The Marriage Trap (2 page)

Jack lounged against the pillar and eyed his friend with interest. “Careful, Ash, or you'll find yourself snagged by some dewy-eyed damsel with marriage on her mind.”

Ash grinned. “But that's my point. Marriage is payment for services rendered. Love should be free. That's why I prefer to remain a single man.”

“‘Love should be free'?” Jack made a small sound of derision. “Try telling that to the fair Venuses who hang around the Palais Royal. Haven't you noticed that they swarm around the man who has made a killing at the gaming tables? Wife or courtesan, it's hard to tell the difference.”

Ash turned his quizzing glass upon Jack. “You're in an odd humor,” he said. “I've never heard you complain of the Venuses at the Palais Royal. What's brought this on?”

Jack shrugged. “I miss my dog. She, at least, loves me unconditionally.”

Ash laughed. “She's a slut. You told me so yourself. You never know who has been bedding her until the pups arrive.”

“Ah, but I know it's me she really loves.” His smile faded and he said in an undertone, “Don't look now, but our host has discovered our lair and is coming this way.”

Ash lowered his quizzing glass. “Well, Jack,” he said, “what is it to be? Shall we do our duty and partner one of those dewy-eyed damsels you mentioned, or shall we hide under that table over there and, if we're discovered, pretend to be looking for a priceless ring one of us has lost?”

“Ever the humorist,” murmured Jack. “I prefer to meet my fate head-on.”

“Better you than me. Ah, look who has just arrived, Lady Pamela Howe. Excuse me, Jack.”

Jack was amused. Lady Pamela was an heiress, and his friend's strategic pursuit would only reinforce the fiction that Ash was in need of a rich wife to fill the family's empty coffers. Cautious fathers did not encourage their daughters to court fortune hunters. He wondered why he had not devised a similar ploy to save himself from the huntresses.

The answer came to him unbidden. Because, of course, Ash's grandfather, the marquess, lived in the wilds of Scotland. No one really knew him. His family, on the other hand, lived in Sussex, and there was also a town house in London. As a result, everyone knew their business. If he pleaded poverty, no one would believe him.

He sighed when he felt the hand on his shoulder. Resigned, smiling faintly, he turned to acknowledge his host, the ambassador.

Sir Charles said, “Can't have you standing around, Jack, setting a bad example to all the young sprigs. Allow me to introduce you to any lady of your choosing.” In a humorous vein, he added, “One dance is all I ask, then you're free to leave and enjoy all the dissolute attractions of the Palais Royal.”

Did everyone know that that's where he and Ash had taken rooms? “Thank you,” he replied and added graciously, “but I am quite content with the company here.”

Sir Charles grinned at him. “Are you, indeed? Then things must have changed drastically since I was a young man. But let's not quibble. Show me the lady who has taken your fancy and I shall introduce her to you.”

Jack lifted his shoulders in a negligent shrug.

He'd hesitated too long.

“Come along, Jack,” said Sir Charles. “I know just the lady for you.”

With a weary sigh, Jack followed his host to Lady Sedgewick and her party. Her ladyship was one of the hounds he wished to avoid. She was a large, silly woman who loved the sound of her own voice. There was a daughter whose name he couldn't remember, a girl just out of the schoolroom, but she wasn't one of the group, and that puzzled him. Surely Sir Charles didn't expect him to dance with Lady Sedgewick?

Some pleasantries were exchanged, then Lady Sedgewick began to extol the virtues of her daughter who, unfortunately, had just agreed to dance with Captain Tallman and was somewhere on the dance floor. Sir Charles nodded benignly, but when Lady Sedgewick continued to rattle on, he cut her off by remarking as to himself, “Is that the young Duke of Devonshire I see?”

“Where?” she cried.

When she turned to scan the salon, Sir Charles addressed Jack. “You have yet to meet Miss . . .”

“Hill,” supplied the lady he brought forward. “Miss Elinor Hill.”

The ambassador inclined his head. “Of course, Miss Hill it is. How could I forget?”

Jack's brows rose. Miss Hill was hardly what he had had in mind. This was no schoolroom miss, but someone nearer his own age. She was dressed in gray from head to toe, except for her long white gloves and the lace cap that proclaimed her past the age of marriage. The one thing in her favor was a pair of fine, hazel eyes that briefly met his before she curtsied.

Lady Sedgewick, suddenly realizing she had been tricked, turned on her companion. “I feel chilled,” she said. “You'll find my wrap in the cloakroom. Bring it to me at once, if you please.”

So the lady is a paid companion,
thought Jack.
What game is Sir Charles playing?

If Miss Hill was aware of Lady Sedgewick's deliberate slight, she gave no sign of it. “Certainly, Lady Sedgewick,” she replied in a small, colorless voice.

Jack was offended on her behalf. He was about to offer to escort Miss Hill to the cloakroom when Sir Charles took command.

“That won't be necessary,” he said with a charming smile. Sir Charles's charm was legendary. “One of my footmen will be happy to fetch it.” He raised his index finger and a footman was at his elbow in a matter of seconds. “Her ladyship wants her wrap,” he said. Then to Lady Sedgewick, “Perhaps you would be good enough to describe it to him.”

As her ladyship began to describe her wrap, Sir Charles turned his back on her, excluding her from the conversation.

“Miss Hill is cousin to Lord Cardvale,” he said. He looked over his shoulder. “That reminds me. I want a word with him.”

The lady blinked. “A distant cousin,” she corrected.

Jack didn't like the sound of this. He had nothing against Lord Cardvale. In fact, he hardly knew the man. They had a nodding acquaintance because they belonged to the same clubs in London and attended some of the same functions, but that was all. He hoped that Sir Charles wasn't establishing the lady's credentials as a suitable candidate for his hand in marriage.

Minding his manners, he replied, “I have the honor of being slightly acquainted with Lord Cardvale. He seems . . . ah . . . very agreeable.”

Miss Hill's only response was a straight look from those striking, hazel eyes.

Sir Charles nodded. “But I've known Ellie since she was a child. Her father was the vicar of our parish church for a time.”

Jack grew restless. This was going from bad to worse. Surely Sir Charles wasn't pushing this dowd at him with the hope of a match between them? A vicar's daughter? That was hardly his style.

Was the woman dumb? Why didn't she say something? The thought made him feel mean-spirited. He shouldn't blame the girl. From what he'd seen of Lady Sedgewick, he guessed that she would be a hard taskmistress. Miss Hill's cousin, her
distant
cousin, should have done more for her. Paid companions were only a cut above servants.

A penetrating look from Sir Charles recalled him to his duty. The dissolute attractions of the Palais Royal were growing more appealing by the minute.

“Miss Hill,” he began, treating her to a disarming smile, “may I have the pleasure of the next dance?”

He had surprised her. He could see it in the flare of her eyes and the way her hand fluttered to her bosom. And a very fine bosom it was, too, though it was decorously covered by a gray chiffon scarf.

“How very kind you are,” she said, and dipped him a minuscule curtsy. “Thank you, but I must decline. Lady Sedgewick's daughter, Lady Harriet, is in my care. I'm her chaperon, you see.”

He thought he caught an ironic inflection, but he saw only a clear, steady gaze and a docile smile. He must have been mistaken, for he could not imagine a lowly lady's companion making sport of a belted earl.

His quick intelligence was beginning to add things up. Sir Charles had known the girl since she was an infant and was obviously fond of her. Her cousin, Cardvale, had failed in his duty toward this impoverished gentlewoman. Her employer, Lady Sedgewick, was a tyrant. He had no doubt now that the ambassador had singled him out to bring a little excitement to Miss Hill's dull life. All he need do was partner her for one dance and her credit would rise considerably among her peers.

She was looking up at him, solemn-eyed, waiting to be dismissed. When the need arose, he could demolish a precocious chit with a word or a look. This mousy little woman who asked for nothing, expecting nothing, inspired him to act with chivalry.

He kept his eyes on hers. “Lady Sedgewick,” he said, “won't you use your influence to persuade Miss Hill to dance with me?”

The solemn look was gone. Now she looked startled. Sir Charles, meantime, had turned aside to say a few words in Lady Sedgewick's ear. A moment later,
tsk
ing between smiles, she scolded Miss Hill for giving everyone the wrong impression.

“Of course you must dance,” she cried. “I can't think what gave you the idea that you're to play nursemaid to Harriet.” She smiled into Jack's eyes. “My daughter never wants for partners, you know. Sometimes I think that girl is too popular. I'm told that I should not be surprised, for she has the sweetest, most biddable disposition. Is that not so, Ellie?” Ellie was not given a chance to respond, for her ladyship gushed on, “And so accomplished, too. If you were to hear her play the piano . . .” Her eyes brightened. “You must come to dinner. We're staying at the Hotel Breteuil in the rue de Rivoli. Every Thursday we host a dinner party for a few friends, all very informal. Do say you will come.”

Alas, Jack was already engaged on Thursday, he said, and before her ladyship could catch her breath, he captured Miss Hill's hand and led her to the dance floor.

The waltz, one of the newfangled dances, had become all the rage. Some called it the “wicked” waltz because of the intimate proximity of the partners as they whirled around the floor. It belatedly occurred to him that Miss Hill might not know the steps. Dull little chaperons would not have much occasion to take to the dance floor. He need not have worried. She was light in his arms, light and slender and supple.

He looked down at the woman in his arms and gave her a warm smile. “You dance very well,” he said.

Her head came up and he found himself looking into a pair of eyes that were vivid with anger. He was taken aback. He'd expected to see gratitude, admiration, or, at the very least, he'd expected the lady to be overcome with blushes. He'd chosen to dance with her when he could have had any girl he wanted. All eyes were on them. He'd made her the belle of the ball.

Bosom quivering, she said in a low voice, “Am I supposed to be flattered? I told you I didn't want to dance, but did you listen? Oh no. You wanted to thumb your nose at all the girls who, you suppose, are hanging out for a rich husband.
You,
in fact. Your conceit is outrageous.”

Her ungrateful onslaught ignited his own temper. Through his teeth, he replied, “Had I known my attentions were unwelcome, I would not have asked you to dance.”

Her tone was arch, “You mean, you
wanted
to dance with me?”

Since she was brutally honest, he saw no need to treat her with the deference due a lady. “I had no wish to dance with anyone, but our host made it impossible for me to refuse. He practically pushed you at me. What was I to do? If you didn't want to dance, you should have made your wishes patently clear.”

She gave a disbelieving smile. “I'm only a chaperon, Lord Raleigh, as you knew very well when you asked me to dance. My wishes count for nothing. I hope you realize that you have placed me in an intolerable position. Tongues will be wagging, debating why you singled me out like this. I think you can imagine what people will be saying.”

His eyes narrowed unpleasantly. He had a good idea where this was leading. His voice like silk, he said, “Speak plainly, ma'am. What do you think people are saying?”

Without the least hesitation, she replied, “That you're in need of a wife who is biddable and complacent, someone who will turn a blind eye to all your indiscretions.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “And who better to fill the slot than a little nobody like me?”

If he was taken aback before, now he was astonished. This girl was little better than a servant and she was taking him to task. Did she know who he was? Did she realize that one word from him could have her turned off without a character reference? What made her so reckless?

After a moment, the heat in his eyes cooled and he chuckled. “You must be joking,” he said.

She looked up at him with clear, clear eyes. “Why? Because I'm only a paid companion? Believe me, my lord, stranger things have happened.”

She gasped when he suddenly executed an intricate turn, so he did it again if only to show the wench that she had better watch her step with him. There was no more conversation until the dance ended. Breathless and flushed, she curtsied. He thanked her, then stalked off.

Having done their duty, he and Ash slipped away and struck out along the rue Sainte-Honore and the short distance to the Palais Royal. Ash did most of the talking, while Jack brooded on Miss Hill and her outrageous behavior. He had tried to be chivalrous and look where it had got him! She was a frump. No one in his right mind would think he had designs on her virtue, hallowed or unhallowed.

Stranger things have happened.

It sounded like a challenge.

No, it sounded like a threat, a warning that he could not trifle with her with impunity.

The poor woman must be demented! Who would want to?

He started to laugh.

“What did I say?” demanded Ash.

Jack shook his head. “What do you say, Ash, to a stroll around Tortoni's before we retire for the night?”

Tortoni's was a café where all the most celebrated duelists gathered, looking for a fight. Ash's eyes lit up. “I'm game if you are.”

“And afterward, a champagne breakfast at the Palais Royal.”

Ash said satirically, “You do realize that if we win, we'll be swarmed by girls?”