The Offer (18 page)

“Yes, that is true,” Martine said as she ran the tips of her fingers over his chest, down to his belly. To be truthful, which she hoped she wouldn't have to be, she was getting bored with all this talk about a girl she didn't even know. She leaned up and kissed his throat. “How hard you are,” she said, her fingers low on his belly now, touching him.

“You know I spar at Gentleman Jackson's Boxing Salon,” he said absently, his attention returning to the cracked plaster overhead.

Martine chuckled and kissed him all over his chest. “No, Phillip, I don't think your Gentleman Jackson has anything to do with this particular hardness.” She was holding him now and he sucked in his breath.

He pulled her on top of him. She said into his mouth, “I don't understand something here, Phillip. You've told me many times that you're too young to marry, that the last thing you want is a wife. But you act like a man with a very guilty conscience.” Then she began to move over him. His mind very nearly blanked out.

She stopped for a moment, and he managed to say, “She spent nearly a week with me—alone. And that wretched pair, Elizabeth and Trevor, were spreading tales about her having tried to seduce her own brother-in-law. At least when I saw them, I made it clear—in no uncertain terms, mind you—that they were to keep their mouths closed. But no doubt the damage has already been done. It just hasn't reached London yet, but it will. Sabrina doesn't understand this, damn her for not trusting me, for not believing me.”

Martine let him fill her completely. It was a wonderful feeling, particularly with Phillip. “This girl whom you did not seduce, would she like this?”

Phillip thought of Sabrina, small, slight, pressed hard against him during the worst of her fever. He could feel again her consummate embarrassment at his intimate care of her. Although his lust had very nearly overcome his wits, he managed to bring himself to heel. A gentleman didn't discuss a lady of quality in such a way, much less discuss the matter with his mistress. He knew, of course, that it wasn't Martine's fault this had happened. It was his.

“No more, Martine, no more. Just this. Yes, just this.” He wrapped his fingers in her short fair curls and pulled her mouth down to his.

Dambler wasn't happy when he admitted his master at near dawn the following morning. He trailed after him up the wide staircase of Derencourt House. He knew very well what his master had been doing. He'd ceased being envious years ago. He was now happily sour about the entire business, a benefit of getting old. One of the very few. He sniffed. His master smelled of sex and brandy. More of the former than the latter.

“Don't you preach at me,” Phillip said over his shoulder, thinking that at any minute Dambler would tread upon his heels.

Dambler didn't say a word. When he reached his bedchamber, Phillip tried his best to get off his rumpled clothing. His fingers didn't seem to want to work together.

“The nighttime, my lord, is for sleeping and not for carrying on,” Dambler said as he helped his master undress.

“It's only for sleeping if you're old, Dambler, and you well know it. I remember my father telling me what a wild young man you were. You're just jealous now.”

“I don't think so, my lord.”

Phillip grunted. He couldn't imagine a man not being jealous. He slid in between the sheets. They
were cold. He wanted to complain about it, but he was too sleepy.

“On the other hand, anything is possible,” Dambler said. “I will think about this. I was just congratulating myself on enjoying one of the benefits of approaching my autumn years, that is, I don't have to bed a woman every night.”

“Two women, if possible.”

“As you say. I don't remember. Well, at best they're fleeting memories that sting only for a very brief instant.”

“You sound like you're about to weep. Forget autumn years, Dambler. Go find yourself a laughing lady. But first, go to bed and don't wake me up unless the house is on fire or you feel a bout of apoplexy coming on. I didn't ask you to wait up for me, curse you.”

“What would her ladyship say?” Dambler said as he blew out the candles.

“Since my mother passed to the hereafter some four years ago, I fear contact would prove difficult, even for you. Go to bed, Dambler. But you know, my mother was quite a bold wench in her heyday, all flash and good sport. Blood will tell, thank the good Lord.”

He heard a low buzzing sound from Dambler and closed his eyes. He found himself wondering what his valet would say if he were to see Martine in all her natural glory. Apoplexy, he thought, very probably it would result in apoplexy.

Dambler said from the door of the bedchamber, “Do you have any activities planned for the evening, my lord?”

“I have just finished the evening, thank you. Go to bed.”

“The next evening, my lord.”

Phillip suddenly cursed. “Yes, I forgot. It's off to
that sacred boring Almack's, to play St. George again, not that it will do any good.”

“A noble gentleman, St. George, my lord.”

“If he was anything like me, then he was a bloody fool.”

 

Miss Teresa Elliott, her arm placed gracefully upon her brother Wilfred's sleeve, glided toward the patronesses across the main hall at Almack's, where they were sitting on a dais, holding court.

“Old besoms,” Wilfred said in his sister's ear as his myopic gaze took in the three ladies seated close together in their stiff-backed gilded chairs. “I'd rather face a hanging judge. If you hadn't worn Mama out with all those balls of yours and whatever else it is you do—”

“Be quiet, Wilfred. It won't hurt you to be away from your wretched books for one evening, and I must have an escort, you know that.”

“Find yourself a husband, Teresa. Maybe you will snag some poor wretch who will be willing to let you diddle him about.”

She gave him a loathsome, self-satisfied smile that made her brother want to smack her.

“For your information, I've decided upon one of the most eligible bachelors in London.”

“And just who might the poor devil be?” Wilfred looked down at her classic profile and didn't appreciate it one bit.

“It's highly unlikely that he will attend this evening, for it's known he finds Almack's a bore. However, I expect he will come about, once we're married.”

“Who is this weak-willed ass?”

She pinched his arm, no more, because the Duchess of Wigan was smiling toward her.

“You've smiled quite enough, Teresa. Now, who is this paragon you've set your sights on?”

“I doubt he would even give you a nod. He is too magnificent, too sporting—”

“Please stop. He's one of those useless men who do nothing except drink brandy, visit their mistresses, and race their horses.”

“I'll have you know, you dunce, that it's Viscount Derencourt.”

“Phillip Mercerault?”

“Yes,” she said, ignoring the incredulity in his voice. “If you ever bothered to pull your nose from your infernal studies, you would know that I have ridden in the park with him and, indeed, was at Moreland with him before Christmas.” That visit, however, hadn't lived up to her expectations. “If it hadn't been for that stupid girl who interfered, I know, I just know he would have—”

“I thought you said Phillip Mercerault never came to Almack's.”

“He doesn't, more's the pity, for I look very fine tonight and—” She followed his pointed stare. She felt herself flush. “Good heavens, he must have found out that I would be here this evening. How clever and romantic of him to surprise me.” She tugged at her brother's sleeve. “You'll be polite, Will, or I will make your tutor fall in love with me.”

He wanted to say something to put her in her place, but he imagined that she could make his tutor, the hapless Mr. James, fall so deeply in love that he wouldn't be able to dig himself out. “I'll be all that's civil.”

“Oh, dear, we've got to greet Lady Jersey and the Countess Lieven, and that cold Mrs. Drummond Burrell first.”

“I'd rather go to Newgate.”

Delicate color suffused Teresa's cheeks in her excitement as she greeted the patronesses. Wilfred, thank the Lord, was able to speak a civil sentence, which was all that was necessary from him.

“Pretty girl,” Countess Lieven said behind her fan to Sally Jersey as Teresa and Wilfred drifted away. “She has nice manners. She dresses nicely too.”

Sally Jersey gave her a superior smile, a malicious smile, truth be told. “Perhaps Miss Teresa Elliott's perfect manners will fall off a cliff when she meets the newest addition to the young misses making their coming-out this year. Indeed,” she added thoughtfully, “it would appear that Sabrina Eversleigh has already made a notable conquest. Phillip Mercerault asked my permission to lead her in a waltz.”

Mrs. Drummond Burrell, who had given no impression of even having attended to the ladies' conversation, turned her cold eyes to Lady Jersey and said, “It would appear to me that the viscount will shortly find himself caught between two ladies. The man has great charm. It will prove interesting to see how well he manages to extricate himself from this encounter.”

Teresa dragged Wilfred toward the viscount, pausing to give only cursory greeting to a young gentleman who seemed more than willing to take Wilfred's place at her side.

She was within five feet of her goal when the viscount turned away to speak to a small, red-haired girl who was standing next to Lady Barresford. In the next moment he was leading her to the dance floor. Teresa stopped dead in her tracks. “How dare he do this to me? He must have seen me, I know that he did. Who is that miserable girl he's with? Oh, he will hear about this.”

Wilfred, who'd expected to be bored silly, changed his mind in that instant. He looked at his sister's
furious face, and drawled in a voice designed to make her explode into flame, “It looks to me like that little beauty has taken your viscount. Right from under your nose. Isn't she a lovely girl? Beautiful hair, titian, I'd call it. Looks innocent and sweet. Somehow I don't think that's your future husband, sister. I wonder if she'd dance with me. Do you think she might?”

“Shut up or I'll tell Mama. I know what it is. He's being polite, nothing more. Come, Will, I must pay my respects to Lady Barresford.”

At that moment Lady Barresford lowered her turbaned head to hear something Lucilla Morton was saying. It would be unforgivable to break in. Teresa cursed under her breath.

She looked toward Phillip and the girl he was waltzing with, and saw him throw back his head and laugh at something the skinny twit said. Without warning, she grabbed Wilfred's arm.

“You're going to dance with me, Will. Don't complain and don't you dare step on my toes. These slippers are new and very white.”

Phillip whirled Sabrina in a wide circle toward the periphery of the dance floor. She was breathless and laughing. “So what do you think of Almack's?” he asked, smiling down at her.

She smiled back. “This is wonderful. I love the waltz and you are so very good at it, better than the dancing master. He kept counting out loud and his hands were sweaty. Do you come here often, Phillip?”

“Rarely. Usually it's a bore.”

“I hope you haven't put yourself out on my account.”

“Oh no. Haven't you been told that I'm a thoroughly selfish creature? That I never put myself out on anyone's account? It's true, most of the time. I normally do exactly as I wish.” Except where you are
concerned, Sabrina, he finished silently to himself. She appeared to have forgotten their rather dazzling fight of the night before. He wondered if she was coming to her senses. No, little chance of that. There was no reason at all for her to change her view of society.

“You're breathing hard, Sabrina. Let's rest here a moment. I don't want you to overdo.”

“I wouldn't want to bore you, my lord.”

“I'll tell you if I feel a bout of boredom overcoming me.”

Her violet eyes widened at his gentle thrust, which was, in truth, a mild jest. Let her growl, he thought, just once let her growl at him.

He smiled down at her and stoked the flames. “That's right, Sabrina. A little temper can't hurt. Richard spoke of your being as vivid as life itself. I wouldn't argue if you decided to impress me in the same way.”

Before she could answer, the band began another waltz. He tightened his hand about her waist and whirled her about the perimeter of the dancing floor, in wide, dipping circles. She was panting breathlessly and laughing. The room was warm, the candlelight twinkled like a thousand prisms, and she could hear laughter all around her. She felt wonderful. Phillip drew her just a bit closer and slowed down.

“Please don't stop, Phillip. I love the way you whirl me around.” He thought that if he released her, she'd hug herself in joy, that or simply keep waltzing by herself. He was charmed.

“You were wrong, you know. Just look around you. Everyone is happy and dancing and laughing. Almack's isn't a bore. And everyone is being so kind. My aunt even told me that the last person Mrs. Drummond Burrell smiled at was a hussar in uniform at the turn of the century. She smiled at me, Phillip. Well,
nearly smiled. She showed her teeth, which, Aunt assured me, was well nigh a miracle.”

He just shook his head and whirled her about again in the large circles she so much loved. When he slowed again, he said, “I must agree. This is a delightful evening. You dance rather well, I might add, for a merchant's relative.”

“All the gentlemen I've danced with this evening have agreed with you.” She looked up at him through her lashes. She was jesting with him. Perhaps even flirting, just a bit. He was enchanted.

“For a merchant's relative, you also dress well. I like your aunt's choice of the pale amber. The Italian crepe is exquisite.”

“I selected it, not my aunt. How do you know this is Italian crepe? I didn't think any gentleman knew of such things.”

“A man who is to enjoy a certain success with ladies must be a master of many things. If you like, I can take you to a small milliner's shop just off Bond Street. I can think of several charming bonnets that should set off your coloring to perfection.”

She didn't know whether to be furious or to laugh, and he saw it clearly. He arched an eyebrow, saying, “Well, which will it be?”

“When I make up my mind I will tell you. But I do know that if I laugh, it will just encourage you.”

“Probably so.” He felt her fingertips tapping on his shoulder and thought, a slight smile on his lips, of his previous night with Martine. He whirled her about until she was panting. Just before the waltz ended, Phillip lowered his chin to the thick coronet of braids atop her head and said in a pensive voice, “I wish you would allow me to be the second St. George. You are a damsel in distress, Sabrina. It's true, you know, and
nothing you want to believe will change it. Won't you reconsider?”

“I would never repay you by asking you to give up your life. Besides, just look around. Everyone likes me, Phillip. St. George really isn't necessary.”

He just sighed. Then the orchestra struck up another waltz and he whirled her toward the middle of the dance floor.