Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1) (14 page)

“More’s the pity, I suppose, My Lord. Not that I enjoy his
barbarism, but he is rather good at it, isn’t he? And we all have to be
good at something.”

The arm around her tightened, threatening her breathing,
but she smiled shyly at Reg and ignored it. The marquis winked
again and stood as tall as he could to look over her at Gil.

“I don’t believe I’ll ever forgive you, Gillian,” Reg said.

‘There’s dancing starting, Reg. I’ll gladly give over my
promised dance, if that’s the case. Of course…you should’ve worn boots.
She has a penchant for tromping toes, you know.”

She giggled.

“And just look, darling. We’re in luck. We’ll be able to hit
the floor after all.”

He negotiated them through more doors, whe
re so many
elegantly clad couples facing each other in the room, Helene couldn’t count them if she stayed all eve.

“Gil...um. They’re not waltzing.”

Indeed, as soon as the music started, several circles started
spiraling, making her dizzy. Perhaps that was due more to how her
stomach fell. She couldn’t possibly dance with Gillian
. The steps were much too complicated.

“Of course not, and if you mention that particular
dance again, we might even be asked to leave.”

“Asked to leave?”

“Ignore him, My Lady,” Reg said. “He’s talking fustian, and
he knows it. What you see is the quadrille. The waltz is still c
onsidered too fast for this establishment.”

“Then why’d you teach it to me, Gil?”

He wasn’t listening. She tipped her head upward and repeated
the question.

“Teach you what, pray tell? How to foul up a perfectly good
melody?”

“Of all the
—. Look. I may have to act like I adore you,
Monsieur,
but—
”

“Would you rather dance, love?”

He cheated again, lifting her slightly to whisper it at her ear. The instant shiver coursing from his breath touching her skin titillated and yet excited. And that terrified her. And she had to make it stop. She said the first thing that came into her head, without one bit of thinking it through. And she said it flippantly.

“They’re your toes.”

His eyes met hers. And then he looked away, over the dancers.

“Very good. You’ll hold the line, Reg?”

Helene longed to snatch her own tongue out for challenging him
. Holding back did nothing to stop him, but then he halted. She didn’t have to look far to see why. The woman whispering
into his other ear was so fantastic Helene wasn’t the only person staring. If she hadn’t learned
to control herself better, she would’ve been open-mouthed, too.

Once she’d thought Gil deserved a goddess for his wife, and here one
was. Dressed in a charcoal-shaded gown, almost opaque
enough to see through. Helene had been wrong. This woman exceeded even Helene’s imagination.

“Ah.
Signora
Simone del Casta. May I introduce…
?”

Gil may have finished the introductions, but the
vivid black of the
signora’s
eyes pinned her like a worm. Helene
couldn’t hear anything above the sound of roaring water in her ears.

Aren’t Spaniards supposed to be dark?

This woman was the opposite. She had golden hair, and unlike the current fashion
, she hadn’t
dressed it atop her head. Instead, her mass of honey-colored hair was loose and
flowing down her back, at least to her waist.

Simone separated Helene from Gillian as if she were invisible
. And then she took him out into the dancing couples. It would be hard to find a more striking couple.
Gillian looked born to the art of dancing, but that Simone looked like she was making love to him. And not the
way Sherry’s men had, either. She moved in such a sinewy,
pulse-stirring way that Helene couldn’t seem to move her eyes.

“I’ve a sudden need of the punch bowl, Lady Helene,” Reg
said. “Will you permit me to bring you a glass while I hunt one
for myself?”

Reginald was at her side. Stopping her thoughts. And the horrible chill that might actually be jealousy.

“Some…fresh air would be appreciated,” she answered woodenly.

“We’d better not,
Helene. Gill has spectacularly good aim.”

“What?”

“And a jealous streak.”

She snorted in an unladylike fashion. “Gillian? Please. He
won’t miss me. But he’s a terrible scene director. He’ll have a devil of a time acting enamored
of me with her around.”

She tried to speak lightly, but her body wasn’t listening. And if the
Marquis of Dunsberry didn’t want to see her burst into tears, he’d
better find her some fresh air. And quickly.

“Simone? Hardly. As far as I know, Gil’s been avoiding her for some
time. I believe he lost interest.”

‘Lost interest?” 
Why did she have to start repeating things now? She didn’t want to know.

“Simone’s had her eye on him for ages, and a hook at the ready if her situation changes, but Gil was a difficult fish.
He was rather a catch, Helene. Has been since…he came of age, I think. I should know. I’ve been playing second fiddle. The marriage mart doesn’t have many men with
his...attributes is a good enough word, isn’t it?”

“You mean he has some?”

“You hadn’t noticed?”

“Oh, I have, Reg. He’s got a love of foul language; he’s a
broad-shouldered type who uses his strength to bully; he’s rude, inconsiderate, and a drunkard. He thinks the world revolves around him a
nd that any woman he chooses to look at should thank
God for the privilege.”

“You love him that much?”

Her mouth opened, but it wasn’t to speak. Reg’s
image glittered as her eyes narrowed. He was still too clear. And he was wrong. She did not love Gillian Tremayne. She didn’t love anyone. She couldn’t. She didn’t. She wouldn’t. Love was not in her future.

Ever.

“I’ll just go and fetch you a glass of punch now, My Lady. Your servant.” 

Reg bowed, and she watched him thread his
way back through the crowd. She refused to turn around. Anything was better than watching the golden couple on the dance floor.

***

She had more to add to her list later.

Gil snored at times,
especially when he came late to her room reeking of another woman’s perfume. He took up too much of the bed with the way he sprawled. And he looked
silly in a pin-tucked nightshirt.

That last was a lie. Helene debated striking it from her mental list
as she waited for his grand lordship to wake so she could get him from her room. And maybe find some escape from her thoughts. That small mercy would be the most appreciated. The
memory of what Reg said kept repeating in her mind. Sh
e only wished she’d said something to rebut the idea
.

She didn’t love him! Perish the thought! Any woman who’d fall for Lord Tremayne’s dubious attractions was the most
cotton-headed lummox born. Helene wasn’t that insane. Still…he was rather fascinating to watch, and since she couldn’t sleep, it didn’t seem to matter. Who was to know?

Just look at him.

He’d opened the connecting door at half-past two, and she’d done her best to pretend to be asleep as he joined her. She wondered why he bothered. The servants wouldn’t wake them until mid-morn, and he’d obviously
slaked his lust with Simone by the way he smelled. Helene would
just as soon hit him as sleep beside him.
He really needed to find another occupation besides acting
like he was in love with her.
Signora
del Casta’s servants had tongues, too, didn’t they?

Maybe she could yank the bell-pull and call a maid. Who said she had to wait? It was already morning. The sun was up. That made it next to impossible to miss how sections of his light brown hair curled. About his ears. Along his neck. I
t matched the hair on other portions of his frame, but that was one
memory she could do without.

He snored louder and she kicked his thigh, gently at first, but with the next, his leg reached the edge of the mattress. He grunted. And then he spoke. And he didn’t sound like he’d just awakened from a sound sleep at all.

“Careful, darling. You might damage
something.”

She glared. “Oh. I
am
being careful, My Lord, but
I doubt very much you have anything worth noting, anyway. Get
out of my bed.”

“My head hurts. And your whining is making it worse.”

Helene watched him roll onto his side, facing her. Or he would be, if he opened his eyes. It was still affecting her, making her heart beat quicker, and her breath stall more than once.  

“I don’t…whine, My Lord. I’ve an aversion
to it. I’m simply stating my desires. You, as usual, are ignoring
them.”

He opened his eyes. Oh dear. That was much worse.

“Do you really want my full attention on your desires,
Helene?”

“You have a filthy tongue.”

“Really? Well, you have an entire briar patch for one. Therefore, I request a draw. At least until the servants call us.”

“It’s almost ten. I’ll ring them up if that’s what’s keeping
you.”

“The only thing keeping me, darling…is how much leg you’re
determined to show and pretend it’s not a practiced motion.”

She glanced down and gasped. Her nightclothes weren’t just showing leg. They were almost to her derriere
! Oh. Bother. She should’ve known better
than to engage him in battle without checking her defenses first.

“A practiced motion?” she asked. “Why? Pray tell. Would I
use my efforts on you?” She
wriggled the nightgown to cover some of her
.

“That is a very good question. The only thing I can think of
is you’re trying to seduce me. Now that we’re talking about
it, you seem to do that quite a bit.”

“Of all the egotistical nonsense! I haven’t!”

“What do you call disobeying everything I ask? You
know the penalty, yet you continue to earn it. What would you
like me to think, Helene?”

“I’m of the opinion you don’t think at all. You only
pretend to it, and then lie your way out of the muddle that’s created.”

“That’s a bit like calling the kettle black, isn’t it?”

He leaned
his head on one arm and lifted his eyebrows.
She found the wallpaper behind him more interesting.

“I believe I’ve
had my fill of your company, Gillian. You may leave.”

‘When I’m good and ready. And I want an explanation. What was the
nonsense of stranding me to the dance floor last night? You’re supposed to be acting madly in love with me, remember? Would you like a refresher in
just how you’re supposed to do that?
”

He pursed his lips into a kissable shape, and that had her speaking words her mind hadn’t cleared. Without
thought. Or consequences.

“I
failed miserably.
Moi?
I wasn’t the one sneaking
into your bed drenched in scent, and I certainly
didn’t sashay about a dance floor inviting comment by my openly
aggressive stance.”

“Aggressive? You, my dear lady, haven’t even a layman’s
idea of what that means.”

“I’ve more than a working knowledge, Lord Tremayne!
I’ve seen more aggression and physical mating than I ever wanted!
”

“Then why do you act like a bloody virgin every time I so
much as look at you? We both know that, for the right amount of
gold, any man could have you — and probably did.”

“You, Sir…are an animal! Didn’t it ever occur to you that I
act the virgin because I—I…why…I can’t abide the sight of you? Laws, but
you think every woman awaits the command to fall into your
arms? I truly hate to disappoint your lordship, but I haven’t developed
a penchant for that. Nor will I ever. Now please leave. I’m finished
with your company.”

“Isn’t it a shame that I haven’t finished with yours?”

He used that iron-hard whisper again. She didn’t have to ask what it
meant. And no amount of covers would stop him.