Lady in Red

by Karen Hawkins

“Ye gods, how can you be so stub—” She stopped, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath through her nose. Her color soothed a bit and she said, “I understand that you do not like the price, but there it is.”

  He pursed his lips, regarding her narrowly. “Seven thousand pounds is a ludicrous amount and you know it. It goes against every judgment I’ve ever made.” He paused a moment, his mind working through a myriad of ideas. “Perhaps…Is there something—anything—that you might accept in lieu of such an amount? I have houses here and there that I do not use but for their rents, perhaps—”

  She sighed, and he noted the sound was a bit weary. That was a good sign, the first one he’d had all day.

  “Look, Treymount, there is nothing I—or rather, we—want or need other than the money so that we can launch Cassandra. In fact, other than helping to sponsor my sister, which you rightly pointed out you could not do because—” She stopped, her mouth half opened, her eyes fastened on him as if seeing him for the first time.

  He lifted his brows. “Yes?”

  Her mouth closed, her eyes narrowed, and he could almost see the thoughts burning through her quick mind. What was she thinking? “There is one thing,” she said suddenly, her voice abrupt.

  “Tell me.” He crossed his arms and leaned into his corner of the coach as they swayed around another corner.

  She clutched the edge of the seat and regarded him through her lashes. “There is one thing I do want, but it is a rather large request.” The coach settled into a smoother path, and she adjusted the bow that graced her bonnet at one temple, her long fingers lingering over the ruffled edge. “It would take some time, too, which you seem quite loath to give.”

  Damn. Perhaps this wasn’t a good sign, after all. “Miss Baker-Sneed, just say what it is. What will you take in exchange for the ring?”

  “One thousand pounds…”

  He almost smiled. “Well. That’s not so bad. What else?”

  “Well…I—” The carriage jerked and bumped, and for a disconcerting moment it felt that they were flying through the air a foot or two, before hitting the road again and bouncing.

  Marcus, leaning against the corner, wasn’t even displaced, but Honoria flew into the air and landed onto the seat with a solid jolt. She grabbed the door handle and held on a moment. “Ye gods, what an energetic coachman! Does the man know what he is doing?”

  “They say so. And I have to admit, he’s never so much as scraped a bit of paint from the coach.” Not to mention that the man could get from one end of London to the other in quicker time than most high perch phaetons, which were known for their light weight and quicker maneuver.

  Honoria cleared her throat. “Before we get to my other requirement, what say you to the thousand pounds?”

  “Easily done.”

  “Excellent. So it will be a thousand pounds and your help in establishing my sister in society.”

  “What? I thought we’d agreed it wouldn’t be wise for me to—”

  Honoria waved a hand. “I don’t mean you to sponsor her officially; that would be very improper. But…and this is not an impossible request. You must admit that Cassandra is more than ordinarily pretty and it will take very little to successfully launch her. I have everything planned. All I need is your presence at some of the events she attends.”

  “Presence? I have no wish to engage in such mishmash.”

  “I know. Which has made you an even more valuable commodity.”

  “Commodity?” He almost choked out the word.

  “I saw how the Oxbridges were thrown into a positive tizzy at your mere presence at their ball. That’s what gave me the idea.” The coach swayed, and she grasped the seat edge with both hands, though her gaze never left his. “Before you reject me, hear me through. All I’m asking is if you would pretend to court Cassandra.”

  Marcus frowned. “No.”

  “Hear me out! If you will but come to a few events and make an effort to be seen talking to Cassandra, maybe even dance with her once or twice, it will make her instantly desirable.” Honoria smiled at him, a flicker of a dimple in her left cheek momentarily catching him off guard. “Surely that is not such an impossible request.”

  Bloody hell, did Honoria think he had nothing to do but dance attendance upon a chit barely out of the nursery? People would talk—oh how they would talk. The St. Johns were fodder for every rumor mill in town, and if he, who hadn’t been the most sociable man of late due to his pressing business demands, suddenly appeared at a number of events and paid attention to just one woman…He almost shuddered to think of the comments such a thing would raise. “No. I couldn’t do such a ridiculous thing.”

  “Then we are back to seven thousand pounds.” She shook her head. “Think about it, Treymount. Seven thousand pounds for what? A few dances? A conversation here and there? Perhaps an hour or two at your box at the theatre? It is a very reasonable offer and you know it.”

  Marcus scowled. Didn’t the woman know how many things he had to oversee? There wasn’t enough time in the day as it was. Of course…He caught Honoria’s hopeful expression, her wide hazel eyes shining with excitement. To his chagrin, the word no, which had spring fully formed to his lips, froze on the tip of his tongue and lodged between his teeth.

  “Look Treymount, let me explain how things are. I told you before about our misfortune. My father invested most of our holdings in a ship, The Black Pearl.”

  Marcus lifted his brows. “The one that disappeared. Supposedly with a cargo worth a fortune.”

  “We think pirates took her. All we know is that she didn’t make it to Spain for her final stores.”

  “So your fortune was damaged.”

  “We scraped together what little we had left and gave it all to Father to reinvest. He and my brother, Ned, are already hard at work recouping our losses. However, that will take a while, perhaps even a year or two. In the meantime…”

  “Cassandra will be too old.”

  A rich flush touched Honoria’s cheeks. “A stupid way to do things, for twenty is hardly ancient—”

  “Twenty is hardly old enough to engage in a civil conversation, as far as I am concerned,” Marcus said dryly. “I try not to converse with anyone younger than my favorite pocket watch. That rule has made my life much more enjoyable.”

  Her lips quivered at that, but she didn’t quite manage a smile. “How old is your favorite pocket watch?”

  “Five and twenty.” He looked her up and down. “I daresay I shouldn’t be speaking to you, right now.”

  “You are safe with me, my lord. I am seven and twenty.”

  “Thank God, then. I’d hate to have to toss you from the coach.”

  Her smile did make it that time, bursting forth with a rich chuckle that made him want to repeat the effort.

  “I wish I could adopt your pocket watch rule. Unfortunately, I have younger brothers and sisters and I must speak to them.”

  “That,” he said with a touch of truthfulness, “is a great pity.”

  “Not to me. They are a joy.” She smiled at him now. “Well, Treymount? What do you say to my offer? One thousand pounds and a few dances with my sister. It isn’t that much to ask.”

  Marcus looked down at his boots where they rested against the seat before him, attempting to stabilize the sway of the coach. His cool and composed Diana had a point—her offer wouldn’t take much effort. For one thing, he already knew that her sister was stunningly beautiful—he’d gotten a good look at the woman at the museum, although…It was odd, but he could tell in a glance that as beautiful as Cassandra was, she had none of her older sister’s vivacity. None of Honoria’s even-handed courage and collected maturity, although he had to admit that he’d noticed a certain sweetness of expression. He was fairly certain Cassandra was harmless enough.

  Still, he did not relish the thought of spending time with such a simple creature. Had he been asked to pretend to court Honoria…now that would be a task worth undertaking.

  His Dia
na seemed to think his silence warranted a bit of encouragement. “It would take your presence at a very few events to get the rumor started. And if you were to take Cassandra riding in the park as well, that would be even better.”

  The gossipmongers would love that, wouldn’t they? As would Anthony—good God, his brothers. If they thought him courting a chit out of the schoolroom, they would never let him forget it. “I am afraid your idea—good as it seems—would engender a lot more talk than you seem to think. What if people think my pursuit in honest and then suddenly I leave? The whole world would think me a philanderer.”

  “I’ll make certain no one thinks ill of you. Besides, we needn’t say anything at all, just that you both decided you didn’t suit. And if Cassandra already has another beau—which she will, for you know how men flock toward that which they think is unattainable—then you can be certain no one will think ill of you at all.”

  “Wonderful. I will instead become an object of pity, yet another of my great goals in life,” he said, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

  She puffed out a sigh. “Oh for the love of—must you always be so negative?”

  “Where you are concerned, yes,” he said ruthlessly, swaying as the coach wheeled about a corner. Good God, where the hell was Herberts taking them? The old thief couldn’t be driving this fast through Hyde Park.

  “Look, Treymount, all I’m asking is for you to—” The coach hit a large bump and sent Honoria flying into the air, only this time her hands came loose from the seat edge and she was tossed upward. Marcus instinctively reached across the coach to catch her, but she grabbed the door handle and saved herself at the last possible second. “Goodness,” she said with a gasp, her eyes wide, her hair now completely tumbled about her shoulders. “Where is your man taking us?”

  Marcus lifted the curtain flap and peered out. “Around Hyde Park,” he said grimly. He closed his eyes and let the curtain fall. “Very, very quickly.”

  “I should say.” The carriage settled into a more usual motion, and she released the door handle and smoothed her dress. “Oh pother! My hair is ruined.” She took the length and began twisting it up.

  “Leave it,” Marcus said. “You’ve no more pins.”

  Her eyes flashed. “Through no fault of my own.”

  “Oh, I take full responsibility.” And he did—with amazing pleasure. It was his fault she sat across from him, sensually mussed and fuming. He smiled.

  Her gaze narrowed. “Oh stop it. We were speaking about my sister. This is the perfect answer—you get your ring, and Cassandra gets her launch. There is no cost for you beyond the thousand pounds, unless…” Her eyes brightened. “What if you held a ball to introduce her?”

  “Bloody hell, next you’ll also want me to finagle her an appearance at court as well. And vouchers to Almack’s, too.”

  His adversary clasped her hands, looking far too pleased with herself. “Oh—!”

  “No,” he said crushingly. “I will not do it. I won’t take the time and I won’t ask for favors for a woman I don’t even know. No, no, and no.”

  Her lips clamped into a straight line. “That’s all you will say? Just no? Even after I’ve gone out of my way to be helpful in trying to solve our difference of opinion?”

  Normally, when a person glared at Marcus, he was assailed with a desire to glare back, which he usually did, and much more effectively than any of his opponents. But this time all he could think about was the heated sparkle in her eyes. He wanted that heated sparkle, but in a different context. What he really wanted, he decided, was to pull her back into his lap and kiss that ridiculous frown off of her face.

  She sniffed and almost flounced in her seat. “You, sir, are a cheapsides.”

  Marcus blinked. “What did you say?”

  She hunched her shoulder at him, sunlight from the edges of the curtain dappling her hair with gold and limning the white streak. “You heard me. You are a cheapsides and a cruel example of humanity.”

  “I am no such thing.”

  “No? Well I, for one, find it appalling that you would wager a higher sum on a horse race than you’re willing to expend on my sister’s future happiness.”

  “You don’t know what I wager on horses.”

  She lifted her brows. “You wagered two thousand pounds on a horse just three weeks ago. I know because my aunt was there and she told me about it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said stiffly.

  Her lips curled in amusement, not the warm friendly kind, but the cold, supercilious kind. “Admit it, Treymount—you would wager more on a horse you did not know than you would pay to regain your mother’s ring and assist a poor girl that you have met. You, sir, are uncaring.”

  For an instant something in her words seemed to echo Anthony’s equally harsh estimation from not a week ago. Marcus clenched his jaw, his earlier humor fleeing. Bloody hell, the woman had a damnable way of twisting his words. “I am not uncaring. I do care, but for my own family. It is not my business to care about anyone else’s.”

  She appeared astounded. “You cannot believe that.”

  “Of course I do. What is wrong with taking care of one’s own?”

  “Nothing, if there was no one else in the world but you and your family. But you are not alone. There are people out there; real live, breathing people, too. People who need help. People much less able to take care of themselves than the members of your family.”

  He almost ground his teeth. “Miss Baker-Sneed, I do not object to pretending to court your sister on grounds of the expense. I object to it on the grounds of making a cake of myself in public. I would be a laughingstock.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, her voice low and reassuring. “You’d come, you’d court, and then you’d wander off as many men are wont to do. No one has asked you to make a cake of yourself in any way. With just a little effort, Cassandra would be set and your services no longer needed.”

  Her voice tumbled over Marcus like honey over the bowl of a spoon, rounded and lush. He steeled himself against her. “I still don’t like it. Besides, think of the time such a thing will take. I cannot and will not spare that much effort for something so unimportant to me.”

  She raised her brows, the delicate arches making her hazel eyes appear even larger. “Time? What do you possibly have to do that takes up so much time that you cannot attend a ball or two?”

  “It would be more than a ball or two.”

  “Not necessarily. If you’d agree to sponsor just one ball in her name, I’m certain we could excuse you from most of the other entertainments.” She pursed her lips, her eyes unfocused as she considered this. “Except, of course, a foray to the theatre or some such thing. We really could not use your box without you present at least once.”

  Marcus raked a hand through his hair. Was he speaking French or Italian, that she did not understand him when he said no? Good God, but the chit was determined. He eyed her for a long moment, a reluctant admiration pushing to the fore.

  She folded her hands in her lap and leaned forward, her expression earnest. “Tell me, Treymount…do you think it is frivolous to speak to your friends? Your peers?”

  “I don’t have any—” He snapped his mouth closed. The woman had him so wrapped up, he’d almost said that he didn’t have any friends. Which was ludicrous, of course. He did have friends. Why, when he’d been down at Eton, he’d made numerous friends and acquaintances and had been considered quite a jolly fellow.

  Of course, that was years ago and he rarely saw any of his old compatriots. But that was to be expected. They’d all grown up, gotten married, and had families, just like his own brothers. Which meant they were less accessible, especially since his own schedule was less flexible than theirs.

  Not that he missed them, though. He was perfectly fine without such frumpy companions. That, and he was far too busy with his own life, his business and pursuits to maintain empty, trivial relationships. “I have all the friends I wish.”
r />   “Name ten.”

  Bloody hell! He scowled at her, wondering how he’d been tricked into even having this conversation. “I vow, but you are a cheeky wench.”

  A wide smile spread over her face, her hazel eyes twinkling almost merrily. “So I have been told. Come, Treymount, name your friends. Surely you have a few.”

  “I have many, thank you. Let’s see…” He raked a hand through his hair, pondering the many people he knew, wondering why he found so few of them worth the effort of getting to know. “The Duke of Rutledge and I meet once a month at White’s and discuss foreign markets and the state of our shipping company and—”

  “Do you and Rutledge do anything other than discuss business?”

  He shrugged. “Why should we?”

  “Because if all you do is discuss business, then he is not a friend but a business acquaintance. A friend is someone you share your life with. The things you think about. The dreams you have.”

  “Oh for the love of—Rutledge and I discuss business ventures. Surely that is a component of a friendship.”

  “Do you discuss anything of a more personal nature? Your household? How your brothers are doing? How you feel about your current mistress?”

  “My current mistress is none of your concern.”

  “Of course not. But then I am not one of your friends, if you have any.”

  He made an impatient gesture. “I wouldn’t discuss my mistress with a friend, either. I don’t discuss those types of things with anyone.”

  “Because you don’t have any friends,” she immediately said with a complacent air that set his teeth on edge.

  “Because I don’t wish to have friends. There is a difference.” Really, she made it sound as if his life was dry and barren, which was far from the truth. He had his family, his brothers and sister and their spouses, and now their children. He had a busy and thriving household, money to invest and grow, and he had his antiquities. His collection was growing to be quite valuable. What more could a man want? “I don’t appreciate you putting a low value on my life.”

  “I wasn’t. I was merely trying to point out that, no matter who you are, you can always do a little better, enrich yourself and your life a trifle more. None of us have the perfect life. For example, you would be much better off if you’d pay more attention to those around you and not keep all of your efforts for yourself.”