Loving Lady Marcia (29 page)

“You told him
that
?”

“Yes. I had to. He turned me down up to that point—did you know he’d turned down Greenwood the day before?—and when I offhandedly mentioned the wallflower bit, his face lit up.”

Lysandra’s eyes practically bugged out of her head. “He said no to Greenwood and yes to us?”

Marcia nodded vigorously, adoring the fact that Lysandra seemed impressed. “So, anyway,” she went on, “he wants to prove to his granddaughter that you can be a lively young lady, true to your own self, and also be happily independent. A voluntary wallflower, as it were. As I’m the roving ambassador for the school, he said that I must serve as an example. Otherwise, he won’t let her attend.”

“That should be no problem for you,” Lysandra said glibly. “Although being a marquess’s stepdaughter, you might have to field one or two offers from fortune hunters.”

“Right,” said Marcia. “I’m already prepared to tell them no, much as I crave attaching myself to a man,
any
man.”

Lysandra nodded sympathetically, then stopped mid-nod. “You’re such a
rude
girl,” she spat out.

Marcia smiled that beatific smile again, and their discussion thankfully came to a close. Duncan and Dr. Trimp came striding back to them. The men were finally aware of their existence again, apparently.

Marcia still wondered what Duncan was doing with Lysandra, of all people. But she daren’t ask the widow. Perhaps Dr. Trimp had already wormed it out of the earl, however.

Or she could try to do so herself, in private.

Thinking about meeting Duncan in private made her legs wobbly and her most intimate flesh ache with wanting him, even though at the moment he was staring with great concern at Lysandra.

“What happened?” he asked her.

Lysandra somehow managed to bring tears to her eyes. “Those horrible boys,” she whispered, and pointed to the roof. “They were lobbing missiles, and, and—”

She gulped, her hands extended out and trembling, as if she couldn’t dare touch her polluted gown.

“Don’t get upset, Viscountess,” Duncan said. “I’ll take care of those boys.”

Marcia had to force herself not to roll her eyes.

“You will?” Lysandra sounded like a bad actress in a penny drama.

“I will,” he said. He took one of her trembling hands and wrapped it firmly beneath his arm. “Let me have Dr. Trimp escort you to my carriage.”

“Dr. Trimp?” he called, and kept his eyes on the widow.

The doctor stepped up with a pleasant smile. “At your service, my lord and lady.”

Duncan handed the viscountess off to Dr. Trimp as if she were precious cargo. Lysandra touched only the very tips of her fingers to the doctor’s arm, as if he had the smallpox.

The witch.

“Viscountess, would you mind waiting with Dr. Trimp and your maid while I pummel the miscreants?” Duncan asked in a solicitous manner. “I don’t want to expose you to anything sordid.”

Lysandra cast a sly glance at Marcia. “I’ll wait, my lord. But hurry. Please.” She pursed her lips in a sensual pout.

“Why are you with
her
?” Marcia asked Duncan as soon as they were alone in the crowd.

“I asked her to come with me,” he said in matter-of-fact tones. “I wanted to gauge her sincerity about the deal she made with you.”

“Oh.” Marcia felt relieved. He was thinking along the same lines she was, a fact which made her think they might be well matched in more than the kissing department.

Not that she was interested in marriage or anything remotely resembling it. Oak Hall was
all
. It was her new motto. She repeated it to herself over and over whenever she thought about Duncan Lattimore.

“I didn’t let on I knew anything about her arrangement with you, of course,” he said. “Or that you and I were anything but passing acquaintances.”

“You mean we’re more than that?” she teased him, wondering if he was thinking about kissing her. She was thinking about kissing
him
.

But at the moment, he didn’t seem to notice that there was an invisible force between them pulling them together whenever they met. He was staring after Lysandra quite as if that invisible force might exist between him and the
widow,
not Marcia.

Her heart began to pound harder—although why should she care?

“I’m glad I got to know Lady Ennis today,” Duncan said. “She’s a bit spoiled, but she’s got some fine qualities, too.”

“Fine?”
Marcia was incensed. “The woman is destructive,
stupid
—”

“Oh, she’s not stupid,” he murmured. “She’s as clever as you and I are.”

“Huh,” Marcia said.

Duncan finally seemed to notice her. He tilted his head and squinted. “Are you jealous?” he asked.

“Of what?” Marcia’s voice was thin.

“Of Lysandra, being with me.”

Marcia laughed. “Of course not. Why should I be?”

He stared at her a moment. “Yes, why should you? You and I have only—” He leaned over and whispered the rest of a very wicked sentence in her ear.

Marcia felt her face redden. “Yes, but we never said our hearts were attached.”

His lips thinned. “My point exactly.”

“And my heart’s not to give, remember?”

“I
do
remember.”

“Besides which”—she twisted her hand in her skirt, feeling like an idiot—“you’re too busy with Joe. And—and Finn.”

“Right.” He nodded, a pleasant expression on his face. “At any rate, Lysandra isn’t all bad. She’s very pretty, and charming, too, when she wants to be. She could meet someone quite nice, I believe, if she gained some confidence.”

“You think she lacks confidence?”

“Her parents are missionaries and dumped her at the school like a bit of baggage. She sees them once every five years. She confessed that they don’t give her a penny. I think that’s why she’s after a wealthy husband again.” He paused thoughtfully. “It’s really very sad.”

“Hmmph,” Marcia said. “What’s your verdict about her sincerity concerning our agreement?”

“I believe she has every intention of following through on her side of it. She never admitted your deal existed, but she spoke to me about the school’s autumn play. She wants something more sophisticated than a skit written by the girls. She wants a show she can invite her friends to watch. She’s thinking
Macbeth
.”

“She said that?” Marcia so wanted to hug him, but she daren’t.

He nodded.

Marcia bit her lip. “She didn’t mention anything about my being headmistress again, did she?”

Duncan shook his head. “I’m sorry. She didn’t.”

“No wonder.” Marcia tried to look on the bright side. “At the time, she didn’t know that I’d gotten the duke on board. At least she plans on keeping the school open. I’ll convince her to bring me back, as well.”

“I know you’ll try.”

His voice sounded a little hollow, and she felt awkward of a sudden. “Are you off to pummel the miscreants?”

“No.” He gave her the most devastating grin. “But if it makes Lysandra feel better that she has a knight in shining armor for a day, I’m perfectly happy to fulfill that fantasy.”

But what about
mine
? Marcia wanted to ask. Her fantasies included having a man kiss her in the middle of the Reader Street fair.

The awkwardness between them increased when he lifted his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his carriage. “I have to go now, all right? I’ll send Dr. Trimp back this way.”

“All right.”

And she watched him walk away, her heart sore. She missed him already, and he wasn’t even hers. Nor would he ever be.

She ran after him. “I’ll meet Dr. Trimp at your carriage and save him the walk.”

Duncan seemed to see through her excuse, slanting her a knowing look, but he didn’t say anything else.

She felt even worse. “Are you avoiding me?”

“Of course not. I thought
you
were avoiding
me
.”

“I am, I—I guess.” She sighed. “It’s a pity, though.”

He stood still and put his fists on his hips. “Why?” When he squinted into the sun like that, he looked devastatingly handsome.

“Because I like you,” she said.

“Is that all?”

“What do you mean?”

“You like me.” He threw out his hands. “You like Dr. Trimp, too.”

She blushed. “Yes, but I wouldn’t…” She trailed off.

“You wouldn’t let him kiss you, would you?”

She shook her head.

Duncan shrugged and started to walk again. “You’ve made your choices. And I, my dear, must make mine, as well.”

“All right,” she said, then stopped again. “What are they?”

He gazed at her a moment. “They’re private, my lady,” he said gently.

“Oh,” she said, feeling out of breath. It was as if she’d been hit in the stomach with a large, invisible fist. “All right.”

They walked the remaining fifty feet in silence. In her head, she said,
Oak Hall is all,
over and over again, to keep from crying. It worked, but just barely.

Dr. Trimp was lounging against the side of the vehicle when they approached. “Lady Ennis is safe inside,” he said, “with her maid.”

Lysandra’s face appeared at the window, and her brows lofted at the sight of Marcia. “I’m glad you came this way. My maid can’t untie a knot in my reticule. Could you help?”

“I can do that for you,” Duncan offered.

Marcia suppressed a frisson of annoyance at him.

Lysandra smiled. “Thank you, Lord Chadwick, but I’ve found women’s smaller fingers are better at untangling knots. Marcia’s hands are quite large, but surely not as big as a man’s—I should hope.”

Marcia restrained herself from flinging an insult back and entered the carriage. Lysandra pulled the door shut.

“Where is it?” Marcia said, looking for the reticule.

And then she saw a silk bag, presumably Lysandra’s reticule, lying on the seat, stained with a few red spots, a little worse for wear from the missile. But there were no knots in sight.

“If you leave Lord Chadwick alone—and I do mean alone,” Lysandra whispered fiercely, “I’ll give you your job back as headmistress at Oak Hall.”

“What?”

“I see how you look at him.”

Marcia was so taken off guard, she didn’t even have a chance to speak before Lysandra said, “Now
go,
” and literally pushed her to the door.

Next thing she knew, she was on the ground again with Mr. Trimp, cast back into the water like an unwanted fish hooked by a bored but expert angler.

Lord Chadwick pulled himself up into the carriage, his broad back and muscular legs sending waves of longing through her.

Only a few moments later, his carriage departed, Lysandras’s cool, regal profile visible in the window.

“Oak Hall is
all,
” Marcia murmured.

“What?” Dr. Trimp asked her.

“Nothing,” she said, and wondered why just when she thought she’d gotten all she wanted, she felt more miserable than she ever had in her life.

Chapter Twenty-six

It wasn’t as easy to feign indifference to Lady Marcia Sherwood as Duncan had hoped, not when he had a small boy clamoring every day to see her again. Not when Duncan’s nights were tortured with sensual memories of her. And not when he’d just had a remarkable evening the night before at the Brady mansion on Grosvenor Square, where he’d been entertained by almost the entire family at a sumptuous, lively dinner.

Lady Marcia, sadly enough, had been indisposed and unable to join them.

Knowing that she’d been right above his head, probably perched on her bed with a book, healthy as a horse, had driven Duncan mad.

He’d thought it was Finn she hadn’t wanted to see—not him.

He’d enjoyed the assiduous maternal attentions of Lady Brady and Lord Brady’s corresponding paternal ones. It was almost possible to imagine becoming a member of their family …

If only their eldest daughter were amenable to the idea.

And now it was another day at the park with Joe. But this time, Duncan had decided, he and Joe would go when everyone else did.

“I like this side,” Joe said.

They were lying on the grass, their hands behind their heads.

“Why is that?” asked Duncan.

“Because it’s prettier.” Joe gazed up at the canopy of trees above his head. “The trees seem larger. And the sky is bluer.”

Duncan laughed. “These are the exact same sort of trees we had on the other side. And the same sky, I’ll have you know.”

Joe grinned. “Well, maybe it’s because”—he rolled and leaned close to Duncan’s ear—“I’m
happier
on this side.”

Duncan reached out a hand and squeezed Joe’s. “Maybe I am, too.”

Joe rolled back on his back and gave a big sigh of contentment.

Duncan wished he had done this ages ago. Not reined in his horse as it was jumping. If he was going to live with Joe and acknowledge him as his son, he had to do so completely. One only lived once. And Joe deserved nothing less than a father who embraced the fact of his existence all the time and wherever they went.

A brace of well-dressed ladies went by, matrons all. Duncan made eye contact with each of them. They stared haughtily back.

He refused to look away. His son wasn’t to lead a half life, and neither was he.

“Some people are a disgrace to society,” one of the women said loudly.

Duncan looked over at Joe, who was oblivious.

He was busy peering at a cloud. “I think that one’s a dog,” he said, pointing excitedly to the sky.

“You’re right,” said Duncan.

“I’m naming it Jack, after the boy who jumped over a candlestick. I
like
him.”

“I do, as well,” said Duncan. “I wonder if his bottom got hot when he leaped over that flame?”

Joe laughed so hard, he rolled over again and laughed into the grass. When he sat up, he had a blade of it stuck to his mouth. He spat it out. “Let’s go, Papa,” he said. “I want to see the animals. And Duke.”

Duncan pulled Joe up. “Be patient. We’ve just another hour. We’ll have something to eat and drink first, and then we’ll go.”

They were off to Exhibit Hall. At Joe’s behest, Duncan had extended an invitation to the Duke of Beauchamp, not thinking for a minute that he would accept.