Rules for a Lady (A Lady's Lessons, Book 1) (23 page)

"I never said—"

"Oh, look, it is the viscount." She lifted her fan and waved at the young man to whom she had promised the next dance. As she expected, he rushed forward, ignoring social custom by joining her on the dance floor without the required trip back to the countess.

Lord Tallis stiffened, clearly aware of her maneuvering, and she held her breath, wondering if he would create a scene. In the end, he did not, relinquishing her in silence, though his dark gray eyes spoke volumes.

* * *

"A success! An unqualified success!"

Gillian could only grimace as the countess's loud tones continued to fill their carriage with her overflowing enthusiasm.

"Did you see Lady Marston? She practically ate her own liver with jealousy. And her with three indifferent daughters to launch."

Stephen nodded and murmured a noncommittal response.

"I must tell you, Amanda, I had some anxious moments. When you first arrived in London, never did I imagine you could manage at all, much less become an Original! We did marvelously, my dears, absolutely marvelously. But now we must make our plans. We have hundreds of decisions to make about the rest of the Season."

Gillian turned from her inspection of the dark London streets to stare at her silent guardian. "Does that mean I will not be banished to York?"

The countess gasped in shock. "Banished? Now? Whatever could you be thinking? You cannot possibly leave now. We must build on tonight. Stephen, tell her she is not leaving. Why, it would be utterly ruinous."

But Stephen did not answer. He merely shifted his gaze until it locked onto Gillian's.

She matched his stare, holding her chin high though her blood rushed painfully in her ears and her mouth went dry.

"Oh," said the countess, cutting into the sudden tension with her own frustrated sigh. "You two have had another tiff."

Gillian shifted her gaze, startled enough to break away from Stephen's mesmerizing face. "Tiff?" she echoed. The countess had called their arguments many things—explosions, tirades, even the onset of Armageddon—but never a "tiff."

"Yes, yes," responded the countess in an exasperated tone. "You two are constantly getting into these childish little spats. Well, go on, Amanda. Apologize, and then Stephen will say all is forgiven, and we can set our minds to our true task—finding you a brilliant match."

Gillian opened her mouth to say something rude, only to be forestalled by Stephen, his low voice filling their carriage as completely as the chill night air.

"On the contrary, Mother, it is I who must beg Amanda's pardon."

Gillian stiffened. He was sorry he had kissed her. So sorry, in fact, that he was apologizing in front of his mother.

"Oh," commented the countess in disappointed surprise. "Very well, Stephen. Now, Amanda, say all is forgiven."

"What if all is not forgiven?" Gillian failed to keep her voice even, upset because she could not understand why his apology hurt her so.

"Well, of course everything is forgiven," snapped the countess, clearly at the end of her patience. "He has said he is sorry, and I am certain he promises he will not do it again."

"Most assuredly," Stephen said.

"He certainly will not," Gillian said at the same instant.

"There," the countess said with a gratified smile. "Now all is well." And since the carriage had finally arrived at their home, no one bothered to contradict her.

Chapter 11

Rule #12:

A lady honors and obeys her parents.

Gillian was miserable.

Nearly two weeks had passed since her confusing entre into the
haut ton
, and in that time she had been showered with every kind of flower, danced until her feet were numb, and had every part of her body immortalized in poetry. In short, she was a greater success than she had ever dreamed.

Given her imagination, that was high praise indeed.

Yet she was totally, incredibly miserable.

She was in love.

She did not know how it happened. She was not even sure when, but the facts were inescapable. It did not matter whose hand she held on the dance floor, her thoughts invariably compared the man to Stephen. This viscount's shoulders were not as broad; that lord was not nearly as graceful. This duke was too comfortable, that baron too complimentary.

But even that she pushed aside as nothing more than simple selection. After all, she must make comparisons to keep everyone straight in her mind. It was not until nighttime that the inescapable truth held her in its burning grip.

No matter what happened during the day, when darkness closed about her, Gillian would he stock-still and fight the desire to run to him. It did not seem to matter that Stephen was clearly destined for Lady Sophia or that he had spent the last weeks either ignoring or scowling at Gillian. At night, all she wanted to do was throw herself into his arms and whisper that all was forgiven.

Yes, she was in love. With Stephen. She sighed and dropped her hand on her chin.

"I see my wit is failing me today," commented Lord Tallis dryly.

She glanced up in guilty surprise. She was so caught up in her thoughts that she'd failed to even notice she and Lord Tallis had already arrived at the Tower for their tourist event and the fulfillment of their wager.

"Thank heaven it is early for the fashionable throng," he drawled. "Otherwise my reputation would be quite done in."

"I am so sorry, my lord. My thoughts have been wandering."

"If I were of a romantic nature, I might think you were a woman in love."

She started, twisting in his curricle to consider him more closely. He was a handsome man in his own cynical way. Whereas Stephen was straightforward and honest to the bone, Lord Tallis was... different, almost devious in the way he presented himself to the world. Not as tall as Stephen, he nevertheless had his own aura of power hidden beneath his fashionably dandified air.

And for the last two weeks, he had seemed like her only friend, despite her set-down at the ball.

"My lord—"

"Please," he interrupted, helping her descend from his curricle. "I think the coming confession calls for given names."

She flinched, wondering just how much of her soul he could read with his keen gray eyes. Then she sighed. She must speak with someone, and at the moment he was her closest friend. Even so, she waited until after he paid their admittance fee to the Tower menagerie and dismissed their guide. She did not speak until she stared at the cage of a particularly sad-looking panther.

"Oh, Geoffrey, the truth is, after all my scoffing at unseen dangers, it seems I have fallen into the biggest trap of them all."

"You have fallen in love." He spoke evenly, his words a statement and not a question, but she could sense his underlying tension when she touched his arm.

She looked away from the panther to gaze at a cage of careening monkeys. "I... I seem to be having difficulty ruling a particularly willful aspect of my nature. Despite all logic and reason, I feel... pulled toward one man."

He did not answer at first, waiting patiently as other visitors passed out of earshot. "I take it the gentleman in question is unacceptable."

She released a disgusted laugh. "Unacceptable, irredeemable, and cantankerous to boot."

He raised an eyebrow, a sparkle of amusement flashing in his eyes as they wandered on. "How dreadful."

"He has been a thorn in my side from the first moment. The thought of willfully subjecting myself to his tyranny for the rest of my life is insupportable. I simply will not do it."

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," he commented dryly.

She glared at him. She had never been particularly fond of Hamlet. Too much moaning, too little doing. But unfortunately Geoffrey did have the right tack. She was protesting too much, and all the while her illegitimate nature gained a foothold in her heart.

She looked back at the monkeys. "I am undone by my own traitorous blood."

"Not blood, Amanda. Passion. And passion can easily be ruled by the head."

She lifted her gaze to him and knew he, at least, believed it was true. Despite his frivolous air, Geoffrey was a man of control, a man who probably never once let his emotions override his reason.

She suddenly discovered she had a great deal of respect for him. She straightened her shoulders, wanting to copy his example. "Very well, Geoffrey. What do you suggest?"

He was watching her closely, as if gauging her mood. Then abruptly he spoke, startling her with the plainness of his words. "Marry me, Amanda."

"What?" She gasped.

"I like you. I think we would suit admirably. And I must confess, although my estates are quite solid, an infusion of fresh capital right now would not go amiss."

Gillian blinked. "You mean you want my dowry."

He sighed, seemingly apologetic as he nodded. "Yes, I need your dowry. But I also think I could be a good husband." He turned to her, his eyes serious. "I would not object if you took the unsuitable gentleman for a lover."

She gasped. "He would never do that."

She answered without thought, never realizing how much she gave away by such a statement. There were not many men of the
ton
who, once invited, would turn down a married woman's bed. Add to that her statement that he was a thorn in her side from the beginning, and the list narrowed down to only one man.

Geoffrey was too quick not to understand. His eyes narrowed. "Your guardian is to marry my sister," he said, his tone cold.

Gillian glanced away, letting her gaze wander over the rows of cages. "I know."

"Is he aware of your feelings?"

"Good God, no! He thinks I want to scratch his eyes out." She tilted her head in a half smile. "And most of the time he is right."

Geoffrey pulled her along, guiding her to a more secluded spot near a Spanish wolf. She did not speak as they walked, knowing he was thinking. Then suddenly he turned to her, his eyes filled with a careful determination. Clearly he had made a decision, and she held her breath, waiting for his pronouncement.

"I want to marry you, Amanda, but there are a few questions still."

With a supreme effort, Gillian controlled her expression while her thoughts whirled. Here it was. The moment she had anticipated for years. She needed to keep her head for only a few more moments; then her future and her mother's would be set.

"First, could you stand seeing Stephen and Sophia at family gatherings and holidays?"

She bit her lip, flinching at the thought of unending Christmases watching Stephen and Sophia together, seeing their children year after year. Could she do it? "I..." She took a deep breath. "I suppose I shall have to in any event. He is my family, even if he is not yours yet."

Geoffrey nodded, apparently satisfied by her response. "I shall insist upon an heir first. There will be no lovers before that."

"That will not be difficult." Once away from Stephen, she doubted she could be tempted by anyone.

He searched her face, and she lifted her chin, showing him her own resolve. She did not bother asking about his lovers. As it was for her, this was a business transaction. She would get his title; he would get her dowry. And her mother would get a warm home in the winter.

She felt him raise her hand, and once again she found herself comparing him to Stephen. Like that of the earl, Geoffrey's touch was firm and commanding, but his hand was smaller than Stephen's and somehow did not give her the same sense of security.

It did not matter, she told herself sternly. The dowry Stephen provided would give her whatever Geoffrey could not.

"Miss Wyndham, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

She swallowed, forcing the words out of her mouth before her traitorous heritage overcame her reason. "Yes, Lord Tallis. It would be my great pleasure."

Then he kissed her, not gently or reverently, but professionally, with a skill that impressed her, warming her blood even as it left her heart cold.