“I’m sure you’re much nicer to cuddle up with at night than cold old pound notes.”
She narrowed her eyes at him as they followed Hillbrook and Genevieve into the dining room. “You’ll never know.”
To her surprise, he laughed. “At least you’re going down fighting, my darling.”
She didn’t bother complaining about the empty endearment. What were a few darlings when he could lie about loving her? It would take more than soft words to convince her that he didn’t play her for a fool.
She could feel her father’s eyes boring into her back with enough disapproval to leave two smoking holes. What could she do when her hostess had so successfully cornered her? She and Sidonie needed to have a talk. It was pointless and needlessly cruel promoting Elias’s suit. And she must speak to Elias alone and make him understand that when her father threatened disinheritance if she married against his wishes, he was deadly serious. Marianne was well aware that losing her fortune meant losing Elias’s interest.
She told herself she’d much rather live in the real world than in a romantic fantasy. But the real world meant Desborough and romantic fantasy meant Elias Thorne with his wry smile and ability to make her laugh. Right now that seemed a dire choice indeed, even if she wanted to strangle Elias for following her to Wiltshire.
Sidonie had placed Marianne between Elias and the least voluble of Lord Hillbrook’s colleagues. Mr. Bullstrode addressed himself to the food and wine with an attention that discouraged Marianne’s most determined efforts at conversation.
In the end, she gave up and turned to the man on her other side. She’d learned early how to scotch unwelcome advances. Surely this was no different from those other occasions when she’d squashed a brash gentleman’s presumptions.
Fastening on a dismissive smile, she made her tone as frigid as the rain tumbling down outside. “So you’re thinking of moving to Wiltshire, my lord? I’m sure the Hillbrooks will be glad to have you as a neighbor.”
His eyes glittered with amusement. “Sidonie’s story was complete balderdash and you know it.”
She choked on her wine and unsteadily put the glass down. “Lord Wilmott—”
He snickered. “You should know by now the grande dame act doesn’t work with me.”
“It’s not an act,” she asserted in an undertone.
“It will turn into stifling fact if you marry Desborough.”
“Stop it.” She scrunched her napkin into a ball in her lap. The horrible truth was that she worried he was right. “We’re in public.”
“Does that mean you’ll meet me in private to discuss this?”
“No, it does not.” She stared
down at her congealing lamb. She hadn’t had much appetite to begin with. Now even one bite would choke her. “I know you treat this futile pursuit as a great joke, but it’s mean.”
She chanced a glance at him. The dark eyes were watchful. She hoped to heaven he didn’t see past her disapproving façade to the troubled emotions churning inside her. She was so cursed weary of this continual push and pull when she was with Elias. She wanted him. She mistrusted him. She should run. His nearness made her itch to touch him.
“My pursuit of you is anything but a joke,” he said gently.
“Whatever it is, it’s unwelcome.” She caught her father’s hostile glower from further down the table. What joy. Another lecture was in store.
“I won’t back down,” Elias said stubbornly. “The marriage of a lovely, vital woman to a desiccated prune like Desborough is a travesty.”
“It’s none of your business,” she whispered desperately, her shaking hand closing hard around the stem of her crystal glass.
“And Tranter would bore you silly in five minutes.”
Although Elias’s voice was quiet, Tranter’s head jerked around. Marianne felt a frisson of alarm at the hatred in his eyes as he stared at Elias. It was the strongest emotion she’d ever seen him display. Usually he was so keen to appear the perfect gentleman that he had the depth of a puddle. Observing him now, she wondered if there were darker forces at work inside society’s favorite. Her attention fell on Desborough who chatted to Genevieve with a calmness that took no note of his chosen bride’s proximity to a handsome man of doubtful reputation.
Of course Desborough’s suit had her father’s approval and Marianne Seaton was famous as a dutiful daughter. Even during last year’s scandal, everybody had described her behavior as impeccable. Although she’d heard spiteful mutterings about Cam getting frostbite from his wooing and preferring a warmer bed than the Seaton chit’s.
“He’s panting to kill me right now,” Elias said with some satisfaction.
Marianne regarded her persecutor with resentment. “He’s not alone.”
To her chagrin, Elias laughed. “It’s nice to see you’re not entirely a saint.”
“You’d try the patience of the greatest saint.”