When the Marquess Met His Match (12 page)

“So when he asked me for an introduction to you, he already knew you. The scoundrel!”

“Don’t blame him, Belinda. The whole thing was my idea, not his.”

Belinda stared at her friend in complete astonishment, and as she did, Trubridge’s words echoed through her mind.

It’s not as if you’ve shown any compunction about arranging material marriages in the past. The Duke and Duchess of Margrave, for example.

How had Trubridge known about the Margrave arrangement, and she had not? Had he simply made a shrewd guess? Or was she so blind to the results of her profession that she couldn’t see the obvious?

“But why, Edie?” she asked after a moment. “Why would you marry a man you don’t love? Why would you settle for that?”

She shrugged slim shoulders. “It was almost the end of the season, and you know I hadn’t exactly bowled London over with my dazzling beauty and charm during my debut.” Belinda started to protest this self-disparagement, but Edie interrupted her. “It’s all right. I know I wasn’t the prettiest heiress, and I was certainly not the sweetest.” She paused for a grin. “Although I was definitely the tallest. Anyway, Daddy wanted to go back to New York, and I . . .” She paused, a glimmer of pain crossing her face. “I did not.”

“I know.” Belinda put a hand on her arm. “It would have been dreadful to go back. But still, to make a loveless marriage . . .” She sighed and let her hand fall. “Oh, Edie.”

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me!” The duchess shook her head, the shadow passed, and her radiant smile returned. “I was damaged goods back home, but here, I’m a shining social success. ”

“I know, but I wish you had told me this before now. I’ve been wrecked with guilt, thinking how miserable you must be.”

“Oh, no, you mustn’t feel that way!” Edie looked at her in dismay, conscience-stricken. “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you’d hate me for deceiving you and for selecting my husband in such a calculated fashion. So I kept putting it off, and the more time that passed, the less important it seemed to tell you the truth. I didn’t realize I was a blight on your conscience. If I had known that, I’d have told you much sooner.” Edie bit her lip, her green eyes regarding Belinda with some uncertainty. “Are you terribly angry?”

“Angry? No, I’m too shocked to be angry. I’m . . . I’m . . . oh, hell, I don’t know what I am.” She sighed and rubbed a hand over her forehead. “I think I’m in need of a drink.”

Edie laughed. “But you don’t even like spirits.”

“I’m making an exception.” She lifted her head and glanced around. Spying a footman with champagne cups, she waved him over and pulled one of the cocktails from his tray. “After the day I’ve had, anyone would take to drink.”

She took a swallow of the cocktail and grimaced, making Edie laugh.

“You always look like you’re taking cod liver oil when you drink. So if it isn’t me, what’s troubling you enough to make you imbibe?”

She sighed and lowered the cup, staring into the milling crowd. “I’ve come to be so sure of myself,” she murmured, “but I am beginning to appreciate that I don’t really understand anything about myself or anyone else.”

“That doesn’t sound at all like you.”

She made a face. “It doesn’t, does it?” She took another swallow of her cocktail and made another grimace. “To think that all this time, ever since Margrave went to Africa, I’ve been thinking you were secretly miserable and just putting on a good front for society.”

“Yes, well, no one seems to believe me when I say otherwise. It never occurs to anyone that a woman can be perfectly happy without a man.”

“And you are happy?”

“Of course I am! Who wouldn’t be, with an enormous income, complete social acceptance, a luxurious house in Grosvenor Square, several lavish country estates, and the freedom to manage it all myself without a husband messing about getting in my way?”

“And the duke? Is he equally content?”

“I expect so.” Edie gave her an impish grin. “We don’t correspond. But if he wasn’t content mucking about in Africa, his mother would be sure to tell me so—in her subtle, well-bred British way, of course. No, Margrave and I are both happy as clams in the mud. For us, separate continents has proved to be the perfect recipe for marital bliss.”

“Oh, Edie, that’s not at all what I wanted for you.”

“You’re a darling.” The duchess put an arm around her shoulders for a quick hug. “But it’s what I wanted. And you, of all people, should understand how wonderful it is to be an independent woman of means.”

“It can be,” she admitted. “But I never chose it.”

“I did.” Edie grinned and took another swallow of her champagne cup. “There, now. See how simple I’ve made things for you? All you have to do is find Trubridge a woman like me.”

“The situation isn’t quite that simple.”

“Dearest Belinda, that’s because you know the deal’s what Trubridge wants, and you don’t like that because you’re a romantic at heart.”

She felt compelled to protest. “I am not in the least romantic!”

“Nonsense! Of course you are! You adore romance. Why do you think you became a matchmaker? Even more telling, why do you think you became infatuated with a charming, handsome devil like Featherstone, then expected him to reform?”

“Well, yes, but I was a silly girl when I married Featherstone. I’ve changed since then—”

She broke off as the memory of Trubridge’s kisses came back as if to taunt her. Her lips began to tingle, and her cheeks flushed with heat, making a mockery of any notion that she was wiser than the girl who’d married Charles Featherstone. Belinda hid her hot face behind her free hand with a groan of dismay.

“Are you all right?” Edie asked. “What’s wrong?”

She merely shook her head in answer. She didn’t look up, for she knew she must be pink as a peony, and she cursed Trubridge for reawakening physical desires and romantic notions she thought she’d left behind ages ago.

She didn’t want to feel these things, for they were as insubstantial as cobwebs. Trubridge was a man she didn’t like and didn’t respect, and she knew it was crazy, self-punishing, and just plain stupid to feel anything for a man like that.

B
ELINDA WAITED TEN
days before she sent word to Trubridge suggesting another meeting. During those ten days, she strove to suppress memories of his mouth on hers and the thrill of desire she’d felt at his touch, but though she didn’t quite succeed in that endeavor, she knew she could not put him off forever.

The fact that she had dismissed him as unworthy of most of her clients and yet had found his kiss so intoxicating herself was a nauseating irony Belinda preferred not to dwell on. It was clear that scoundrels still held an inexplicable fascination for her, but she did her best to quell it.

She redoubled her efforts to find suitable candidates for him, and the more awful they were, the more suitable she liked to think they were. She prepared a social calendar for him that would put him in the path of as many of those young ladies as possible. She repeated to herself the various things he’d said that she found most infuriating. She refrained from considering any of his good points. And every time she remembered his kiss and felt again that warm, intoxicating wave of desire, she immediately suppressed it. By the time ten days had passed, she felt sufficiently in command of herself and the situation to invite him to call, and by the time he arrived, she was confident she would be as indifferent to his charms as she’d been during their very first meeting.

But then he walked through her door and ruined all her efforts.

His wide-shouldered frame in the doorway reminded her of the strength of his arms wrapped around her. A glance at his mouth burned her lips and curled tongues of fire in her belly. He’d already given over his gloves, and the sight of his bare hands evoked memories of how he’d cupped her buttocks in his hands, lifted her up, and pressed her hips against—

“You wished to see me?”

The sound of his voice jerked her out of these most unhelpful contemplations, and Belinda took a steadying breath.

“Yes, I did.” She glanced at the butler, who was still standing by the door. “Tea, Jervis, if you please,” she said, feeling in need of the bracing fortification of a cuppa.

After the butler had departed, she returned her attention to Trubridge. “Shall we sit down?”

She gestured to the large round tea table where her appointment book, her client book, and her inkstand were already laid out, relieved that the table was large enough to provide a substantial barrier between them, but the fact that she felt the need for barriers proved that ten days had not been enough time.

It would tickle his vanity, no doubt, to discover that humiliating fact, but a quick glance at the mirror on the wall showed that she looked just as usual, and as she sat down, she could only thank heaven that what she felt wasn’t plainly written on her face. Gesturing for him to take the chair directly opposite, she pulled her pen out of its holder and opened her appointment book.

“My friend, the Duchess of Margrave, is having a house party at her home in Norfolk. She was kind enough to invite me, and she suggested I bring you along. The party begins six days hence, and concludes on the following Thursday. It will be a large party, and the duchess assures me there will be several young ladies there who might be suitable for you.”

“Suitable to my way of thinking?” he asked wryly. “Or yours?”

At this point, she was desperate enough to get him married off that she wasn’t sure she cared either way. “The more young ladies you meet, the better your chance of finding someone who . . .” She paused, feeling her skin flush with heat, but she forced herself to carry on. “Someone who attracts you.”

He didn’t reply, and she forced herself to look at him. But she only got as far as his mouth, which was curved in a hint of a smile, before she lowered her gaze again at once. She could not be indifferent if she looked at his mouth. No woman could, not after being kissed the way he had kissed her.

“Since you’ve never met the duchess,” she continued, desperate to keep her mind on her job, “I think it would be best if we travel to Norfolk ahead of the rest of the party. That way, I can introduce you to her before everyone else arrives. I shall look up the schedule for trains to Clyffeton, consult with the duchess, and inform you of which train we shall be taking. I hope that suits you?”

Without waiting for a reply, she made a notation in her book as if he had answered in the affirmative. “In the meantime, the theater and the opera might be good places for you to be seen. You are staying at Lord Conyers’s home, if I’m not mistaken?”

“I am, yes.”

“Excellent. Lord Conyers is very highly regarded in society, and he has a box at Covent Garden. If you are seen with him there, that will help bolster your image in the eyes of the
ton
. The more you are seen in respectable places, and in the company of respectable people, the more society’s judgment about the episode with Elizabeth Mayfield will soften. Do you think you can arrange to attend a performance during the coming week?”

“That depends. Will you be able to attend as well?”

Belinda froze, her pen poised above her inkwell. “That would not be wise.”

“Probably not, but I would enjoy the opera much more if you were there.”

Pleasure bloomed in her at those words, and it suddenly seemed vital to appear preoccupied and busy. She dipped her pen in ink, tapped the nib, and wrote notes in her book—notes that were absolute nonsense—and she could only hope he did not possess the talent of reading handwriting upside down.

“You might enjoy it more, too, if I were with you,” he said, undeterred by her silence. “I’m vastly more entertaining than Wagner’s Valkyries or Rossini’s Figaro.”

“It would not be wise,” she repeated, scribbling away. But she didn’t know if she was reiterating the point for him or for herself, and she decided it was best to shift the topic. “We should also talk about Ascot. As you know, Race Week begins shortly after we return from Norfolk, and it is a very important week in the social calendar. Because most of the American young ladies aren’t fortunate enough to receive an invitation to the Royal Enclosure, I offer a luncheon, as a sort of consolation to them. I hope you would be amenable to attending?”

“Since I assume you have to attend your own luncheons, then, yes. I’ll come.”

“Excellent,” she said, and ignored the rest of his comment. “Now, in the interval between the duchess’s house party and Ascot, there is Lady Wetherford’s ball to consider. I believe you are well acquainted with her son, James?”

“Pongo? Yes, we were at school together. But—”

“Good. I believe I can persuade her to send you an invitation.” She inked her pen again, but before she could make an affirmative note about the ball, he leaned forward, placing his hand over hers to stop her. His palm felt hot, and her hand tightened around her pen. “Lord Trubridge,” she began, but he cut her off.

“Before we talk any further about my social calendar,” he said, “I think I should point something out to you.”

She pulled her hand free and forced herself to look at him. “Yes, what is it?”

He leaned closer as if to impart a vitally important secret, and she caught the scent of bay rum. “There’s an elephant in your drawing room,” he whispered.

That was so absurd and so appropriate to the situation that she almost laughed, but she caught it back in time, pressing her lips together. She didn’t want him to make her laugh. She didn’t want him to be absurd or charming, or so terribly attractive. She wanted to keep her mind on all his faults, damn it all, or she would start to remember how susceptible she was to men who could charm her and make her laugh.

“I thought perhaps I ought to mention it,” he went on, leaning back in his chair and straightening his cuffs. “Just in case you hadn’t noticed. Although how someone fails to notice an elephant, I can’t think.”

She strove to maintain an air of indifference. “I don’t wish to discuss elephants, thank you. Lady Wetherford’s ball is on the tenth of June—”

“But Belinda, it’s rumbling about, getting in the way. How can we possibly carry on as if it isn’t here? Wouldn’t it be best to talk about it?”