Lady in Red

by Karen Hawkins

  “The man’s a bloody angel,” Anthony murmured to himself. A dark angel, one given to a snappish temper, but an angel nonetheless.

  Marcus reached the table. “I thought I’d find you here.”

  Anthony gestured toward an empty seat. “Have you eaten?”

  “No, but I’m not hungry. However, I will have some of that port.”

  Anthony took an empty glass and splashed a small amount into the bottom from the flagon that rested by his elbow. “Here you are.”

  Marcus took a slow drink. “Excellent.”

  “So I thought, which is why I ordered more to be brought as soon as this was done.” He eyed his brother, wondering what mood he might be in. Lately, one could never tell. “Well? Did you retrieve Mother’s ring?”

  A flicker of a smile crossed Marcus’s face.

  “Ah! You did!” Anthony sighed happily. “Finally we can put that—”

  “You misunderstand. I found the ring but it is not in my possession.” Marcus swirled the port in his glass, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. “Yet.”

  Anthony lowered his glass, wondering what to make of that. Marcus had been deadly set on getting that ring back. Yet now his brother sat across from him, seemingly unmoved by his lack of success. “You must explain…where did you find it?”

  To Anthony’s utter surprise, a slow smile lifted the corners of his brother’s mouth. “Just as I predicted, Miss Baker-Sneed has Mother’s ring.”

  “And?”

  “And she won’t return it.”

  “Bloody hell! Did you offer to purchase it?”

  “Indeed I did. I offered two hundred pounds.”

  Anthony frowned. “That’s a bit steep.”

  “Not according to Miss Baker-Sneed. I made the mistake of admitting that the ring was an heirloom and before I knew it, she’d demanded seven thousand pounds for it.”

  Anthony set his glass back on the table. “I beg your pardon…my ears must be closed. Did you say that she asked for seven thousand pounds for Mother’s ring?”

  Marcus chuckled. “Audacious wench, isn’t she?”

  “Bloody hell! What did you tell her?”

  “Why, no, of course. Then she made another offer.”

  “What did she want this time? A coach and six? A castle on the Thames? A fleet of ships?”

  “No,” Marcus said slowly. “She wanted me to sponsor her sister for a season.”

  Anthony leaned forward, his chair creaking slightly at the shift of his weight. “You must be joking.”

  “No, I’m not.” A glint of amusement lit Marcus’s eyes. “But don’t worry, I was not expected to host any large events, like a ball. Not at first, anyway.”

  “The audacity! What did you say?”

  “No. Can you imagine what people would say if I agreed to such a thing?”

  “That you had your eye on the sister and had most likely already sampled the goods.”

  “Exactly. I pointed that out to Miss Baker-Sneed—not in those words, of course—and she agreed that such a thing was an impossibility. Which left us back where we were, at the seven thousand pounds.”

  “An impasse.”

  “Exactly.”

  Anthony considered this, laughing a little as he did so. “To think of you, attending balls and soirees and musicales and all sorts of unpleasant events.”

  Marcus frowned. “I attend those now.”

  “Only when you must, which is rare enough. When Anna was last in town, she said she didn’t see you more than twice in a fortnight. You’ve become a bit of a recluse, you know.”

  “I have not. It’s just that I get no enjoyment out of such silliness. But I am hardly a hermit.”

  “Hm. Well. I can only say that Miss Baker-Sneed must not know you well to think you’d concede to such a troublesome request. Better to ask you to become a sheepherder as expect to see your unsmiling face at a number of society functions.”

  Anthony’s slow smile irked Marcus for some reason. “I would go to more functions did they provide some sort of amusement. The last ten balls I have attended were noxiously similar, all offering indifferent refreshments, pallid musical entertainments, and vapid conversation. I was left with nothing to do but talk to some insipid females who could do nothing more than bleat ‘Yes, my lord’ and ‘No, my lord.’ It was enough to make one ill.”

  Anthony’s smile widened. “Got caught by some marriage-minded misses, eh?”

  “Indeed I did. Although how they thought that simpering in such an outrageous fashion and agreeing with every word I said would do anything but make me want to turn on my heels and leave, I do not know.”

  Anthony chuckled. “Poor man. I feel your agony. I quite remember how horrid it was before Anna saved me from all of those desperate mamas and giggling debutantes.”

  “What is worse is that they seem to believe that if I have one quiet moment to myself, I will disappear…which is probably quite true.”

  “There is only one way you can avoid such painful treatment. Get married.”

  Marcus didn’t smile.

  “It was just a suggestion.” Anthony smiled his sleepy smile and leaned back in his chair, regarding Marcus over the rim of his glass. “Of course, if you had agreed to sponsor the younger Baker-Sneed chit, you could have gone to balls and sat amongst the other chaperones.”

  “Are you finished trying to be funny? This is a serious matter. The very troublesome Miss Baker-Sneed could very easily sell Mother’s ring to someone else.”

  Anthony sat upright. “She wouldn’t!”

  “Indeed she would. She has more than enough contacts to do so, some in other countries. We’d never find it then.”

  “Did she threaten to do that?”

  “Yes. So I asked her to give me a week to think on her proposal.”

  “And in a week?”

  Marcus stared at his glass. “I don’t know, but I shall think of something.”

  “You sound sure.”

  “I am sure. I cannot afford for it to be otherwise.” Silence surrounded them. After a moment, Marcus looked at his half brother. “Well? Don’t you have something to say?”

  “Me?” Anthony asked, his tone mild, though his brown eyes were lit with amusement. “What could I possibly add to that?”

  “Blast it, Anthony! I know you have something to say.”

  “It seems to me as if fate is saying it for you.”

  “I knew you’d start back on that. It is not fate, but ill luck and I refuse to call it else.”

  Anthony shrugged. “Have it your way.”

  “Ass.”

  “I come from a long line of asses, my dearest brother.”

  “Half brother.”

  “I suppose that makes me half an ass.” Anthony shrugged. “I can’t argue with that.”

  Marcus sighed. “This is not funny.”

  “Of course,” Anthony answered promptly. “It’s not funny at all. I wasn’t laughing at you. Oh no. I was merely laughing at, ah…what was that woman’s name?”

  “Honoria Baker-Sneed.”

  “Yes. That’s who I was laughing at. She is in for quite a surprise. To find herself married to such a pompous, ill-tempered, overly ambitious man will be quite horrid for the poor woman. The worst joke in the world.”

  “If that’s what you think of me, then why do I constantly find your large carcass draped over my favorite chair in my study?”

  Anthony silently held up his glass of port. “As tolerable as this port is, it is nothing compared to that found in your cellar.”

  “Thank you,” Marcus said caustically. “Thank you very much.”

  “Think nothing of it.” Anthony sighed deeply. “What other exciting projects do you have going on?”

  “Well…I need to gain an interview with Lord Melton and ascertain the extent of the east boundaries on his properties.”

  Anthony appeared surprised. “What? You are purchasing Melton’s holdings?”

  “His gaming debts have become t
oo much.” Marcus stretched his legs before him, smiling a little as he did so. “A week ago, I offered to purchase Melton’s estates and he agreed.”

  Anthony regarded him a moment, a frown resting between his brows. “There is no need to take such pleasure in another man’s misfortune.”

  Marcus shot his brother a disbelieving look. “I take no pleasure in the man’s fall. I do, however, feel some satisfaction at adding such a gem to our own coffers. Surely there is nothing wrong with that. If he’s been so foolish as to squander his fortune, why shouldn’t I benefit?”

  Anthony sighed. “I suppose. It’s just that I’ve always liked Melton.”

  “So have I. But that does not excuse his irresponsible actions.”

  “No. I only thought—” Anthony sank into silence. After a moment he shrugged. “I suppose you are right. I hope he is not in desperate case.”

  “He did not like it, but he really has no choice, and I put out a goodly amount to settle his more pressing debts. All in all, it is a good bargain for us both.”

  “I daresay he is thankful, then.”

  “Hardly. Now he avoids me like the plague, which is damnably inconvenient.”

  “Then how will you get the information you need about the boundaries?”

  “I will track him to his lair.”

  “His home?”

  “Men like Melton cannot be found tucked snuggly into their bed. No, he resides more oft at the gaming table. I shall attend Lady Oxbridge’s ball on Thursday. The Oxbridges always have a gaming room and the stakes are high, thanks to Lord Oxbridge. Melton will not be able to resist the temptation. Besides, I rarely attend such functions; he will think himself safe.”

  “Damn it, Marcus! You sound like—” Anthony shook his head, all of his previous lazy smiles gone.

  “What?”

  “There is a note in your voice—you enjoy this, taking from men like Melton.”

  “Perhaps. But so what? It’s not as if I forced them to make idiots of themselves.”

  “There was a time when you were more compassionate that that.”

  Marcus eyed his brother for a long moment. “I wasn’t aware that you thought so poorly of me.”

  “I don’t,” Anthony said. “It’s just that lately…” He hesitated, sending a careful glance at Marcus.

  It was the caution in that usually friendly gaze that gave Marcus pause. Bloody hell, surely he hadn’t been that ill tempered of late? Or had he? “Spit it out. I can tell it’s not pleasant, so just say it.”

  “No. I don’t wish to—”

  “Say it, damn it!”

  Anthony’s jaw tightened as he set his glass on the table, his eyes shadowed. “Very well. I fear that your success has tainted you in some way. You are filled with pride, Marcus. And not without reason, for you’ve managed to build a fortune few could ever hope to emulate. But it’s taken its toll. You’re…harder somehow, colder. And I am not the only one who has noticed.”

  Bloody hell, of all the things to say! Marcus found his hand had clenched so tightly about his glass that it was a wonder it hadn’t broken. He forced himself to loosen his grip and set the glass on the table. “You make it sound as if you’ve been discussing me.”

  Anthony’s face flushed. “We’ve been worried.”

  An icy coldness settled in Marcus’s heart. “Are you finished?”

  “No. There’s something else.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  “You’ve become damnably judgmental. I think it’s time you stepped back and realized that no one is perfect. Not even you.”

  Marcus stood so suddenly that the table skirted back an inch. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

  “No,” Anthony agreed, sagging back in his chair as if suddenly exhausted, a dashed expression on his face. “You don’t have to listen to anything.”

  “Good day, Anthony.” Marcus turned to leave, but Anthony’s hand shot out and gripped his wrist.

  Marcus looked down at his brother.

  Anthony’s eyes darkened. “I’m sorry. But it had to be said. We’ve all been—We’re worried. That’s all.”

  Marcus shook off Anthony’s grip. “Do me a great favor, will you? Spare me any more of your worry. I don’t like it and I don’t need it.”

  With that, he turned and left, barely acknowledging those who bowed or called out greetings. Bloody hell, what was that all about? Disturbed more than he would admit, Marcus made his way to his carriage, wondering if the entire world had set out to thwart him today.

  Two days later, Honoria sat in the sitting room with her sisters. It was a charming tableau, a fact she might have noticed had she not been so sunk in thought as to be oblivious to her surroundings. Cassandra, who was sitting beside Honoria on the sofa, had attempted to ask no less than three questions about the embroidery that sat unattended in Honoria’s lap. Upon receiving no reply the final time, Cassandra had sighed and quietly given up.

  But Portia, who was far less patient, had broken off pacing the room with a book balanced on her head in an effort to learn how to appear taller while walking, planted herself firmly before Honoria and then said in a very loud voice, “Are you asleep?”

  Honoria had jumped, her embroidery hoop thudding to the rug at her feet. Heart pounding at such a rude recall, she’d pressed a hand to her thudding heart. “Ye gods, Portia! You gave me such a start!”

  “Cassandra and I both have tried to get your attention and you’ve been staring off into the distance as if in a trance,” Portia said, having to look down her nose at Honoria or else lose the book perched upon her head. “I was beginning to think you’d expired whilst sitting upright and just hadn’t yet fallen over.”

  “Portia,” Cassandra said, a faint note of reproof in her sweet voice. “How can you suggest such a thing?”

  Olivia looked up from where she sat at the escritoire, ink stains on her fingers from penning a poem entitled “The Mighty Frigate of the Sea.” “Cassandra, I don’t know why that surprises you. You know how Portia is always looking at the dark side of life.” Olivia gave Portia an approving look. “It’s one of her best features.”

  “Thank you,” Portia said, managing a curtsy that set the book rocking in a most precarious fashion.

  “Dark side of life or no, it was unpleasant for Portia to say such a thing about Honoria,” Cassandra said in a faintly disapproving tone. She glanced at Honoria. “I’m certain our sister has much weighing upon her mind.”

  Honoria did indeed have weighty issues on her mind. Issues like a heated, passionate and extremely inappropriate kiss. A kiss that she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.

  Oh not constantly, of course. There were times when she almost forgot. Why yesterday, while helping Mrs. Kemble take inventory of the linens, Honoria hadn’t thought of the kiss for a full twenty-two minutes. Then this morning, while searching for a larger hatbox for poor Achilles, she didn’t think about the marquis or his blasted kiss for almost thirteen minutes and a half. Of course, none of those few moments of respite were much help when every other waking moment—and worse, every sleeping moment as well—were filled with a confusing array of memories and thoughts.

  She supposed it was a good thing she’d received such a disturbing kiss now, while she was older and more in charge of her feelings. For certainly, had she experienced such a thing while younger—Cassandra’s age or less—she might have thought herself attracted to the marquis. Which was a laughable thought indeed.

  And had she been of an earlier age, such rubbishing thoughts could well have confused her into thinking that love, and possibly even marriage, were in her future; all thoughts she’d long ago put to rest.

  Honoria absently turned the talisman ring on her finger, staring at the glittering runes. She didn’t know what her destiny was, only that it was far more than mere marriage. While such a state seemed to have suited her mother when she’d been alive, and seemed to be Cassandra’s only dream, Honoria wanted more. Over the years, she’d found
her purpose in life beyond merely taking care of her family, and that was her true love of antiquities. For Honoria, they were more than mere objects. They were memories of history, of a time gone by, of people who’d lived and died and had left reminders of their passage.

  By collecting antiquities, she was preserving a living reminder of those people and their talents. And that was far more important than merely being married and devoting oneself to making certain someone else’s cravats had enough starch. Of course, with the marquis, there would be more to life than just cravats, if that kiss was anything to set store by.

  The memory of the kiss tickled her lips and made her smile. No matter what one might wish to say about Treymount, he was certainly talented in—

  “Honoria?” Juliet sat, feet curled beneath her in the largish chair by the fire, reading a book about horse care. But now her eyes were fastened on Honoria. “Do you feel well? It isn’t like you to be so quiet.”

  Portia tilted her head and let her book slide into her hands. “It is especially not like you to stare at that ring in such a fashion. What are you thinking about so seriously?”

  Honoria realized that her sisters were all staring at her, various shades of concern on their faces. She sighed. “I was just dozing with my eyes open.”

  Four flat, unimpressed stares met this blatant falsehood.

  Honoria sighed irritably. “Oh very well! If you must know, I have been thinking about the marquis who came to call a few days ago.”

  Portia tossed the book onto a table and pulled a chair up so that she was facing Honoria. “I was so hoping you’d tell us what he wanted!”

  “She did,” Cassandra said. “He came inquiring about his ring.”

  “There has to be something more,” Portia said, staring intently at Honoria. “Or she wouldn’t be so distracted.”

  Honoria sighed. “I suppose I might as well tell you all. It’s true that this ring is Treymount’s. It’s also true that I asked for a fortune and he would not agree. However, while bargaining with him, it dawned on me that there was something he possessed that would be of far more importance at this moment than funds.”