How to Impress a Marquess Page 20

  Not nearly as cruelly as you treat George.

  “I’m sorry that I was unable to meet you after tea. I had a terrible headache—it must have been the wind this morning. I had a bit of laudanum and lay down for a nap. I remember being awoken for tea but falling back to sleep.”

  “You slept all afternoon and still you tell the fairies that you are exhausted.”

  Oh! A clumsy slip on her part. “I find this party very trying,” she stammered.

  His smirk blossomed to a half smile. “My poor, poor darling, you have my sympathy. George tries everyone’s patience.”

  She bit back her retort that the only man greatly trying her patience was him.

  “Ride with me tomorrow and all will be forgiven,” Charles assured her. “There is a group riding out in the morning. We can wander off on our own and…” He raised her hand to his mouth and brushed it with his lips.

  She tried to retract her kissed appendage. “I hardly know how to ride. I’ve spent my life in boarding schools and London and never had an occasion to learn.”

  “I would delight in teaching you.” His fingers trailed down her arms, coming a little too close to her breasts. “Shall we enjoy our very first lesson?” He lifted her uncomfortably to her tiptoes. “To begin, you must properly mount the beast.” His opened lips waited mere inches from hers. “Are you afraid of the beast?” His mouth descended.

  “Pardon me, I thought I would enjoy a little night reading,” a male voice said.

  George! Lilith turned her head. Her knight in shining armor, or, in George’s case, starchy black and white evening clothes, loomed in the doorway.

  Charles took his time releasing her, as if to make a show. George’s expression didn’t alter, but Lilith could see the tiny pulse at the back of his jaw.

  “Alas, Ellis Belfort cannot write Colette and the Sultan quickly enough for me.” George strode into the room. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “Lord Charles has invited me to ride tomorrow,” Lilith informed George like the proper ward. “But I don’t know how to ride so he was giving me my first riding lesson: how to mount the beast.”

  Lord Charles coughed a laugh behind his balled hand, thinking the joke was on George.

  George gazed to where Charles clasped her elbow. When he spoke, his words flowed out dark and slow. “What a negligent guardian regarding riding lessons and other matters. I must make remedies immediately. Along the lines of proper guardianship, allow me to escort you from this room, Miss Dahlgren.”

  Charles only chuckled as George led Lilith away. George had gotten her as far as the door before Charles piped up, “Shall we continue our lesson in the morning in the stables, then, Miss Dahlgren? All properly chaperoned, of course.”

  She wanted to say bloody hell, no, but knew the fate of George’s bill rested in the man’s hands. What an intricate little political knot.

  “Yes,” she said more breathlessly than she intended. Her body quaked from the sensation of George’s powerful hand protectively holding her.

  * * *

  “No man should ever treat you so disrespectfully,” George growled outside her bedchamber door.

  Lilith squeezed his hand. “It’s well, George. Calm yourself. It’s not as though I haven’t had to extract myself from a dozen or so such situations before.”

  Although she never thought of herself as needing protecting, George’s old-fashioned chivalry excited her. The shockingly wanton images that filled her vivid imagination caused an aching throb between her legs. She needed to get away from him before she did something very, very unwise.

  But dash it if he didn’t take her arm and slip into her chamber with her.

  “Are you well?” His eyes were like warm feathery fingers that caressed her skin as he examined her. “Did he hurt you?”

  “Of course I am well,” she managed. “I’m not made of brittle china. I won’t shatter if you touch me.” Touch me! See for yourself.

  Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned against the closed door. “I’m rather disturbed he didn’t receive the same treatment that I did. My shin is still bruised.”

  She chuckled nervously and strolled to safety across the room at her vanity.“We need his vote. We can’t afford to injure him.”

  “We? I need his vote. Not you. Lilith, don’t compromise yourself for me.”

  “Compromise myself?” She jerked her head. “You’re delightfully old-fashioned. I won’t compromise myself, as you say. I’m not sure it’s even possible for a woman like me—the wild bohemian sort.”

  “You are not a bohemian but a proper lady.”

  “I know disagreeing with you will make no difference.” She began removing the pins from her hair. “You see things the way you want to. Reality had better conform.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She didn’t answer, but undid her braid with shaking fingers. “Did you draw anything today?”

  “What?”

  “I realize that you never promised.” She gave him an arch look through the reflection in the mirror. “Don’t think I will let you get away with that.”

  “Please stop.” He approached her, plucking out a missed hairpin. “I have enough to contend with without you hounding me, trying to turn me into…one of your addled-minded artist acquaintances. I know—”

  “There is nothing wrong with being an artist! They are not addle-minded but visionaries.”

  “—that you keep talking about this little boy inside of me. But Lilith, he’s gone. He’s dead. You might as well have a funeral for him.”

  She studied his face. “I’m bereaved that little boy has passed. He had such a sad life. His father bullied him. At school the other boys hid his clothes and made him walk back to his dormitory naked. Destroyed his work so he would be paddled. Made him the butt of jokes and cruel ditties.”

  “How…how did you learn this?”

  “I made Lord Charles confess.” She cupped his handsome face. “George, I wish I could take all that away.” He winced and tore past her, leaving her hand hanging in the air.

  “For God’s sake, who cares what happened so many years ago,” he barked.

  “I do. I—”

  “Of course you do.” He spun around; his eyes were black, shining agates. “You cling to the past. You refuse to let the past die. You want to nurse it, take every little hurt and explode it. Over and over, I have to hear about how you don’t want to be a vile Maryle. How you hate Tyburn. How horribly we treated you! How I’m the reason for every terrible thing that ever happened to you!”

  She flinched as if he had punched her. She knew he lashed out because she had brought up a painful memory, but her reason could not be a balm to her pain. She had spent the entire afternoon redeeming him on paper. She put up with Charles because of him. She had swallowed dozens of cutting rejoinders to his mother’s nasty little remarks because of him. Bloody hell, she humiliated herself by singing because of him and his sister. “Get out,” she hissed.

  He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. My nerves are rather frayed.”

  “I don’t care. You shouldn’t have said that. Get out.”

  He strode to her, his palms open in reconciliation. “Don’t be this way.” He gently lifted her chin. The touch that moments ago would have driven her wild with desire now angered.

  She yanked away. “Go.”

  “I didn’t mean what I said. What can I do to make you happy again? Tell me.”

  “You know what would make me happy.” She flung up her arms. “You can draw, paint, and express all the beauty inside you. You can be the true George.”

  “This is the true me!” he burst out and then quickly drew his emotions under control again. “My insides are not the beautiful palaces you envision but full of parliamentary bills and estate ledgers. I’m sorry if I can’t be the ma
n you want.”

  “But I’m supposed to be what you want! I’m not supposed to be the true Lilith, because she’s too wild, too dangerous. I’m supposed—”

  “Please keep your voice down.”

  “—to wear what you tell me. Read the etiquette books that you give me. Marry whom you order me to.”

  “I’m trying to help you.”

  “You’re trying to control me. Help looks very different. It’s often described as compassionate and kind.”

  His nostrils were flared. She could see the angry thoughts flying behind his eyes, yet in the end all he said was a curt “Good night,” and walked to the door.

  “Yes, good night. You really shouldn’t be in my chamber. It’s not proper. I should fetch my trustworthy, gentlemanlike guardian.” She slashed where she knew it hurt him. “Oh, but you are him.”

  He glanced back at her and shook his head, his lips a hard line—so like the sultan’s. Then he stealthily slipped out of the room to avoid detection.

  “Yes, heaven forbid you are caught with me,” she cried to the closed door. A tear trailed down her face. “Muse, I hate you. You see, this is why he is the villain in the first place. The sultan must die. He can wander in the desert, blinded by the bright sun, and die of thirst. He can awake to find his bed filled with extremely angry vipers.”

  * * *

  George strode through the maze of corridors, politely nodding to guests who were retiring to their rooms and wishing them a good night. Inside, his heart thundered. Why had he said those words to Lilith? Of course she would be angry. Hell, her own mother had rejected her. She’d never had a home, living like a jellyfish floating on the currents.

  Damn him for being weak. He should have laughed off her little stories of his school experiences. Instead, he went for her throat like a feral animal backed into a corner. Why did her knowing the truth about those miserable years make him feel vulnerable?

  He stalked into his study and began rereading the letters from this morning. He needed to get his mind away from her and focused on important matters of Parliament and maintaining his estates. He picked up a letter from the Lord Chancellor and there she waited beneath, in all her nude glory, gazing at him with those loving eyes. He pulled out the missive and released a long stream of breath. She had been different at this house party—compassionate to Penelope and putting up with Charles’s advances to selflessly further George’s bill. And he had hurt her because she ventured too close to old wounds and secrets. Damn him.

  He rose and crossed to the bellpull. Minutes later a servant appeared. “Please try to conjure up a riding habit for Miss Dahlgren and deliver it to her room in the morning. Ask her to don it and meet me at the stables at six.”

  The least he could do was save her from a riding lesson with Charles.

  Seventeen

  My wits have truly gone a-beggin’ now, Lilith thought as she entered the stables in what Frances would have called “the middle of the night.” She had been up into the early hours anyway, crying and thinking about all the things she wished she’d had the presence of mind to say to George in the heat of their fight. She whipped her skirts with her crop. She had reached across a vast ocean filled with decades of hurt to reach out to him, and he had mocked and belittled her pain. And all she had wanted was a simple sketch.

  The only reason she was down at the stables at dawn was to articulate to him, in rehearsed words, just how much he hurt her last night. She tugged at her habit again, which pulled across the bust and bunched up around her waist. She didn’t know where it came from except that it probably looked quite exceedingly fashionable about twenty years ago on a very trim and tall woman.

  She stomped around the corner and there George stood, quietly holding the reins of a squat, spotted, and homely horse in one hand and peering at his watch with the other.

  “How many minutes am I late, George?”

  His head jerked up. His handsome face was pale, his eyes weary, the lines around his mouth etched a little deeper. Her heart weakened. Had he been up all night too?

  “Good morning.” He bowed properly. “You look lovely this morning.”

  “What a plumper. I look hideous this morning. Don’t you dare say a thing about this ridiculous riding habit or I’ll whip you with my crop.” She brandished it in the air. “Dashingly useful accessory, a crop.”

  “It’s the morning light,” he said and gestured to his own face. “It sets off your skin and beautiful eyes.”

  Was this his way of making peace? It was working better than she wanted to admit. “Why don’t you paint a picture of me and this horse with all its lovely spots? Bask, indulge in the morning light.”

  “Lilith, please,” he said quietly. “Could we just have a lesson, or would you prefer Lord Charles to teach you?”

  “Let me consider. Which is the lesser of two evils? Hmm. Alas, I’m already dressed and you are conveniently here, so you may as well teach me.”

  He placed his hand on his heart. “I’m honored. Now, I’ve already selected a horse for you. Her name is Maude.”

  Maude gazed up at Lilith with lovely eyes, those ancient, compassionate kind that made Lilith want to believe the Hindoos’ theories of reincarnation. Her heart melted. “She is darling.” She ran her hand down the mare’s neck. “Maude, we shall be friends, I can see that already. Here, I have a gift for you to seal the friendship.” She unfolded her hand to reveal lumps of sugar she had taken from her breakfast. Maude gently lapped up the offering.

  “Please don’t give her sugar,” George said. “My horses adhere to strict diets.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Maude,” she whispered aloud in the mare’s ear. “He doesn’t understand females.”

  “I know Maude isn’t much to look at. She is—”

  “Don’t hurt her feelings! She is stunning.”

  “—steady and intelligent. She often is stabled near my high-spirited stallion to calm him. As you see, I’ve had her saddled and bridled, but an accomplished horsewoman must learn to do these things herself.”

  “I have no aspirations to be an accomplished horsewoman.”

  “Your future husband shall desire a wife who rides.”

  “What if my future husband desires that I tattoo his boyhood pet name Jon-Jon Tushykins on my bum, should I do it?”

  “Of course,” he said in dead earnest. “You should obey your husband in all matters, horse, tattoos, and otherwise.”

  Lilith had to stifle a giggle. After all, she was quite irate with him.

  “Give me your crop,” he ordered. “You won’t be needing it.”

  “I understand that manners are all the rage in those etiquette books you made me read. I remembered it prominently mentioned in The Lonely Suitor’s Guide.”

  Her lips trembled, but she refused to give in to his infectious gentle laughter.

  “Dearest lady, I humbly beseech you to bestow the honor of your riding crop upon me.”

  “If I must,” she said airily, allowing him to withdraw it and set it on the stable ledge.

  “There now.” He knelt and placed his opened palm on his knee.

  “I prefer you in this groveling position,” she said.

  “I know you do. Now I want you to place your foot in my hand. Yes, that’s good. Now put your hand on my shoulder like so. Hold on to me and I will lift you into the saddle. Here we go.” In an easy motion, he lifted her. She released his shoulder as she slid across the saddle, almost falling over the other side of the horse.

  “George!” she cried, flailing.

  He quickly caught her wrist and then secured an arm around her waist. “Hold on to me,” he said. “I won’t let you fall.”

  The heat of his body and the security of his firm grip caused her eyes to water. She tried to blink the embarrassing tears away, but one escaped and slipped down her cheek.

&n
bsp; “Lilith.” His voice shook. His hold on her tightened.

  “Please say you didn’t mean those words last evening. They really hurt me.” The long, angry speech that she had composed during the night was now reduced to a few plaintive words.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered. “I can’t imagine how it felt to be exiled from your family. I trivialized your pain and I’m sorry. I only want your happiness.” Poor Maude was so squat that George could draw Lilith close, letting his hand trail up and down her back. How could she hate and desire one man so fiercely? Why did she find the safekeeping she had sought in the man she had spent years running from? They silently held each other until the sound of stable hands conversing in another part of the stable drew them apart.

  “Now carefully put your right limb around the pommel.” George’s voice was hoarse, laboring with emotion. He patted the hornlike things sticking up from the saddle.

  She lifted her skirt, revealing the bottom of her pantalets, and lifted her leg, hooking it around the pommel. “Like this?”

  “Lilith!” He glanced about, in case she might destroy some stableboy’s innocence. “Have you heard of modesty?” He chuckled and yanked down her skirts.

  “Modesty?” She shook her head. “No, I’m afraid I don’t know that word.”

  Still chuckling, he placed her feet in the stirrups. His hand wandered up her ankles. She enjoyed the pressure of his fingertips even through the leather of her boots.

  “Now I’m going to give you the reins,” he said.

  “The reins. I can go anywhere! You can’t stop me.”

  “Maude will. She knows her master.”

  At the sound of her name, Maude whinnied.

  “She’s only pretending to agree with you,” explained Lilith. “That’s how we females work.”

  “You mean there’s a method to female madness?” he quizzed her.

  She gave him a playful swat. “I should never have relinquished my crop.”