Page 33 of Masquerading with the Duke
‘I am your big sister. It was my duty to protect you.’
‘Even so.’
Ariana squeezed her hand. ‘Besides, has it not occurred to you that protecting you gave me a purpose. A reason to continue struggling on when I so often felt like giving up.’
‘Oh, Ariana!’ Martina threw her arms around her. ‘I don’t deserve you.’
‘It doesn’t do to dwell upon the past, my love,’ Ariana said, gently extracting herself from her sister’s embrace. ‘What’s done cannot be altered.’
Martina shook off her introspective mood, unsure what had brought it about. Speaking with Mr Braden about her family perhaps; a subject she had never broached with anyone else, despite the not always subtle questions she was obliged to fend off. She quelled a smile, thinking how embarrassed Mr Braden had been when she observed him, all but naked. And oh my, what a sight he had been! She felt hot and cold all over as she relived the moment, thinking with a start that she had reacted to him as instinctively as a woman was supposed to respond to the sight of a handsome man who stirred her passions. She frowned, unsure if that was a good thing or not.
Why she had placed her trust in him instead of running off and leaving him to his solitary swim she still could not have said. Being cautious of apparently well-meaning strangers had become second nature to her—a habit acquired during the course of a life that had been disrupted and often fraught with danger despite the shortness of its span. One mistake on Ariana’s part, one trusting gesture too far, and calamity had been averted through nothing more than happenstance. The situation reminded Martina of the burden of responsibility that Ariana had borne on her slim shoulders all these years. Now, finally, they were safe and she was determined that Ariana should only have to think of herself. And yet already she had let her down.
Martina had felt an immediate connection to Mr Braden, unable to understand her willingness to lower her guard around him and speak of anything more taxing that the weather. No, that wasn’t quite true. Mr Braden was a handsome, charming and impeccably-mannered gentleman. Living in Spain after the war had been almost as fraught with danger as when the French had been on the rampage. One no longer knew how to identify the enemy. Poverty had turned her countrymen into self-serving rogues who took whatever they needed from anyone who showed weakness.
It had been terrifying, having to watch one’s back every second of the day.
Martina had been too young to take an interest in the men who crossed their path, some of whom had been attracted to her despite—or perhaps because of—her youth and childlike innocence, and Ariana had spent much of her time warding them off on behalf of them both. But this was not Spain, she reminded herself, and not all gentlemen in England had ulterior motives.
Martina had begun to trust her own instincts and had found talking to Mr Braden about her family, albeit in general terms, liberating. She had bottled these things up for too long. Besides, the way he had looked at her with such focused and penetrating gravitas created peculiar sensations deep within her core. A warmth had spread through her, stimulating her senses, and it was for that reason that she hadn’t run away. Instead she had spoken to him without feeling as though she needed to remain on her guard. In retrospect she was obliged to concede that it seemed ridiculous, given that when she’d first encountered him there was little of his person left to the imagination and she ought to have felt threatened. And yet she had not. She couldn’t explain her feelings to herself since she didn’t understand them. All she knew was that it had felt like the dawning of…well, something.
‘I hope Leo was pleased with his replacement tadpoles,’ she said into the silence that Ariana had been happy to let spread between them.
Ariana laughed. ‘Oh, he was delighted, but Josh is now very unhappy because Leo’s new ones are bigger than his and further developed.’ Ariana shook her head, a smile still playing about her lips. ‘The competition is becoming very intense.’
Martina smiled too, thinking that she and Ariana had both missed out on a very great deal of innocent pleasure by being obliged to grow up so young.
‘Come along, my love, if you’re ready,’ Ariana said, standing behind Martina and smiling. They were the same height now, Martina realised, and looked similar in so many respects. Except Ariana was truly beautiful, inside and out. Martina felt dull and uninteresting in comparison. ‘We shouldn’t keep people waiting.’
‘I am perfectly ready,’ Martina said, linking her arm through Ariana’s.
The drawing room was already filled with a dozen or more people when the girls made their entrance. Lord Amos looked up from his conversation with Sara, noticed them first and smiled. Martina felt that although his smile embraced them both, it was meant exclusively for Ariana. At least she hoped so. If anyone deserved to find happiness it was her sister. But Ariana was a fiercely private person and seldom spoke of her own hopes or ambitions, even to Martina. Perhaps she didn’t have any, given all the disappointments she had suffered and the hardships she’d been obliged to endure, and now knew better than to get her hopes up, only to have them cruelly dashed. Martina thought that would be a very great pity. Lord Amos was grieving, but so in many respects Ariana was too. They could comfort one another.
The duchess saw them and smiled.
‘There you both are,’ she said. ‘There is no one here this evening whom you are not acquainted with, so no introductions are necessary. We are quite informal.’ She fanned herself. ‘It’s too hot to be anything else.’
Martina glanced around the room and observed that as well as Max and Sara, Adler was there with his wife, the duchess’s cousin, Mia. She saw Martina and waggled her fingers by way of greeting. Mr Harrison, who ran the stud for Lord Amos, was there with his wife Petra and her sister Lucy. And there was Lord Bolton with Jessica, the duchess’s niece. It felt very intimate. There was a great deal of laugher and no tension. Martina realised now that being wary and alert, suspecting everyone of ulterior motives, had become second nature. It would be a hard habit to break but one that she would happily leave behind if she ever felt truly secure.
The doors to the terrace were thrown open and most of the guests mingled outside, keen to catch the slightest breeze in the stifling early evening air. Ariana had become engaged in conversation with the duchess and Mr Harrison, so Martina wandered outside and sensed a familiar masculine presence looming behind her.
‘Mr Braden!’ Her heart beat a little faster and she felt her cheeks warm as she turned to look at him. ‘I did not know you were here.’ She astonished herself when she gave his person an impudent once-over, admiring the cut of his pristine evening clothes and the flamboyance of his brightly embroidered silk waistcoat. ‘And so formally dressed, too.’
He offered her a wry smile. ‘I suppose that was less than I deserved.’
‘Unquestionably.’
He chuckled and his eyes came alight with warmth. ‘You look enchanting,’ he said softly. ‘Yellow suits you. It enhances your complexion and compliments your green eyes.’
Martina was unaccustomed to sincere compliments and felt herself blushing. ‘You are thoughtful enough not to mention the line of freckles I have acquired due to my disinclination for bonnets.’
‘I didn’t fail to mention them because they detract from your appearance; quite the opposite. I am very attached to freckles.’
She laughed. ‘Liar!’
‘Shall we take the air, what there is to be had of it?’
He proffered his arm and Martina forced herself not to shrink away from the gentlemanly gesture. She drew a deep, calming breath, reminded herself of the reasons why she could trust him, not least of which was the fact that they were in the middle of a sophisticated group of people in a duke’s household, and placed her hand on his sleeve.
