Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (21 page)

"What happened to our truce?" she asked with quiet intensity.

"It holds as long as you behave yourself."

Beth bit back angry words and faced forward again. Her situation, she thought bitterly, reminded her of a forlorn hope, when soldiers facing defeat without chance of survival, charged bravely, foolhardily, at the enemy. She could be compliant and enslaved, or she could fight and be defeated.

She could at least die with honor. A flaming row was out of the question and so, as they took their seats, she took up more subtle weapons. "I promise," she said sweetly, "to be exactly the kind of bride you deserve, oh noble one."

The marquess, after a brief startled moment, assumed a similar loverlike manner, raised her hand, and placed a warm and lingering kiss upon it. A ripple of laughter and sentimental looks greeted this action and set the tone for the meal.

"'Use every man after his desert,'" he murmured, "'and who should escape whipping?'"

Beth raised her brows. "I do not recollect any member of the peerage being tickled at the cart's tail recently. And yet," she continued amiably, "doesn't the Bible say, 'Whatsoever a man soweth, so shall he reap'?"

"But I'm a lily of the field," he countered. "I neither sow nor reap."

"Aha!" she exclaimed. "You've mixed your verses, my lord. The lilies of the field toil not, neither do they spin. It's the fowls of the air who do not sow and reap. I thought," she queried gently, "you did not wish to be considered any species of fowl."

"Very clever," he said with a smile which acknowledged her victory. But then his smile became a triumphant grin and Beth waited warily. "And so you reduce me to a cock? Unwary lady...."

Even Beth was aware of the rude meaning to which he alluded, and she turned pink. But she knew as well that there was a warm stirring inside her at his words and the almost sultry look in his eyes. She fought it.

"Every cock is proud on its own dungheap," she shot back in an attempt to drag the contest back into safer waters.

Mirth glittered in his bright blue eyes. "As in upstanding?" he asked.

The contest had passed out of Beth's control and beyond her true understanding, but she knew she had to retreat. She grabbed the first quotation that came to mind. "Small things make base men proud," she declared and directed her attention firmly to the soup which had somehow arrived before her.

She found it difficult to swallow the first spoonful. There was something dangerous emanating from her left.

She slanted a wary glance in his direction. He was in control and his face was politely amiable but outrage glittered in his eyes. Beth ran the words back through her mind, seeking the unintentional offense. Oh, heavens. Base. That was it. He thought it was a reference to his birth.

"I am sorry," she said, trying to sound sincere while keeping her tone and manner light for the sake of those nearby. "I didn't mean... I didn't mean anything... personal, my lord."

Her words appeared to anger him more. "So you do realize what you were implying," he commented in the same light tone but through tight teeth. "You must tell me your opinion of my endowments when you have more
personal
experience."

Beth hadn't the slightest notion what he meant but took the only wise course and addressed her soup.

By the time six types of fish were being offered Beth had nerve enough to direct an innocuous comment to him and he was restored enough to answer it. Knowing silence would be cause for comment they began to converse and even slowly returned to playful flirtation. But now it was a careful, wary business, despite their smiles.

The marquess threw insincere flattery at Beth and Beth reciprocated. Gradually, despite their discord, Beth went from satisfaction in holding her own to pleasure in matching wits. But she was careful—as careful as a person can be when walking over ground set with invisible traps.

She thought she saw genuine amusement in the marquess' eyes now and then, but it wasn't the unguarded warmth of their earlier exchange. At one point when she capped his praise of her eyes with a positive laudation of his, he murmured, "It would be more ladylike just to simper, my dear."

Beth, by now outside three glasses of wine, simply opened her eyes wide and said, "Really?"

He bowed his head and laughed. They received yet more indulgent looks. Beth thought his humor was genuine. But then he had been draining his wine glasses with regularity, too.

The whole company was relaxed by good food and wine, and when the speeches started, wit, both coarse and fine, began to fly. The Regent was toasted and all the royal family. The soldiers and sailors received their due.

Then the duke rose. "My friends. This is a joyous occasion indeed for us, and we are pleased to share it with you today. It is not often a family is so fortunate as to welcome within it a bride who is so like a daughter."

Beth could feel her eyes open wide and resisted with difficulty the temptation to look at the marquess with alarm. He laid a hand over hers in what would look like fondness but was, she hoped, reassurance. If not, it was control.

"The duchess and I had wondered when Arden would choose a bride. So many young men these days seem to find no need for one, to their great loss. We would have been happy to welcome any young woman who found favor in his eyes, but thank him sincerely for choosing our dear Elizabeth."

Everyone joined in the toast and then the marquess rose to reply. "Some young men," he said with pointed looks at his friends, "do indeed seem to think a bride a low priority in life. I can assure them they are wrong. Does Euripides not say, 'Man's best possession is a sympathetic wife'?" Beth stiffened at the word
possession,
knowing it had been deliberately employed, but she maintained her smile. "Euripides was right. I have already found my life enlivened by my bride-to-be, and I look forward with confidence to yet greater delight."

The words were without offense and yet something in the delivery caused titters and guffaws. Beth knew she was turning pink, and it was one part embarrassment to three parts anger. Why did society ordain that the men make all the speeches? She would delight in an opportunity to land some clever shots of her own.

"The heir to a great house," he continued, "cannot choose the single life, but I felt no urgency to seek a bride. You can see then that Elizabeth caught me quite unawares. We make no secret of the fact that she brings no fortune or proud bloodlines to this match, and I am pleased by this. For how can anyone doubt that we are joined by the strongest
compulsion...."

The emphasis he placed on the word sent a shiver down Beth's spine. It seemed an age before he added, "Love."

She looked up and their eyes clashed. "There is something inexpressibly charming in falling in love," he added blithely. "I recommend it to all you lonely bachelors."

Beth looked down at her plate, wondering how many would recognize that quotation from Moliere, which went on to say that the whole pleasure of love lies in the fact that love is soon over. But at least she and the marquess need not fear the loss of something they did not have. She realized she was missing some of his speech, but if that was the style of it she did not regret it.

"I ask you," said the marquess in conclusion, "to drink again to Elizabeth. And to families. And to love."

Everyone did this resoundingly, and Beth could detect no ambivalence in the smiling faces. Perhaps people heard what they expected to hear. Or perhaps, as Shakespeare had it, "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players..."

Chapter 10

There was no lingering after the dinner, for more guests were arriving for the ball and now was the time for the formal reception line. Beth felt very like an actor moving onto the next scene of a play.

She stood between the duke and the marquess and touched hands with what seemed to be hundreds of people. Again there were the astonished looks, the speculation, and the envy. She could swear she saw a few matrons look closely at her waistline.

It was a relief when the dancing began, for then she could escape this scrutiny, but when the marquess led her out for the opening minuet it was, in a sense, the first time they had been out of the earshot of others since their
sotto voce
discussion at the table. She braced herself for a hostile comment, no matter how sweetly uttered. It did not come.

"You look nervous," he said. "Have you forgotten the steps?"

"My dear sir," she retorted, "I was raised in a girl's school. I have been watching, learning, and teaching dancing all my life. I could perform a minuet in my sleep."

"Ah," he said with a mischievous glitter, "but have you ever performed it with a man?"

They were taking their place among the four couples who were to open the ball with the formal minuet, facing toward the duke and duchess at the head of the room. "Assuredly," said Beth. "I frequently gave demonstrations with Monsieur de Lo, our dancing master."

"The minuet
a deux? "
he queried.

"Occasionally," Beth replied, mistrusting his tone.

"That is generally held to be the cause of so many susceptible young ladies falling in love with their dancing masters. All that staring into one another's eyes."

"I assure you—" Beth's protest was cut off by the opening chords of the music. Along with the other dancers she made obeisance to the duke and duchess. Even as she pointed her right toe and sank slowly down on her left leg and rose she was aware of the elegance of the marquess' bow. A spirit of competitiveness stirred in her. He was well-trained in the courtly art, but she was, after all, a professional.

They turned to face each other. She watched him carefully. When, as she expected, he performed a deeply elaborate full bow, she sank into as deep a court curtsy as her skirt would allow, her eyes correctly on his at all times. Then she rose slowly with smooth control. She did not place her hand in his outstretched one until the last moment to make it clear to all that she needed no assistance in rising.

A ripple of applause ran around the room.

He smiled and a slight inclination of the head gave her the victory. Then he took both her hands and raised them for a kiss while still maintaining the eye contact. Beth began to see what he meant. A minuet
a deux,
constantly gazing into the partner's eyes, could easily turn a young girl's head. How fortunate that she was not a young girl and that they were dancing in a set of eight.

The music proper began and Beth could look away as she and the other ladies moved into the center using the slow and graceful minuet step then joined hands to circle. The ladies circled to the right as the gentlemen circled to the left.

Having been so recently a teacher Beth couldn't help assessing performances. She could not recollect the name of one young lady, but she and Miss Frogmorton performed well but with a little more of the bounce of a country dance than the glide which was necessary. Phoebe Swinnamer was the fourth lady and she glided like a swan. She was, however, inclined to pose for effect every now and then and thus break the flow.

The ladies broke the circle to join their partners again, left hand to right, continuing the circling for one more step so as to smoothly link both hands and circle each other, eye to eye.

"Monsieur de Lo was a very good teacher," the marquess complimented her.

"As was your master, my lord," said Beth kindly. "Though you could perhaps point your foot a little more."

He raised a brow. "Are you perhaps accusing me of not being high enough in the instep, my dear?"

Beth hit her lip to stifle a giggle. They let one hand drop and flowed into the next movement deliberately holding eye contact as long as possible. Phoebe Swinnamer looked sour and almost missed a step.

Beth had to admit that her teaching experience and her demonstrations with Monsieur de Lo had not alerted her to the potential for flirtation in the stately dance. No, not flirtation. Seduction.

Lady and gentleman moved around each other but never far apart and ever aware. They came together, intensely linked by hands and eyes, the slow movements allowing skilled dancers who did not need to think of their steps to linger upon one another like a slow kiss.

Caught by her extraordinary thoughts Beth stared up at the marquess as she slowly circled him. It was the look in his eyes which was causing all these ideas.