by Anna Bradley
Miss Somerset had maintained a ladylike silence during his previous calls, preferring to leave the social niceties to her grandmother. Her reserve had never troubled Finn much, because she looked at him a good deal, her cheeks coloring prettily when he caught her gaze. He found it rather charming, and in any case, what sort of fool objected to a quiet wife?
Today, however, something was different. Today, Miss Somerset wasn’t pleased.
She’d abandoned the shy, sweet glances in favor of a piercing stare, and her silent admiration had been replaced with something far less flattering, and far more speculative. One slim eyebrow was quirked over stormy blue eyes, and an odd, tight smile played over her lips, as if the tea had left a sour taste in her mouth.
Had her eyes always been such a dark blue? He couldn’t recall having noticed it before, but then he’d never seen them narrowed on him with such intense scrutiny either, as if he were a bird caught in the sights of her hunting rifle.
Finn tried to remember if he’d ever known her to be displeased with him before the unfortunate incident in Lady Fairchild’s garden yesterday, but he couldn’t recall a single instance of it. If she’d been displeased in the past, she’d taken care to keep it to herself.
But not today. Today, something writhed and twisted beneath her scrupulous politeness. It grew more restless with every moment that passed, and it would only grow worse by the time he took his leave, because he had an unpleasant matter to discuss with his betrothed.
Lord Wrexley.
It was Wrexley who’d let Lady Beaumont into the garden yesterday.
He should have suspected it at once, but even Finn, who knew what Wrexley was, was shocked he’d gone so far beyond the bounds of gentlemanlike conduct. Once Finn arrived home that afternoon and recalled Lady Beaumont’s parting words, however, he realized she’d as much as confessed to Wrexley’s part in the scheme.
No doubt Wrexley had hoped Lady Beaumont would spill her ugly secrets to Miss Somerset. It hadn’t quite worked out that way, but whatever his intentions, Wrexley had proved beyond any doubt he’d do whatever it took to have Miss Somerset, no matter how devious, and she was far too innocent to question his behavior. Worse, Wrexley was Lady Honora’s beloved cousin, and Miss Somerset actually trusted the scoundrel.
She wasn’t going to care for what he had to say, but Finn couldn’t rest until he’d put her on her guard against Wrexley. It had to be done at once. Not only for her sake, but because he had to offer some sort of explanation for his regrettable behavior when he’d found her alone with Wrexley in the garden yesterday. Otherwise he was likely to meet an angry, scowling bride in the church four weeks from now.
“Yesterday, in Lady Fairchild’s garden, Miss Somerset,” Finn began. “That incident with Lord Wrexley—”
“If you don’t care for more tea, may I fill a plate for you?” She leaned forward to fetch a dish from the silver tray in front of her. “You’re quite certain I can’t tempt you with the sweets, my lord?”
Oh, she was solicitous, yes—excruciatingly so—but not pleased.
“No, I thank you. About that matter yesterday—”
“I understand you’re a gentleman with a ravenous appetite.” She gave him a gracious smile, but there was a hard glint in her eyes. “I wouldn’t like to send you away unsatisfied.”
Finn’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. Unsatisfied?
Good Lord, it was unsettling to hear that word spoken in such suggestive tones from such sweet, innocent pink lips.
“But perhaps you don’t expect satisfaction from your betrothed. I daresay you wouldn’t be the only gentleman to feel that way. Courtship can’t be terribly exciting for a man of your vast experience, but then perhaps that’s why so many aristocratic gentlemen go elsewhere to satisfy their cravings.”
Finn choked on the sip of tea he’d taken and had to resort to pounding his chest with his fist. When he recovered at last, he blinked at Miss Somerset through streaming eyes. “Cravings?”
She set the plate aside, her lips curved in a sweet smile. “Yes. But are you quite well, my lord? Perhaps you’d like some more tea, after all? As I said, I don’t like to send you away without attending to your appetites.”
Good God, was he really sitting on this dainty settee in the middle of Lady Chase’s drawing room, speaking to his innocent betrothed about a gentleman’s cravings and appetites? The ache between his shoulder blades had begun to fade in comparison to an unexpected ache in his breeches, but as intrigued as Finn was, whatever had provoked her sudden vivaciousness would have to wait until he’d warned her about Wrexley.
“No, no more tea, thank you, but there is something I wish to discuss with you, about that business in the garden yesterday, with Lord Wrexley.”
She’d lifted the teapot to pour herself another cup of tea, but now she paused, her hand in midair. “Yes?”
Her tone was polite, but Finn sensed the way she stiffened, and he paused and reminded himself to tread lightly.
“You must allow me to caution you against such lapses in propriety, Miss Somerset, and remind you to be more vigilant in the future. I wouldn’t like to think you’d make it a habit to wander off like that once we’re wed.”
There. Finn took a calm sip of his tea. That should do.
She froze for a long moment, but then went on to pour her tea without meeting his eyes. “You consider getting lost in the garden a lapse in propriety, Lord Huntington?”
“No, of course not. I refer to your lingering in the garden with Lord Wrexley. You did so for far longer than was proper, and it was your second lapse that day.”
Miss Somerset went on preparing her tea, but once she was finished she seemed to forget about it, and left it untouched on the tray. “My second lapse?”
Something unpleasant crawled up Finn’s spine at her tone—something he would identify later as foreboding—but he pressed on. “Yes. You lingered there with me earlier, if you recall.”
“Surely there’s nothing so wicked in that? You are my betrothed, Lord Huntington.”
A small smile drifted across her lips, but Finn found it far from reassuring. “Nothing so wicked, no, but there was that other matter.”
“Other matter?” she asked, in a tone that could have frozen the tea in her teacup.
Finn squirmed on the settee, but resisted the urge to slide a finger under his cravat. This conversation wasn’t going at all as he’d planned. “It’s not a lady’s place to initiate a kiss, Miss Somerset. You need to take better care, especially with a man of dubious honor, like Lord Wrexley, who—”
“Are you implying, Lord Huntington, I engaged in some improper activity with Lord Wrexley in the garden yesterday?”
Finn stared at her, baffled. Had it sounded as if he were accusing her? “No! Of course not. It’s not your behavior I question, but his. I only mean to warn you of the risk of encouraging such a man—”
Miss Somerset’s teacup hit her saucer with a sharp crack. “Encouraging him! You seem to be saying because I invited my betrothed to kiss me, I must have engaged in similar behavior with Lord Wrexley when I came upon him in the garden later that day. Do you think I go about kissing every gentleman who happens to cross my path, Lord Huntington?”
“No. I didn’t mean to suggest any such thing.” Damn it, why had he brought up that kiss at all? The less said about that disaster, the better. “It’s your safety that concerns me, Miss Somerset. That’s all.”
But her face had gone dark with anger, and she was no longer listening to him. “Yes, well, I have some concerns of my own. There’s something private I wish to discuss with you, my lord.”
He blinked at the abrupt change in topic, but God knew he was making a muck of this. Perhaps it was wiser to remain quiet and let her speak. “Yes, of course.”
There was a brief, charged silence, then she drew in a breath. When she spoke she sounded rehearsed,
as if she’d practiced her speech in front of the glass a dozen times. Her words emerged with smooth precision, but they nevertheless landed with the force of a fist to his jaw, sending him reeling.
“It pains me to say this, but I must. While I’m sensible of the honor you’ve done me with the offer of your hand, I’m afraid I must end our betrothal.”
Finn stared at her, speechless. End their betrothal? She was jilting him?
Christ, he must have misunderstood her. Either that, or she’d gone mad. He was fully prepared to beg her pardon for offending her just now, but a few misspoken words hardly warranted a jilting.
In his case, very few things did. He was the Marquess of Huntington, after all.
“You must end it,” he repeated.
“Yes.” Her voice was steady enough, but she looked at the teapot, then down at her hands clenched in her lap—everywhere but at his face. “I’m sorry for it, my lord, but I must.”
Finn waited, but when the silence continued to stretch between them without another word from her, he placed his teacup on the table at his side and leaned forward, his tight fists resting on his knees. “That’s it? You must? May I remind you, Miss Somerset, you’ve spent the entire season encouraging my courtship?”
Faint color rose in her cheeks. “I’m aware of that.”
“Are you? Then you’re also aware not more than a week ago you accepted my suit, and today, for no apparent reason, you’ve changed your mind?”
He’d be damned if he’d allow her to dismiss him without an explanation. If she was bold enough to jilt him, then she should be bold enough to tell him why.
She flinched at his raised voice. “There’s no need to be uncivilized. I realize this is unexpected, but…well, we just don’t suit, Lord Huntington. It’s as simple as that.”
A short bark of laughter burst from Finn’s chest. “We don’t suit. Forgive me, Miss Somerset, but those three words are not sufficient to explain your sudden disinclination. I believe it’s customary for a lady to give a gentleman a bit more of an explanation than ‘We don’t suit’ when she jilts him.”
Her chin rose at the word jilt. “I’m not jilting you. That is, I am, but it’s hardly a jilting at all, really. We’ve only been betrothed for a short time. We haven’t even called the banns yet.”
“Yet it feels very much like a jilting, nonetheless.” He crossed his arms over his chest and fixed her with a cool stare.
She heard the sarcasm in his voice and bit her lip. “I realize this isn’t an ideal situation, but it could be far worse.”
“Could it?” An incredulous laugh escaped Finn. “I don’t see how.”
“It’s the end of the season, and most of the ton has already left London. Whatever scandal there is will die down quickly. Why, you could be betrothed to someone else before next season begins. Any young lady would be…” She faltered. “That is, most young ladies would be overjoyed to become your marchioness.”
“Yes, they would. Very few young ladies would scorn that title. What makes you any different?” It was a fair question, since he’d chosen her thinking she was much like every other young lady on the marriage mart.
She let out a heavy sigh. “I told you, my lord. We don’t—”
“We don’t suit. Yes, I heard you, and yet I remain unsatisfied with your explanation. You did express some concern earlier at sending me away unsatisfied, did you not?”
Her eyebrows shot up at his insinuating tone, but she recovered quickly. “Well, as to that, I’d be delighted to pour you more tea.”
Tea? He was well beyond being satisfied by a cup of tea.
“Where is your grandmother, Miss Somerset?” He should be relieved the old lady wasn’t here to witness this humiliating conversation, but Lady Chase had remained in the drawing room every other time he’d called, glaring at him with her beady eyes as if she thought he’d debauch her granddaughter on the cursed settee if she left the room. “How odd she should be absent for this particular conversation.”
Her brows drew together into a frown. “She, ah…she and my sisters are visiting my eldest sister, Lady Carlisle, this afternoon.”
“It’s rather curious she should happen to be missing today, of all days. But never mind. Now, I’ll have your explanation about the jilting, if you please.”
“And if I don’t please?”
He gave her an indulgent smile. “Oh, then I’m afraid I’ll have to wait here until Lady Chase returns, and make my enquiries of her. Tell me, Miss Somerset, how do you suppose that conversation will go? Of course, Lady Chase must know you’re jilting me. You’d never do such a thing without her consent, I’m sure.”
Finn had spent more than his share of time with women of questionable character, but never in his life had he seen a lady who looked guiltier than Miss Somerset did when he mentioned her grandmother.
Lady Chase was a cantankerous old soul—excessively fond of her granddaughters, but a despot just the same, particularly when it came to their securing respectable matches. If the old lady knew her granddaughter intended to jilt the Marquess of Huntington, there was no way she’d have merrily gone off to Lady Carlisle’s and left Miss Somerset to settle the business alone. The house would be in a complete uproar.
He retrieved his teacup from the table and held it out to her. “Perhaps I will have more tea, after all, while I wait for your grandmother’s return.”
Miss Somerset snatched the teacup out of his hand and dropped it onto the tray. “No. The tea is cold.”
“My, such a quick temper, Miss Somerset. I don’t recall you ever falling into a temper before, but that angry flush is rather fetching.” His gaze lingered on her hot cheeks with more than his usual degree of appreciation. “I must say, outrage suits you. But back to the matter at hand. The jilting?”
“Oh, what does it matter? I’ve jilted you, and that’s an end to it. Truly, my lord, I fail to see why you’re still here at all.”
“I just told you why. Because I’m not satisfied, sweet.”
She choked back a gasp of surprise as the endearment fell between them like a heavy stone dropped into water. They both sat there silently as the arcs rippled in ever-widening circles around them.
Sweet?
Where had that come from? He’d never called her that before, and it was highly improper for him to do so now, especially in that low, husky tone, as if he were caught between anger and amusement.
Damn it, he wasn’t amused, not by any of this, and Miss Somerset wasn’t his sweet, or anything at all to him anymore, so there was no reason for him to be stumbling over himself like a besotted schoolboy. The sooner he had her answer, the sooner he could put an end to this torturous discussion.
“Come, Miss Somerset. I haven’t all day to devote to ladies who jilt me. Your explanation, please.”
She threw her hands up in the air, as if she’d lost all patience with him. “Very well, since you demand it. Yesterday, in Lady Fairchild’s garden, we walked together, and I…”
She hesitated, and her cheeks went red with embarrassment.
“Yes? Please do go on.”
“I tried to kiss you. I’ve never been confident in your affection for me, my lord, and I suppose I thought a kiss would reassure me. It hardly matters now, except, well, they don’t teach respectable young ladies how to kiss gentlemen in gardens, do they? I was clumsy enough about it, I daresay, but your reaction….”
She looked away from him, and Finn sucked in a breath at her voice, the slight tremor in it, and the proud lift of her chin, in spite of that tremor. “Miss Somerset—”
“It was a kiss, Lord Huntington. Such a simple thing. Innocent even, but you made me feel as if I’d done something terribly wrong. You acted as if it were unforgiveable in me to want it at all, and now you’ve cast aspersions on my reputation because I happened to meet Lord Wrexley in a garden.”
Helpless anger spread through Finn’s chest. He hadn’t meant to imply anything of the sort, any more than he’d meant to cut her so deeply with his cold rejection yesterday. He should beg her pardon, and try and tell her he regretted his harsh words to her, but he wasn’t accustomed to explaining himself or accounting for his behavior in any way, and he wasn’t even sure where to begin.
No one ever questioned him. He was a bloody marquess, for God’s sake, and had been since he was eight years old. He issued orders, and people followed them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been refused anything, and he didn’t think anyone but Lord Derrick had ever dared speak to him the way Miss Somerset had just done.
Not one lady in a hundred would jilt him—not for any reason—and he never would have dreamed she’d be the one who would, but here she sat with every hair in place, as if she made it a habit to jilt marquesses over afternoon tea.
“Let me see if I understand you, Miss Somerset. You’re jilting me over a kiss?”
She sighed. “I’m jilting you, Lord Huntington, because we don’t suit.”
He sat for a long moment, staring at her, trying to trace everything he’d never known or suspected about her in the lines of her face, because all at once he had the oddest sensation he was looking at her for the first time.
No, not looking at her. Seeing her.
She hesitated, and when she spoke again, her voice had softened. “I never intended to… I’m truly sorry to disappoint you, my lord.”
Was he disappointed? He wasn’t pleased, certainly. He was angry, yes, and even now he was fighting off a surge of wounded pride, but disappointed, at losing her? Damn it, he hardly knew, but there was something, weaved in among the other dark threads tangled in his chest.
Something he hadn’t expected, and didn’t welcome.
Awareness.
He wasn’t enamored of Miss Somerset. He’d chosen her because she’d make an admirable marchioness, and once he’d made that determination, he hadn’t spared her much thought. It wasn’t gallant of him, perhaps, but then marriage was a practical matter, not a romantic one.
