance ended, he escorted her to the supper room, bracing himself as they joined his cousin.

Worthington had insisted Merton and Thea sit with them for supper. Other than their political differences, he had no idea why Worthington was so upset about Dom accompanying her. After he'd had time to give it some thought, his attention to Thea could be passed off as doing his cousin a favor. Therefore Worthington had no reason to berate Dom. He didn't like his cousin's attitude one bit.
Confound it.
He was one of the most eligible gentlemen on the Marriage Mart. Worthington had no right to treat him as if he was a penniless rogue.

At the end of the evening, Dom retrieved his mother and cousin, bid his hostess good-bye, went home to his well-appointed library, and poured a brandy with the intention of sorting out his muddled thoughts. Still smarting from Worthington's Turkish treatment, Dom scowled into his glass. Perhaps it was for the best. He had a duty to marry well, despite how much he was coming to like Thea.

A pair of laughing green eyes hovered in his mind.

Hell
.

He tossed off the tumbler of brandy and slammed the glass on the table.

A footman adding wood to the fire, jumped. “You all right, my lord?”

Merton clenched his teeth. “Never better.”

Rising, he left the room, resisting the urge to slam the door. Taking his temper out on servants would not do, but hitting someone would help. Tomorrow, he'd go to Jackson's Boxing Parlor.

* * *

The next morning, carrying through on his promise to himself, Dom sparred with one of Jackson's most promising young fighters. Stripped to the waist and barefooted, Dom exchanged blow for blow. Sweat poured down his face and into his eyes. When he and his opponent were both winded, but refused to quit, Jackson himself called a halt to the bout.

“That's enough for today, my lord.” The former champion removed Dom's gloves. “Don't know what's happened, but I've never seen you display more to the advantage. Pity you're a gentleman.”

He nodded to Jackson and took a towel one of the boys handed him. Despite how well he'd done, it hadn't helped. All the frustration he had experienced last night was still present. After he changed, he made his way back home.

As he handed Paken his hat and cane, Dom turned to go to his study and almost tripped over Cyrille. “What do you want now?”

The cat stared up at him with a knowing look on his face. “Yes, well, perhaps you're right. Paken?”

“My lord?”

“Have my curricle brought around. I want the bays this time.”

“Right away, my lord.”

Not more than fifteen minutes later, Dom climbed into his carriage and threaded the ribbons through his fingers. A gray streak landed beside him followed by a footman clutching his wig. “I'm sorry, my lord. The little devil got away from me.”

Dom glanced down at the cat. “So you think you're coming too, do you?”

Cyrille sat up as if he belonged there and was prepared to enjoy the sights.

“Well, don't forget it was your idea,” Dom muttered to the kitten, before addressing his footman. “He may remain.”

This was how far he had descended, talking to a cat and allowing the damned thing to accompany him. If anyone saw Cyrille, Dom would be a laughingstock. Fortunately, the kitten was small and blended into the seat. Hopefully, Thea would like seeing the animal. After all, he needed some excuse to see her, or he'd look like a regular coxcomb chasing after a mere baronet's daughter. And that was a blasted lie. She was perfectly eligible—a prickle started on his back as if someone was staring at him, and he almost turned around to see if his uncle was there—eligible for anyone but him.

* * *

Dotty was descending the front steps of Stanwood House accompanied by Charlotte and Louisa when Merton's curricle drew up. She didn't dare glance at her friends. Louisa would not approve, and Charlotte saw romance around every corner.

Merton greeted them before turning to Dotty. “Miss Stern, I understand from some of the things you've said that you are experienced in training animals.”

She was, but did not recall ever actually mentioning it to him. What was he about? The corner of her lip twitched as she tried not to grin. “I do have some knowledge.”

He held out his arm. “In that case, would you please give me the pleasure of your company and your assistance on a rather urgent matter?”

She raised her brows a little, indicating her interest. “Of course.” Glancing at her friends, Dotty said, “I shall see you later.”

Louisa narrowed her eyes, but Charlotte opened hers wide and said with false sweetness, “Naturally, if Merton requires your help . . .”

Dotty wanted to roll her eyes. No doubt, she and Louisa would be laying in wait for her to tell them about the “emergency.”

“You see”—he led her away and lowered his voice—“I am having a problem with Cyrille.”

“Indeed, my lord?” She tried to keep her tone serious. “What might that be?”

Merton cleared his throat and indicated the carriage. “I do not think he realizes he is a cat.”

She looked in the direction he indicated. There was the kitten. Sitting as nicely as you please, surveying the area. She put her hand over her lips to keep from laughing, but her voice shook with it. “Oh my.”

“You see what I mean?” His voice was grim. Yet when she glanced at him, his eyes danced with amusement.

She glanced over her shoulder at Louisa and Charlotte who were staring at Dotty and Merton. “You go on without me. I think this will take a while.”

Louisa furrowed her brow, and Dotty hastened to reassure her friend. “I shall be fine. It is just a small matter.”

Her friend nodded. Dotty was thankful they had not seen the cat. It would only make Merton the butt of some cutting comments. He handed her up and Cyrille moved to sit between them. She still did not quite know what to make of Merton. He seemed to arouse strong feelings in so many people who were dear to her.

Matt, who'd known Merton most of his life, described him as a cold fish, a man with no personality or heart. She could not agree; in many ways he was very good company, possessing a laconic sense of humor as evidenced by the cat. He was definitely a conundrum, and Dotty loved a good mystery, yet where would that lead her?

He started the horses and once in the Park, Dotty turned back to the problem at hand. “Cyrille appears to be exceedingly well-behaved. What seems to be the difficulty?”

“He doesn't talk.”

“I beg your pardon?” She tried and failed to hide her grin. “Surely you do not intend to hold a conversation with him.”

The corners of Lord Merton's lips turned up. “No, but you see, he doesn't make the usual sounds a cat should make. I do have some acquaintance with the race.”

Dotty folded her hands in her lap as her governess used to do when setting out to explain a difficult matter. “We, my friends and I, noticed the same mannerisms in the kittens they have. It appears, when all is well, the cats are silent. Yet if they are in need, they make a small chirping sound. Have you heard that?”

He glanced at the now-sleeping Cyrille. “No. I cannot say I have.”

“Then perhaps”—Dotty was hard-pressed not to laugh when Merton had looked at the cat—“he has no complaints.”

“I don't see how he could; he's got the entire staff kowtowing to him,” Merton stated baldly.

“You did say he'd taken his name to heart.”

He slid a warm glance her way and her heart took the opportunity to flutter. She truly did enjoy being with him.

“That must be it. Still he follows me everywhere.”

“I believe that is a characteristic of the breed as your mother said.”

A man hailed them from the walking path. She glanced around to see Lord Fotherby. Dotty bit her lip. She didn't like the man. Her feelings went beyond his kicking the puppy that day. Somehow she knew he was not to be trusted.

As she suspected, Merton's countenance shuttered, showing only the well-bred, bored expression so common among the
ton
. Was he afraid to allow even those he called friends to see who he really was?