Somerville Farce (15 page)

Trixy had danced only a single time, with
Sir Roderick, since no other man had approached her all evening.
Not that she was too disappointed. She hadn’t really expected to
become the belle of the ball, although she had, deep in her heart
of hearts, hoped that Harry might have—

Trixy bit her lip, purposefully banishing
the traitorous thought from her mind. Lady Amelia, bless her, had
sidled up to Trixy halfway through the evening to explain that
Harry very rarely danced, which wasn’t to say that he had lost
interest in her, which Lady Amelia was sure he hadn’t, for Trixy
looked very sweet in her gown and Harry wasn’t, after all, a blind
man.

Walking to the center of the ballroom, Trixy
shook her head as she remembered Lady Amelia’s words. The woman had
taken a liking to Trixy, as Trixy had to her, and she did not look
forward to viewing Lady Amelia’s eventual inevitable disappointment
when the end of the Season came.

One dance. Was that really too much to ask
from the man? One single dance. A waltz, perhaps. Yes... yes,
definitely a waltz.

Trixy slipped a finger into the small fabric
loop positioned halfway down the skirt of her gown and lifted the
material as she would have if she were going to dance the waltz.
Her left hand went out to rest lightly on the shoulder of her
imaginary partner and her eyes closed as she listened to the music
playing inside her head.

Slowly, hesitantly, she began to dance. One,
two, three... one, two, three. Standing nearly on tiptoe in her
soft satin slippers, she moved around the floor, her steps growing
more confident as her body dipped and swayed and twirled and her
seafoam-green gown floated above the floor.

One, two, three... one, two, three. How she
loved the waltz. How graceful it was, how exhilarating, how
potentially dangerous.

Suddenly she was no longer dancing alone.
Without warning, she had a partner, a gloriously graceful partner
who whisked her around the perimeter of the floor as if the pair of
them were dancing on clouds. No, her brain screamed at her, this
couldn’t be true. She must be imagining it. She must be imagining
the fingers cradling hers, as well as the hand that pressed lightly
against the small of her back.

Her eyes opened wide in shock, yet her feet
continued to move in time with the silent melody of the dance.
“Harry!” She breathed his name more than spoke it. “What—”

He smiled down on her almost benevolently
before sweeping her into another turn. “Forgive me, Trixy, but I
couldn’t resist. You looked very appealing gliding around the
floor, but you really did need a partner to make the picture
complete. What waltz are we dancing, by the way? Perhaps I could
hum along?”

Trixy tore herself from his light embrace,
turning away from him. “Poor duke,” she said, her heart bitter.
“Was there nothing else to amuse you this late in the evening, so
that you had to settle for sticking pins in me? Perhaps you should
go wake Andy and Willie—they might want to help you prop a coffin
at someone’s front door, or some other such prank.”

Glynde might not have had as much experience
in dealing with the gentler sex as some of his cohorts, but he was
likewise no green-as-grass youth, and he immediately recognized the
fact that Trixy was upset with him. Reaching out to halt her escape
by grabbing hold of her arm, he said, “I wasn’t trying to amuse
myself with you, Trixy. Maybe I was, once, but not now—and not for
some time.”

She turned back to face him. Was he
referring to their kiss at Glyndevaron? Had it really meant
something to him, something important? She had to know.
“Meaning...?”

Harry shook his head, running a hand through
his hair in obvious agitation. “Meaning...? What is it about
females, anyway? Meaning what? Why must they have everything set
out for them in neat little blocks? Can’t you just take a man’s
word for anything? Must we always explain?”

Harry looked so sweet in his confusion that
Trixy was hard-pressed not to retract her question, but then she
remembered how shabbily he had treated her earlier in the
evening—how shabbily he had been treating her ever since they had
first met. Why should she make anything easier for him? He
certainly had not gone out of his way to smooth any of life’s
wrinkles for her!

And so she continued to stand her ground,
looking up at him levelly, waiting for him to speak.

The duke remained silent for some time,
knowing that whatever he said next could return to haunt him for
years to come. The dratted woman knew he was attracted to her—he
could tell from the smug, self-satisfied look on her face. She also
knew, he was certain, that he had enjoyed kissing her—and wanted to
repeat the experience.

Well, Harry considered further, if she knew
all that, there was really no point in prolonging the thing, now,
was there? No, there certainly was not. She knew how he felt, yet
she wasn’t running from him. Obviously she wanted him as much as he
wanted her. At least she was being honest about the thing. You had
to admire a woman who was honest about such things.

All that was left now was to put thought
into action.

Snaking out a hand to grab her forearm,
Harry pulled Trixy fully into his arms and brought his mouth down
hard on hers. The flame he had felt ignite at their first kiss
immediately accelerated into a conflagration as her pliant body
molded against his own. Her mouth was so soft, so wondrously
enticing, that he forgot to go slowly, convinced himself that there
was no need to be gentle. His lips slanted first one way, then the
other, as he boldly invaded her mouth to taste the sweetness
within.

It was only when his hand, moving almost
without orders from him, sought her breast, that Trixy pulled away,
leaving him on the very edge of frustration.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked, desperately
trying to control the tremor in his arms as he pulled her back
against his chest. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that as much as
I did, for we both know it would be a lie. Your reaction confused
me the first time, but I’ve been thinking the whole thing over for
the last six weeks, and I’ve finally figured it out—figured you
out. You aren’t in this just for a kiss, are you? You want more.
We’re so right for each other, Trixy. I think I’ve known it since
the first moment I saw you, and so did you. There’s no reason to
fight it anymore.”

Trixy allowed her taut muscles to relax as
she leaned against Harry’s strength. He was right. What was she
fighting for, anyway? She had been attracted to him from the
beginning, had been dreaming of a moment like this for the past six
weeks and more.

She was no child, no simpering miss. Her
reaction to his first kiss had been childish and immature. Harry’s
kiss tonight had told her that he returned her feelings. The
impossible fairy tale she had dreamed of all those long years past
was at last coming true.

“Oh, Harry,” she murmured passionately,
reaching up her arms to slip them around his shoulders, “we’re
going to be so very happy.”

He bent his head to nuzzle at the soft skin
behind her ear. “Yes, love, we will be very happy. We’ll have to
get through the Season somehow, now that I’ve gone so far as to
commit Aunt Amelia to the project, but I’m sure we’ll have the
twins settled in no time. That’s still part of the bargain, isn’t
it? Yes, I’m sure it is, for if nothing else, love, you’re an
honorable blackmailer. Then, my darling, I can feel free to set you
up somewhere—somewhere close to Glyndevaron, so that I can see you
whenever I want. That will be very often, I’m sure.”

Trixy, her head still tilted to one side as
Harry’s lips caressed her throat, making a mockery of her senses,
felt her insides slowly turning to stone. “Set me up somewhere,
Harry? What do you mean?” She set her palms against his chest and
pushed him away. “You want to make me your mistress?”

Harry frowned at the brittle edge to Trixy’s
tone. “Why, yes—what did you think I meant? That’s what you wanted
from the outset, wasn’t it? An allowance and a place in the
country? That was the payment you planned to exact from me. That
was why you reacted as you did to my first kiss. You thought I was
trying to get something for nothing. At first I thought you were
insulted, or hurt, but it was only business, wasn’t it, and you
wanted me to figure out that you still planned to hold out for the
cottage.

“But your plan worked, even if you hadn’t
figured on developing a romantic attachment. Naughty puss. You’ll
still have your cottage and allowance—I give them both to you as of
this moment. The only difference now is that you’ll have me there
as well.”

A single tear spilled onto Trixy’s
cheek.

“Oh... I see,” Harry said, his gaze sliding
away from hers. “No! No, wait a moment. I don’t see, dammit! You
never thought I was... that we would... but I never
said
...
I never thought... you couldn’t... but you
do
! It seems I
underestimated you. You really did plan to fly high, didn’t you?
But that’s going too far, puss. I mean, you tried to blackmail me.
You threatened to bring shame down on my family.

“You’re a woman of the world, an
intelligent, enterprising woman. Why, you’ve probably entered into
just such an arrangement as I’ve suggested before—maybe more than
once. Surely you didn’t think that we’d... You wouldn’t even want
us to... Just what sort of a rig are you trying to run now? What’s
the matter, Trixy? Has this bit of
ton
life brought out new
demands to add to your old ones?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course I understood what
you were offering, Harry, and I wouldn’t be so mean as to change my
demands in the middle of the game,” Trixy said quickly, before
Harry’s damning words could totally destroy her and force her to
her knees, whimpering. “I just wanted to be perfectly clear on the
terms you were offering. A house in the country, I believe you
said, and an allowance—just what I had originally demanded? How
much of an allowance? You were partially correct—I have learned to
enjoy living and dressing well. And how often would I be expected
to... to entertain you?”

Harry was beginning to experience the
sinking feeling that he had blundered, and blundered badly—only he
wasn’t quite sure how. Her eyes were overbright, for one thing, and
now that he really thought about it, Trixy didn’t seem the sort to
enjoy being a kept woman. “Look, Trixy, if I’ve said something
wrong—”

“Said something wrong?” she interrupted
brightly, patting his cheek. “How could you have possibly said
something wrong? I’m a blackmailer, pure and simple. Heaven knows
you’ve reminded me of that fact often enough.

“There’s only one thing, Harry,” Trixy
pointed out, backing away toward the doorway. “Sir Roderick seemed
to be rather taken with me tonight, and I wouldn’t want to
jeopardize my chance for a more—shall we say—permanent position, if
you take my meaning. After all, you yourself hinted that I should
do my best to land myself a husband while I’m chaperoning the
girls, didn’t you?”

Harry took a step in her direction, frowning
as she then backed up another two steps. “Well, yes, I suppose I
did say something like that once, but... Roddy?” He spread his
arms, smiling. “You’re attracted to me, Trixy—not Roddy.”

“True. I have to admit, this mutual
attraction we feel is quite tempting. But business is still
business, as I’m sure you understand. For now, I shall only say yes
to the cottage and allowance, my original demands. The rest we
shall leave up to fate,” Trixy concluded swiftly, turning for the
door as a second tear threatened to betray her. “Good night, Harry.
Please be sure to snuff out the rest of the candles. It wouldn’t do
to burn the place to the ground.”

A moment later Harry was alone in the
ballroom, trying to figure out when he had first sensed that he had
lost control of their strange conversation. He was sure Trixy had
lied to him about misconstruing his proposition for a proposal. She
wouldn’t have cried otherwise. But marriage? The whole idea was
ludicrous! To be honest, the thought of marriage to Beatrice
Stourbridge, pretty though she might be, intelligent though she
might be, attracted to her though he might be, had never entered
his head. Running tame in his household must be giving her
delusions of grandeur.

Women like Trixy weren’t for marrying—they
were for bedding, repeatedly, until it was time to move on to the
next willing partner. Surely she knew that, just as surely as she
knew dukes didn’t marry nobodies—especially not nobodies that tried
to blackmail them, for pity’s sake. He would become a laughingstock
if he were to marry Trixy.

Wasn’t it bad enough that he had been
maneuvered into sponsoring Myles Somerville’s offspring for the
Season? He knew that many of his guests tonight had been laughing
behind his back at the absurdity of the thing—not that any of them
would dare to say anything to his face. That, he reminded himself,
was another injury he could lay squarely at Trixy’s door. A
laughingstock? Why, if all the truth were ever to come out, he’d
have to change his name and scurry off to India or somewhere to
live down the shame of the thing.

Marry her? At the moment, Harry wasn’t even
quite sure he still wanted Trixy as his mistress. She’d been no end
of trouble already. Once he had set her up in her own cottage, she
would most probably prove to be the most demanding creature in
nature. Actually, he decided, taking up the snuffer to begin
putting out the remaining candles, he had most probably just had a
very lucky escape. Yes, that was how he would look at the thing—as
a very lucky escape. Let Sir Roderick deal with Trixy if he was so
entranced with her.

“Roddy?” Harry questioned aloud, shaking his
head as he walked out of the darkened ballroom. “She must be
serious about business being business. How else could she possibly
prefer that bearded nincompoop to me?”