The Marriage Lesson (8 page)

It was somewhat alarming the way Marianne and her sisters had taken to the art of flirtation. Thomas had always thought something of that nature had to be learned. Apparently it was instinctive. Rather like the calls of various birds during mating season. He could well understand why his friends wasted no time furthering their acquaintance. They were obviously enchanted.

And Thomas was leading their blasted horses!

Still, aside from his current position, was there anything really wrong with this? Didn’t it all fall in nicely with his plans? Certainly Berkley and Pennington’s reputations were no worse than most of the unmarried men he knew. In truth, no worse than his. Their titles were more than respectable, as were their fortunes. They were, in fact, considered excellent matches. Exactly what Thomas had had in mind.

His mood brightened. He certainly couldn’t claim success yet, but this was a good start. Given the reaction of his friends, he wouldn’t have any trouble marrying off the girls. Marrying off Marianne.

Feminine laughter floated in the breeze. Marianne’s? She was certainly living up to her promise to cooperate with his plan in her desire to experience life. Annoyance drew his brows together. However, she needn’t cooperate quite so enthusiastically. He wanted her wed not ruined.

His plan would prevail. His obligation to ensure the girls had successful seasons would be discharged. After all, what greater accomplishment was there than to make a good match? And with luck, he would find the perfect bride for himself.

Lighthearted voices drifted back to him, oddly irritating, and he scowled. He should be elated at the certain knowledge that everything would work out exactly as he wanted it.

Then why wasn’t he?

Thomas was unusually quiet on the ride home, a silent, somewhat forbidding figure. He stared out at the crowded streets as if he was alone in the carriage. While not exactly rude his manner was terse and the sisters chose to squeeze together on one side of the carriage for the brief ride rather than sacrifice one of their own to the fate of sitting beside him. Not that they paid him much notice.

Marianne leaned toward her sisters confidentially, her voice barely above a whisper. “Did you see that? Do you have any idea how we—”

“We had them both in the palm of our hands.” Jocelyn’s voice carried a touch of awe. “It was quite amazing.”

Becky nodded. “Magic is what it was.”

“What to say.” Becky fluttered her lashes. “How to smile.”

“I don’t recall ever being this charming with the butcher’s son,” Jocelyn said thoughtfully.

“That’s because of the warts,” Marianne murmured. “These gentleman had no warts.”

“None at all.” Jocelyn sighed. “They were both handsome and dashing—”

“And really quite,” Becky grinned, “delicious.”

Marianne nodded. “They were rather, weren’t they?”

“Well if this is the type of gentleman Helmsley plans on introducing to us, I, for one, am looking forward to it,” Jocelyn said firmly. “I find I much prefer delicious to warts.”

A wave of giggles passed through the sisters.

“If you three insist on whispering and chortling all the way home . . . ” Thomas turned and said something to the driver. “Then I shall ride up front with Greggs.” The carriage shuddered to a halt. Thomas tipped his hat then exited the carriage and climbed up to sit beside Greggs.

Marianne stared for a moment. “What on earth has gotten into him?”

Jocelyn and Becky traded knowing glances.

Marianne raised a brow. “What?”

“I’d wager he’s reexamining his plan.” Jocelyn smiled smugly.

“Perhaps too well,” Becky paused, “especially in regards to you.”

“To me?”

“We’ve seen the way he looks at you.” Jocelyn smirked. “As if you’re some kind of unknown confection and he isn’t sure if you’ll be the tastiest thing he’s ever eaten or you’ll—”

“Poison him,” Becky said in an offhand manner.
    “What a charming thought. Not the poisoning, of course, the rest of it.” Marianne laughed. “It’s also completely absurd. He wants nothing more than to be rid of the lot of us. And me probably most of all.”

“I think he looked suspiciously like a man who is jealous and is trying to determine why. However, believe as you wish.” Jocelyn shrugged in dismissal and promptly turned the conversation to the more interesting question of their new acquaintances. “Do you think they’ll be at the ball tomorrow?”

“I daresay, everyone . . . ”

Becky and Jocelyn chattered on but Marianne didn’t find their conversation nearly as intriguing as their suggestion. She settled back and stared at Thomas sitting stiff and board straight beside the driver.

Or it could be that he didn’t appreciate being treated like a stable boy. Marianne stifled a grin. He had been rather indignant. Although, if he truly wanted to find them husbands, or rather to find her a husband, one would think encouragement was called for rather than irritation.

Her sisters’ observations were utter nonsense, yet they did explain his withdrawn and somewhat sulky behavior.

Marianne had certainly been acutely aware of Thomas when they’d walked side by side today. And the memory of his arms around her as they’d danced did tend to surface with an unnerving frequency. And the kiss they’d shared lingered in the back of her mind.

Did it linger in his mind as well?

Nonsense. She brushed aside the ridiculous thought. Thomas was an experienced man. Little things like a single kiss or a mere dance or an innocent stroll would bear little more than passing notice from a rake like him.

No. Jocelyn and Becky were wrong. Thomas was probably feeling a little put upon and was therefore out of sorts. There was nothing more to it than that.

No. Unexpected regret washed through her. She was not the woman for him and he was definitely not the man for her.

In that, if nothing else, they were agreed.

“I’m fine. Thank you,” he said curtly, not looking up from the barely legible scribblings on the desk before him. With luck his blunt manner would discourage her and she’d leave him alone. Exactly as he wanted it.

This afternoon had been extremely irritating to him and he’d spent much of the time since then trying to figure out why.

“What are you writing?” Her voice drew closer.

“Nothing of any significance.” He pulled open a drawer, slipped the paper inside and closed it with a sharp click. He was not about to confide in Marianne, even though he suspected she would take his efforts seriously. Still, one never knew, and he was not in the mood to risk either criticism or laughter. He got to his feet, rested his hands on the desk and leaned forward. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I just wanted to thank you for today.” She reached the desk and perched on the edge of it. He straightened abruptly.

“Thank me? Whatever for?” She sat entirely too close to him. Why, he could reach out for her with no effort whatsoever. Pull her into his arms. Meet her lips with his . . . 

“For taking us to the park. We had a lovely time.”

“I took you to the park as much for my own reasons as to entertain you and your sisters.”

She wore some sort of evening frock and he wondered with a touch of disappointment why, at this late hour, she hadn’t changed to nightclothes. The modest but still fetching bit of frippery she’d had on the other night, for instance.

“A bit.”

Of course, she hadn’t known she’d run into anyone that evening and now she could reasonably expect to find him in the library in the late hours. Certainly it would be most inappropriate for her to deliberately appear wearing something so personal and intimate as her nightclothes. Improper and enchanting.

“Rather nasty sport, isn’t it.”

Something that drifted around her with all the substance of an insignificant breeze.

“Isn’t it?”

Something that revealed fetching curves and shadows when she stepped in front of the light.

“Thomas?” She waved her hand in front of his face. “Are you listening to me?”

“Of course,” he murmured, wiping the vision from his mind. She narrowed her eyes. Surely she couldn’t possibly know what he had been thinking. “Boxing,” he cleared his throat, “is an excellent sport for both observers and participants.”

She studied him for a moment then shrugged and changed the subject. “Do you have many friends like Lord Pennington and Lord Berkley?”

“Enough,” he muttered and picked up the brandy he’d nursed through the last hour.

She glanced at the glass and raised a brow.

He lifted his glass in a mock salute. “I warn you, I am in no mood to discuss my drinking habits.”

“I noticed.” He swallowed the last of the brandy and wished for something stronger.

“And I believe they liked us.”

“I noticed that as well.” Something much stronger.

She plucked his glass from his hand, stood and strolled to the cabinet that housed the brandy. She pulled open the doors, refilled his glass and poured a second for herself. “You don’t seem terribly happy about it. I should think a man who’s goal in life is procuring husbands for the females who’ve invaded his home would be quite thrilled we attracted any attention whatsoever.”

“I am ecstatic.”

She stared at him for a moment then burst into laughter. “Come, now, Thomas.” She handed him the glass. “Whatever is the matter?

“Nothing.” She was absolutely right. He should have been pleased that the girls had been noticed. It would make his job much easier. What was wrong with him, anyway? Perhaps he simply wasn’t used to this kind of responsibility. Surely there was nothing more to it than that. He hesitated then caught her gaze. “Is that what you want? Someone like Pennington or Berkley, I mean.”

“What’s wrong with them? To be honest, I scarce see a great deal of difference between them and you.” She took a sip of the liquor. “Although they aren’t nearly so ill-tempered and grumpy.”

“Grumpy?” He tried not to smile. He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction but the corners of his mouth turned upward in spite of his efforts.

“No,” he said under his breath, “you want to experience life.”

“Indeed I do.” She moved to one of the wing chairs and settled into it, cupping her hands around the glass. She gazed at him over the rim. “Even if I did wish to marry I should want someone a bit more exciting than your friends.”

“More exciting?” He raised a brow. “Most women find them very exciting.”

“Do they? Well perhaps exciting wasn’t the right word.” She thought for a moment. “Adventurous is a better word. Like the men here.” She waved toward the rows of books lining the walls. “The men who fill the pages of the books I’ve read. Men who brave the rapids of the Amazon or explore the jungles of deepest Africa or search for the hidden treasures of Egyptian pharaohs.”

“Damned hard to find explorers on the streets of London,” he said mildly.

“I thought as much. I do believe adventurous heroes reside primarily in books and are exceedingly rare in real life. Should I ever meet one I would possibly change my mind about marriage. For now, however,” she swirled the brandy in her glass, “in regards to my desire to experience life, it occurs to me both Pennington and Berkley would be more than willing to assist me in that endeavor.”

“Assist you?” He circled the desk and leaned back against it to stare down at her. “Precisely what do you mean by assist you?”