Page 22 of The Duke's Stolen Heart
Chapter 8
“Iwish to amend our agreement.” Antonia announced the moment they were alone.
“Agreement? You spend the better part of a thousand pounds in a single day!” Havencrest stalked up and down the three feet of the ornately carved mantelpiece over the fireplace. A carved stone lion supported each side, its mouth open in a ferocious roar. From him and he believed he had put Miss Lowery on her back foot. Yet the instant the Countess had left them, Antonia had launched right back into her tenacious and frankly exhausting vendetta to retain the upper hand in every situation.
“I told you the money was necessary for startup expenses.” A mutinous shadow passed over Miss Lowry’s lovely features and gave him the distinct sense that there was a lie embedded in her explanation somewhere. She did not like it when he questioned her judgment. Too damn bad. He was already regretting how much had had invested in this ridiculous scheme—the details of which Antonia had not yet bothered to explain to him.
“Like what, precisely? An entire wardrobe?” he seethed.
“Yes, essentially. I need to look the part.”
“What part? You already look the part of a well-to-do American.” He seethed. Antonia’s mouth screwed up in a grimace and her dark eyes shot daggers at him.
“If you would please refrain from giving away our plan before we have an opportunity to begin, I would be most grateful, your lordship.” Antonia spoke through clenched teeth though her voice was low. “I need you to court Margaret.”
“Lady Margaret,” he corrected automatically.
“Yes, of course. I must be more thoughtful about titles if I am to get close enough to your grandmother to earn her trust.” Antonia crossed one arm under her breasts and rested the elbow of her other arm on top. She tapped her lower lip with her forefinger and paced, as he had done until her speck of conciliation redirected his emotions, up and down the space between the sofa and the side table.
“Earn whose trust?”
“The Dowager Duchess of Summervale,” she shot back caustically. “Remember her? The wicked witch standing between you and the object of your every desire?”
Behind them, the door cracked open on well-oiled hinges. “Excuse me,” Margaret said as she poked her head around the door. “I was hoping you could enlighten me as to what the devil is going on?”
“At least I am not the only one in the dark,” Malcolm muttered. “What happened to resting?”
“This is far more interesting. I only wanted to avoid my sister-in-law’s gloating.” Margaret settled herself on to the sofa and tucked her feet up beneath her skirt. Her position reminded him of a cat watching birds out a window.
“You must trust me, if you wish for this to work,” Antonia chided mildly. “Margaret will release you from the understanding, if that is what you want in a few weeks.”
Malcolm felt his eyebrows stitch together over the bridge of his nose. Being rejected by a slip of a girl, one widely regarded as pretty enough but a bit daft, was not an entirely new experience for him. A decade ago, when he had been in his youth and still believed his father’s version of the world, Malcolm had fancied himself in love for several months.Women cannot be trusted,his father had warned.Not with your money, and never with your heart.
Malcolm had believed this wholeheartedly. In retrospect, he had been a thorough cad to the girl. It had not been easy to find his footing in society with a family reputation tainted by his mother’s death. The circumstances had rendered even a duke’s heir suspect. Then, he had been only a marquis. No one spoke of it directly but the taint carried on, borne by whispers of warning passed down from mother to daughter, from daughter to friend, from friend to enemy, until Havencrest had been made to understand that his mother’s depthless despair had deprived him of the future he might otherwise have expected, too.
“Do keep in mind, Antonia, that I have not actually agreed to be courted yet. I admit I was shocked into silence earlier, but now I find myself intrigued by the prospect.” Margaret interjected.
Antonia whirled in exasperation. “Maggie, please. If you will consider the idea for a few minutes.”
Havencrest took up his place near the mantel again like a scowling gargoyle. He examined one of the carved stone lions and pretended to growl back at it. The women spoke in whispers. Antonia relaxed upon the sofa, but Havencrest read the tension in her long neck. That silken column would be the perfect model on which to place the Heart’s Cry. He studied the curves and subtle movements of her throat while Miss Lowry spoke. Skin with the texture of silk velvet made heat flare in his midsection.
Indigestion, probably. Wasting five thousand pounds on a folly could cause that.
“All I am asking, Maggie, is that you entertain Havencrest’s courtship for a few weeks. Dance with him at parties. Dance with anyone you like, of course, but reserve two waltzes for him.”
“Why?” Lady Margaret blushed. Havencrest wondered idly what it would be like to hold Miss Lowry in his arms and lead her about the floor, now that she didn’t reek of corpse. A half-grin staged a takeover of his face at the memory, but Havencrest fought it down.
“If your brother and his countess believe you on the path to engagement, I believe you will find London far more enjoyable. Think about it. You will not need to entertain the attentions of every self-absorbed, pompous fop whom your brother thinks desperate enough to take a bride at any price.”
“Like Darby and the Cartwright woman,” Margaret added thoughtfully. “He’s a perfectly nice man, but so serious. He and Lady Briarcliff’s sister had an understanding before my brother intervened.” She shuddered delicately. “Many women would accept that as normal, but I cannot.”
“I know, my dear,” Antonia murmured comfortingly. What an actress. The stage had lost a fine performer the day Miss Lowry had taken to thievery. Perhaps Kemble could be persuaded to take her on.
“Darby was courting you for a short while last fall, was he not?” asked Malcolm. There had been whispers and rumors. He never paid them much mind, but he supposed he ought to know the details if he was going to agree to this outlandish scheme.
“Yes,” confirmed Margaret. “Until I told him I wanted nothing to do with marriage, that is.”
“Ever?” Havencrest asked.
