The Spinster and the Rake (11 page)

Chapter Eleven

“GOOD MORNING, Miss Redfern,” he greeted her, and his slow, deep voice sent an uncomfortable little thrill along Gillian’s backbone as well as a deep blush to her suddenly pale complexion. There was no way she could banish from her mind the circumstances in which she had last seen Ronan Marlowe, especially with that wicked, knowing smile lurking in the back of his fine green eyes.

“Why, Gilly, you’re blushing,” Felicity announced ingenuously, and Gillian controlled a strong urge to trample on her foot. “Whatever happened to overset you?”

“Miss Redfern doesn’t appear to be the slightest bit discomposed,” Marlowe broke in smoothly. “As a matter of fact, she is looking absolutely radiant this morning considering the excesses of last night.”

“Excesses?” Felicity echoed, her high, breathless laugh that was also a key part of Felicity flirting grating suddenly on Gillian’s already frayed nerves.

“An excess of champagne, Felicity,” she said casually as she felt the color subside from her face. “Good morning, Lord Marlowe.”

“Lord Marlowe was just telling me the most fascinating stories of his life on the Continent,” Felicity continued archly. “I vow, I have never laughed so much in my entire life. What a vastly diverting life you have led, my lord.” She batted her eyes at him outrageously.

“No more than most,” he replied shortly, struggling once more to release himself from her clinging grip and this time succeeding. “Miss Redfern . . .”

Felicity recaptured his arm. “I am convinced you are too modest,” she interrupted. “I have it on the best authority that you are a rake, forever casting out lures to hapless females and then abandoning them once their hopes have been raised.”

Marlowe’s dark face showed a flash of interest. “And who told you that? I hope it wasn’t your aunt?” The green eyes rested on Gillian’s discomfited expression.

Felicity laughed again, and Gillian’s mortification rose. “Oh, heavens, no! Gilly does nothing but sing your praises, although she says she sees you as a slightly older version of Bertie.”

“She does, does she?” He appeared to be more amused than affronted, but Gilly by this time had had enough.

“Felicity!” she said in a dangerous undertone, taking that lady’s arm in an iron grip and removing her from Lord Marlowe’s side. “Your behavior goes beyond the line of what is pleasing!”

“But I haven’t spoken a word that wasn’t true, have I?” she demanded with a great show of innocence. “Didn’t you say Lord Marlowe reminded you of Cousin Bertie?”

“Yes, do answer, Miss Redfern,” Marlowe encouraged her affably. “I wasn’t aware that I appeared to you in quite so callow a light.”

Gilly’s deepening blush was reply enough. “Anything I might have said to my niece was not meant to be repeated,” she said in a muffled tone. “I . . .”

“You see!” Felicity interrupted once more, and Gilly longed to strangle her. “I would never have made up such a thing. For my part I think she must have windmills in her head, my lord. I find you vastly romantic. But then, Gilly is of an age where she has ceased to have an interest in such things.”

Marlowe raised an eyebrow, and the effect was to make him appear even more saturnine. “Oh, really? I had failed to notice such a disinterest on your aunt’s part, but then, I may have deceived myself.”

“I do wish,” Gilly said finally, “that the two of you would cease to discuss me as if I weren’t here. Leave go of his lordship’s arm, Felicity, and let us return to Berkeley Square. I have a great deal to say to you about your unbecoming behavior.”

“You see what an ogre she is?” Felicity demanded of Marlowe, releasing his arm with a great show of reluctance. “Dare I ask you to come to my rescue and save me from the lecture her disapproving expression promises? Believe me, despite her gentle appearance she can be quite fierce.”

Marlowe turned his shoulder to her, smiling down at Gillian in a manner that left her feeling curiously weak-kneed. “Your niece is certainly an ill-mannered minx,” he remarked, not even bothering to lower his voice. “Is there any way we can dispense with her tiresome company, or do you need her as a chaperone?”

Felicity’s outraged gasp coincided with Gilly’s reluctant chuckle. “I am afraid the shoe is on the other foot, my lord. I am Felicity’s chaperone, and could hardly let her out by herself.”

“I can see why. Very well, I suppose we must make do with what chance has offered us. I shall see you home by way of Gunters, and we may only hope that the ices offered there will keep her prattle-box busy enough to allow us to enjoy a brief conversation.” He held out his arm for her, and after a moment’s hesitation she took it.

Felicity’s discomfiture could only last a certain time. Undaunted, she caught his other arm in her confiding clasp and smiled up at him winningly. “I will behave myself,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “If you have the remarkably good taste to prefer my aunt to myself, I can hardly fault you. But let me tell you you are setting all my carefully laid plans to naught.”

If she hoped to beguile Marlowe with her honesty, she had failed once more. “Just as well,” he said repressively. “If you behave yourself we
will allow you to accompany us. If you keep chattering I will, despite your aunt’s protests, bundle you into a hackney and send you back to Berkeley Square. Is that understood?” There was a flinty note in his voice, and Felicity, usually a sunny-tempered girl, for a moment lost her customary amiability.

“Certainly,” she snapped. “Though why you should be so uncivil . . .”

“It is no wonder you feel fagged to death if you have to put up with her all the time,” Marlowe said to Gillian, who had been surveying this interchange with amazement and not a little gratification at seeing her irrepressible niece silenced for once. Felicity had subsided into a very pretty case of the sulks, and Gilly cast her an anxious look before replying.

“I love Felicity more than anything,” she defended her. “Admittedly she is a trifle high-spirited . . .”

“I don’t wish to talk about your niece,” Marlowe interrupted gently. “I wanted to find out how you fared after last night. Derwent Redfern can be exceedingly unpleasant, and I have the notion you aren’t terribly adept at taking care of yourself.”

Gilly’s blush deepened as she was startled into a laugh. “How can you say such a thing?” she demanded with the trace of a smile in her warm blue eyes. “I would have thought I had proved to you last night how very capable I was.”

“You proved a great many things last evening, my dear Gilly,” he said softly. “Not the least of which is how delightfully innocent you are. But I wouldn’t want you to suffer for last night, as I have little doubt that idiot of a brother of yours would like to make you.”

“That is my father you are insulting,” Felicity interrupted, clearly fascinated by this exchange.

“I am fully aware of that. I am also aware that I told you to be quiet. If you do not do so I will be forced to believe that you resemble your esteemed father even more than I had believed.”

“You are—are a monster!” Felicity stormed.

Marlowe laughed heartlessly. “I would think you would be gratified to know that you resembled the father you are so busy defending. Though I will grant you that there is a look of your mother about you also.”

“You know my mother?” Felicity questioned, curiosity overlaying her outrage.

“Far too well,” he replied enigmatically before turning back to the lady on his other arm. “Was he unbearably stuffy last night? I wished I had confronted him.”

“That would have only made things worse. And no, he wasn’t too desperately awful. I simply told him I wasn’t in the mood to be yelled at. He was so astounded he was scarcely able to come out with one or two lecture points before I escaped to bed.”

“You don’t usually stand up to him?” There was a pleased expression on his face that Gilly couldn’t quite fathom.

“Not usually,” she admitted. “However, I decided that at the advanced age of thirty I was far too old to be intimidated.”

“May I hope I added to your feelings of resolution?”

A smile played around Gilly’s soft mouth, and the expression in Marlowe’s eyes deepened inexplicably. “You may hope so,” she said, giving nothing away.

He stared down at her for a long moment. “Can’t we dispense with your niece’s presence?” he demanded in a husky voice. “I would much prefer to continue our conversation of last night in private.”

“I don’t believe that conversation will be continued, my lord. I was a trifle above myself last night from an excess of champagne and high spirits. I doubt it will happen again.”

“I am grieved to hear you say so. I have yet to see a case where high spirits can truly be described as excessive, and champagne is such a delightful drink. However, if you are determined to continue a nunlike existence . . .”

“I am determined to do no such thing,” she shot back. “I merely have regained a sense of propriety . . .”

“Worse and worse. I had thought better of you, Gillyflower,” he said softly, and Gillian’s resolution almost failed.

“I am exceedingly flattered,” she said firmly, “at your offers to lead me astray, but I believe I have other obligations. Not the least of which is to my niece. I am supposed to provide a model of proper behavior for her, not an example of flighty womanhood bent upon her own destruction.”

“And is that how you see yourself with me?” he queried curiously, apparently unmoved by her rejection. “You think that I would destroy you?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt you would regret it tremendously. But not enough to leave me alone. And destroyed I certainly will be, unless you do so.”

He stood motionless for a long, silent moment, staring down at her with an unreadable expression on his dark face. “There is more than one definition of destruction, Gilly. Some would call a blameless life sacrificed on the altar of family duty destruction, but I will have to leave it up to you. If you should ever change your mind you know where to find me.” Abruptly he released their arms, and with a graceful, mocking little bow, he left them, striding down Bond Street without a backward glance, leaving the two Redfern ladies staring after his tall, elegant figure with amazed chagrin.

“I admire your resolve, Gilly,” Felicity said after a long moment, and her voice was subdued. “I certainly could never have sent him away.”

“I wasn’t precisely aware that I had done so,” Gilly admitted ruefully. “But I can only be thankful that he has been so easily discouraged. No doubt it will save me a great deal of future embarrassment.” If she looked rather more shattered than thankful, her niece exercised her infrequent tact and forbore to mention it.

“I suppose this means we must forgo Gunters?” she inquired innocently. Sweets were Felicity’s downfall, and despite her slender curves she was able to consume a startling amount, almost rivaling her once-slender mother.

With a belated start Gilly pulled her scattered wits together. “I should say so! I have no intention of rewarding you for today’s behavior. You will kindly explain to me, Felicity, the reason for your inexplicably vulgar behavior, clinging to Lord Marlowe’s arm like that, and being so very pushing! I could scarcely believe it.”

Felicity shrugged. “I thought I might excite his interest. If Liam knew that such a desperate character was casting out lures to me, he might relent and run away to Gretna Green.”

“Felicity, dearest!” Gillian shook her head sadly. “You have no sense whatsoever. Lord Marlowe would never be taken in by such obvious measures.”

“He most certainly would have been, if he wasn’t so busy staring at you. And despite your protests, I never in my life saw a more jealous expression on anyone than on your face when you came out and saw us together. I thought you told me you had no interest in him.”

“I lied,” she admitted flatly. “And do not think you may repeat that, for I will only lie again. I am old enough to know better, and if I have a trace of romantic weakness then I don’t doubt but what your mother is right, and that it comes from reading too many French novels.”

“That was a curious thing he said about Mama, was it not?” Felicity mused. “About knowing her far too well? What do you suppose he could have meant by that?”

“I have no idea, and I don’t suppose we shall have the chance to find out. I shouldn’t expect to see Lord Marlowe again, except from a distance. I can congratulate myself on having made my feelings clear to him,” she said mournfully.

Felicity smiled, feeling suddenly far wiser than her innocent aunt. “Actually, I think he’s full aware of your feelings, Gilly. And I have little doubt we shall be seeing him again, very soon.”

“Well, then, I shall simply have to stiffen my resolve. I cannot allow myself to grow too fond of him.” She put a hand to her head. “It must be this wretched headache that makes me feel so unhappy.”

“Headaches will do that every time,” her niece agreed, suppressing a smile. “If you care to rest this afternoon, I will endeavor to make sure that everyone leaves you alone.”

“That would be lovely,” Gillian sighed. “I find there is nothing I long for more than a few hours’ peace and quiet so that I can rest and reflect.”

“And shed a few private tears?” Felicity suggested.

“Don’t be absurd. I have nothing to cry for,” Gillian replied sharply, feeling quite desperately sorry for herself. “Indeed, I cannot imagine a more fortunate creature in all of London.” She strode on ahead, ignoring her niece’s knowing smile, keeping her head high all the way to the Redfern mansion.