Candice Hern (8 page)

Emily curtsied prettily and offered a fetching smile. Beatrice had to give the girl credit for not cowering or stammering in the face of so formidable a peer. The confidence born of extreme beauty served her well in such situations. She stood straight and proud, and looked the duke squarely in the eye as she responded in a clear voice to his questions about her Season.

Emily was no fool. She knew she had to win the approval of the duke and duchess if there was ever to be any hope of winning their son. Within minutes, she had the duke smitten. He never dropped his regal demeanor, but the tiniest gleam in his eye signaled his appreciation.

Well done, Emily
.

"And this is my son," the duchess said, drawing that gentleman forward. "Lord Thayne, and his friend, Mr. Burnett."

The Marquess of Thayne wore patrician detachment like a cloak, never cracking a smile as the duchess made introductions. He kept his hands behind his back and made a crisp bow to Beatrice. His dark eyes studied her for a moment, then moved on to Emily. Beatrice experienced a sharp twinge of heat as his eyes had looked into hers so intently. But it had been the same with other dark-eyed, dark-haired men lately. Damn that maharaja for making her so aware of — what? Male potency? Was she doomed to imagine secret couplings with every dark-haired man she met? Even one as cool and distant as the marquess? Once again, she cursed herself for bringing on this confusion through one irrational moment in an unlit garden on a moonless night. Despite the encouragement of her friends, she regretted that encounter more with each passing day, and was now determined to put it behind her and concentrate on the delicate business of securing a rich husband for her niece.

She watched as the marquess made his bow to Emily, who tilted her head at a flattering angle and gave him her most dazzling smile, the same smile that had captured the heart of almost every man in London, or so it seemed. But so far, she had not allowed her own heart to be captured. She was holding out for the perfect match, which meant rank, fortune, and good looks, in that order.

Who better to meet Emily's ambitions than this handsome marquess?

But the gentleman seemed unaffected by Emily's charms. He acknowledged her with the cool arrogance of the true aristocrat. Emily would have to work hard to crack his shell. Beatrice hoped he wasn't the priggish sort who looked down his noble nose at the rest of the world. Did she really want Emily to align herself with such a cold fish? When she thought of how warm certain men could be — one man in particular came to mind — Beatrice wondered why anyone would give a second thought to a man like the Marquess of Thayne.

The long-limbed Mr. Burnett was quite the opposite of his friend. Boyishly charming with an open and friendly countenance, he quite won over Beatrice with his lopsided smile. She liked him at once. He tried to keep from staring at Emily, but his gaze was drawn to her like a lodestone.

"And will you finally tell us, my dear," the duke said, "what Lady Somerfield or Miss Thirkill has said to make you laugh so?"

"Lady Somerfield's charity is going to use Doncaster House for a ball," the duchess said. "It is to be a masquerade ball, and I was just musing over what we should wear. I believe we should unearth your Cardinal Wolsey costume."

The duke gave a bark of laughter. "A splendid idea!" He turned to Beatrice. "Her Grace knows how much I enjoy parading about as the old scoundrel, with a red cap on my head and a ridiculously heavy gold chain across my chest." Returning his twinkling gaze to his duchess, he asked, "And who shall you be, my dear?"

"I won't tell you," she said. "But I promise it will be an appropriate complement to your cardinal. Oh, this will be great fun, Lady Somerfield. Will it not, Thayne?"

"A masquerade?" His brow furrowed and an odd expression crossed his eyes for an instant, and then was gone. "Yes, of course. How delightful." His tone and stony aspect, however, did not evidence delight.

Beatrice tried not to scowl at the provoking man. Must he be so stiff and reserved? Emily didn't seem to mind. She continued to smile and preen, trying to attract his attention. His rank and fortune and good looks were enough for her, it seemed. It didn't matter that the man might be a haughty prig or a stern autocrat. It mattered to Beatrice, though. She knew first-hand what it meant to be married to an intractable husband. She hoped for more warmth and affection in her niece's marriage, and the marquess, at first acquaintance anyway, did not seem to be the man to provide it.

And yet, how contrary was it that such an aloof man could send a little flutter of heat low in her belly when he looked at her? Beatrice really must rein in these absurd fancies and inappropriate physical reactions.

Damn that maharaja for awakening her sexual desire. It would surely be the death of her.

It was not enough, apparently, that Thayne be introduced to young women at appropriate social occasions. Now his mother was bringing them home to meet him.

Miss Thirkill was certainly pretty enough to capture any man's attention, though she did seem to be rather too aware of her beauty. The duchess would have approved her connections before parading her before him, so he did not question her breeding. Her aunt was a countess, after all. And the girl had pretty manners, even if she was a bit forward. But Thayne knew he was seen as a good catch, so he could hardly fault a young woman for trying to draw his attention.

The aunt was an attractive woman and, as he did with all attractive women, he examined her for hints of Artemis. Lady Somerfield had blue eyes, but so did more than half the female population of London. Her hair was a rich shade of red and pulled back sleek and straight beneath a lace cap that was more stylish then matronly. It was lovely hair, but not the wavy brown he'd been seeking. Besides, she sat stiff-backed and prim as a governess, without a hint of sensuality. And she had the air of a fierce mother hen guarding her chick. It took only a moment to dismiss her as a potential Artemis.

He glanced again at Miss Thirkill, who lowered her eyes demurely, then slowly raised her lids halfway to gaze at him through the screen of long lashes. The girl was a flirt, by God. Intriguing.

She was more than merely pretty. She was, in fact, quite stunningly beautiful, with a heart-shaped face, guinea gold hair, a perfect complexion, a Cupid's bow mouth, and large blue eyes set off by darker lashes and brows. And she was well aware of her beauty. Every glance and gesture invited him to admire it.

And he did, in a dispassionate sort of way. She was too young to truly interest him as a person. But he did consider how she would look on his arm, and how handsome their children might be.

Burnett, on the other hand, appeared thoroughly moonstruck. Although friendly and charming as ever when addressed, he remained a step behind Thayne, not putting himself forward in any way. He knew Miss Thirkill was there for Thayne's inspection. If he had known his mother's summons had been for the purpose of meeting a young lady, Thayne might not have dragged Burnett and the duke with him. But they had been enjoying a hookah together and it had seemed quite natural for all of them to wait upon the duchess.

Thayne hated these introductions. He hated the whole ordeal of finding a wife among the Season's latest crop of young women. He had to don his best lordly manner, to demonstrate pride and arrogance appropriate to his position, or the young women and their mother hens were interested in the marquess, heir to a dukedom, and he must act the part. It was not an unnatural or a difficult role, to be sure. He was born to it. A certain level of arrogance and entitlement had been bred in him from infancy. But he'd discarded some of it the last eight years during his travels, and he was somewhat out of practice at playing The Marquess. He made the effort for his parents, who expected him to do his duty.

He glanced again at his mother's latest candidate. Yes, Miss Thirkill was definitely worth serious consideration. Assuming she did not turn out to be a complete ninny. He did not expect, or even want, a bluestocking for a wife. But he did expect a certain degree of conversation. He could not abide a silly woman.

He listened politely as the duchess continued to speak about the masquerade ball. The topic was one he would rather avoid, as it brought to mind images of yellow silk and powdered hair and uninhibited desire. Thayne made an effort to bank the heat brought on by such recollections. It would not do to embarrass himself in his mother's drawing room. He glanced at Lady Somerfield while his mother chattered on about costume possibilities for her and the duke, and about memorable masquerades from her youth. The countess kept her eyes on the teacup she held, but a slight frown furrowed her brow as though she, too, was remembering a masquerade, but much less fondly than the duchess.

His mother rose and said, "Perhaps we should show you the ballroom now, Lady Somerfield."

In a perfectly orchestrated maneuver, the duchess walked ahead with Burnett, and the duke walked alongside Lady Somerfield, leaving Thayne to escort Miss Thirkill.

"It is very kind of your mother," the girl said, "to allow my aunt and her friends to use the ballroom."

"I am sure she is pleased to oblige." He did not offer his arm, but walked with his hands clasped behind his back and kept his eyes straight ahead.

"I will have to have a new costume made, of course," she said. "Everyone has seen the pink shepherdess costume I wore at the last masquerade I attended. What costume do you think I ought to wear?"

"I am sure I do not know. Whatever pleases you."

"And what would please
you
, Lord Thayne?"

By Jove, she was a determined little flirt. "I am sure whatever you choose will be very pretty. Wear whatever you like, Miss Thirkill."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her give a little shrug. "You are right," she said. "It really doesn't matter. The effect will be the same regardless of my costume." She gave a resigned sigh. "I don't mean to draw attention, but I always seem to find myself surrounded by gentlemen. I suppose I should be pleased to be so popular, but it really is a trial at times."

What a cunning little vixen. Did she really think his interest would be piqued by knowing that she was pursued by other men? Or was she trying to inspire a spirit of competition?

"I understand you are staying with your aunt for the Season."

"Yes, I am," she said in a bright tone. "She has been acting as my chaperone since Mother was injured in an accident and could not take me about herself."

"An accident? How dreadful. I trust it is not too serious an injury, and that she is recovering."

Miss Thirkill leaned toward him and lowered her voice. "She fell off a horse and broke her leg!"

She seemed to find her mother's misfortune amusing, as she began to laugh. It was a musical laugh, similar to one he remembered hearing on a dark night in a particular garden. Was he destined to be reminded of that sweet interlude at every turn? By every laugh and every pair of blue eyes, even when they belonged to an innocent who could not possibly have been his Artemis?

He steeled himself against the memory by employing his best Marquess of Thayne manner — polite, but haughty and formal. "I am glad it is nothing more serious," he said. "And how fortunate that you were not forced to postpone your Season, that Lord and Lady Somerfield were able to take you in."

"Oh, but there is no Lord Somerfield," she said. "I mean, there
is
, but he is not my uncle. The previous earl, my Uncle Somerfield, died several years ago. Didn’t you know? I thought everyone knew my aunt is a widow. She is, after all, a trustee of the Benevolent Widows Fund, the charity supported by the ball she wants to hold here at Doncaster House."

So, the aunt was a widow. Not that it mattered, but he cast a glance in her direction as she walked ahead with his father. A certain sway of hip gave him pause for an instant, sent a brief jolt of fire through his loins, but only because it reminded him of another pair of hips that swayed in a similar manner.

Damnation. He had no business lusting after Miss Thirkill's chaperone. He could not go on much longer without finding his Artemis. She had stirred him in a way he hadn’t been able to forget, and he saw hints of her in every pair of blue eyes, in every graceful arm, in every sinuous hip. He wanted Artemis and still meant to find her, and yet here he was wanting, even for an instant, someone else who only vaguely reminded him of her. He did not have the time for such distractions. He had other matters of more pressing urgency. He had to settle on a bride.

For all he knew, she could be walking beside him at that very moment.

* * *

The duke peppered Beatrice with questions as they made their way to the ballroom. He was obviously trying to discover if Emily would be a suitable bride for his son. His interest was quite gratifying. Beatrice provided all the points in Emily's favor, avoiding any mention of her mother's debts and sometimes rash behavior. Emily's extraordinary beauty was a significant asset, but breeding and connections were more important to a duke. One would expect the heir to a dukedom to marry much higher than a baronet's daughter, but His Grace seemed enchanted enough with Emily to pursue the matter. Thankfully, he was unacquainted with Ophelia. But he showed a keen interest in Sir Albert.

"Something of an archaeologist, is he not?"

"Indeed, Your Grace, an avid amateur."

"I do believe I have read an article or two by him. Am I thinking of the right man? Articles on Roman antiquities found in Britain?"

"Yes, that's Sir Albert. In fact, he was unable to come to Town because of an excavation he is supervising. He found the remains of a Roman mosaic floor on his property in Suffolk."

"Did he? How exciting for him."

"Yes, you may imagine how thrilled he is. The delights of the London Season cannot compare with such a find."

The duke smiled. "I should think not. I spent some time in Rome when I was a young pup on my grand tour, and I quite fell in love with ancient ruins. I trust I shall have an opportunity to meet Thirkill, and his lady, one day soon."