Although I have been off the Marriage Mart a good while now, I am quickly relearning an indisputable rule of engagement with the opposite sex: When you play with fire, you are likely to be burned … and Rotham is the hottest sort of fire.
—Diary Entry of Miss Tess Blanchard
The kiss was amazingly insipid.
Disappointment surged through Tess Blanchard as Mr. Hennessy drew her more fully into his embrace. She had expected so much more when she acquiesced to his impulsive gesture.
More excitement, more pleasure, more feeling. In short, she had secretly longed to be swept away by romantic passion.
Instead she found herself logically analyzing the construction of his lovemaking. The precise pressure of his lips. The exact angle of his head. The unarousing feel of his arms around her.
There was no spark, no fire between them at all, Tess realized sorrowfully. The entire business left her remarkably cold.
Oh, Patrick Hennessy certainly seemed skilled in the art of kissing, she mused as his mouth plied hers with increased ardor. But surely a man who counted himself such an expert lover should have elicited a stronger response from her?
Not that she had much basis for comparison. This was only the second man she had ever romantically embraced in her three-and-twenty years.
It had happened purely on a whim. One moment they were laughing together over a line in the comic play Hennessy had written. The next, an arrested expression claimed his features as he gazed down at her. When he stepped closer and bent his head to capture her lips, Tess had no thought of stopping him. For too long she had let herself languish on the shelf in the game of love, refusing to open herself up to renewed heartbreak. But it was past time to reenter the lists.
Admittedly, in Mr. Hennessy she was drawn by both curiosity and the lure of the forbidden. She knew better, of course. A proper lady did not indulge in scandalous experiments with libertine actors behind the stage curtains. Hennessy was known as something of a Lothario among the London theater crowd, although in addition to being a brilliant performer, he was also a successful manager of his own troupe, a budding playwright, and the talented director of Tess’s two recent benefit concerts, which had raised vast sums for her charities.
Then again, perhaps she was not giving him a fair chance.
Closing her eyes more tightly, Tess made a stronger effort to enter into the spirit of the kiss. In response, Hennessy’s hand stole lower down her back, over her derrière, to pull her closer. Despite her own lack of enthusiasm, she had evidently affected him, judging by the swelling hardness she felt pressing against her lower abdomen—
“Well, well, are you practicing to play the part of lovers in your production, Miss Blanchard?”
At the sharp-edged drawl, a startled Tess tore her mouth away from Hennessy’s—and froze in mortification upon recognizing that sardonic male voice. Obviously she had failed to hear anyone enter the ballroom where their makeshift stage was erected.
Good Lord, what utterly dreadful timing, to have her transgression discovered by the arrogant, infuriating Duke of Rotham, elder cousin of her late betrothed. Rotham had stepped behind the stage curtains to find her locked in a clandestine embrace with the man she had hired to produce her amateur theatrical.
Scalding heat flooded Tess’s cheeks as she pulled away from her partner in crime. Hennessy had also reacted to the duke’s unexpected appearance by releasing her instantly. Yet the actor looked not only guilty but somewhat alarmed, as if he’d been caught in a hanging offense.
Squaring her shoulders, Tess turned to face Ian Sutherland, the tall, lithe Duke of Rotham. His handsome face was an enigmatic mask in the muted daylight seeping over the stage curtains from the ballroom windows, but his mouth held a tightness that signified displeasure, perhaps even anger.
He had no right to judge her, she told herself defiantly.
“You are mistaken, your grace,” Tess said, striving to keep her voice calm as she responded to his mocking tone. “There are no love
rs in Mr. Hennessy’s play. It is merely a comedy of manners about a mischievous ghost.”
“You were testing out a new role, then?”
“What may I do for you, Rotham?” Tess asked, ignoring his jibe. “We have only just concluded the dress rehearsal and still have a great deal to accomplish before this evening’s performance.”
They had constructed a stage at one end of the ballroom of her godmother’s country mansion for the theatrical—the crowning entertainment of the charitable benefit Tess had organized. Tess had engaged Hennessy and his troupe to put on the one-act play and direct the houseguests in their respective acting roles.
“I doubt your preparations entail kissing the hired help,” Rotham drawled in that annoyingly cynical tone of his.
Tess stiffened. “It is hardly any of your business whom I kiss, your grace.”
“I beg to differ.”
Renewed ire rose in Tess. She would not allow him to dictate to her, as he was regularly fond of doing. Indeed, they had had similar arguments before. The Duke of Rotham was head of the family she would have married into had her betrothed not tragically perished two years ago at the Battle of Waterloo. But they had no real blood ties, and Rotham was mistaken in thinking that he had any say over her affairs. Particularly her amorous affairs.
Shifting his attention, Rotham turned his piercing gray gaze on Mr. Hennessy, who still seemed wary and on edge. “I expected better of you, Hennessy. You were supposed to be protecting her, not assaulting her. Is this how you fulfill your duties?”
The actor shot the duke a chagrined look of apology. “I beg your forgiveness, your grace. I fell down in my duties disgracefully.” Rather sheepishly, he turned to Tess. “A thousand pardons, Miss Blanchard. I was vastly out of line.”
Tess started to respond, but Rotham interrupted her. “I’ll thank you to leave us, Hennessy. I shall deal with you later.”
Her jaw dropped at Rotham’s arrogant dismissal, but before she could voice her objection aloud, Hennessy gave her a brief bow, then pivoted with alacrity and disappeared through a part in the curtains.
She remained speechless as she listened to him bound down the stage steps and hurry away across the ballroom. It was hardly chivalrous of him to abandon her to the mercies of the duke, Tess thought resentfully. No doubt he preferred not to challenge a nobleman of Rotham’s station and far-reaching influence.
However, when she at last gathered her wits enough to protest, Rotham held up an imperious hand, forestalling her. “You should know better than to indulge in trysts with libertines such as Hennessy.”
Prickling with indignation, Tess returned a mutinous look. The nerve of him, scolding her for a sin she had not even committed. “I was not indulging in any tryst, your grace. It was just a simple kiss.”
The corner of Rotham’s mouth curled. “It did not look at all simple to me. You were participating fully.”
He sounded almost angry, although why he would be angry with her for returning the actor’s kiss, she couldn’t fathom.
“What if I was participating? It is no crime—”
Realizing how high-pitched and flustered her own voice sounded, Tess took a calming breath and forced a cool smile. “I truly cannot believe your gall, Rotham. How someone of your wicked character can deride another man for rakish behavior—or criticize me for something so innocent as a mere kiss—is the height of irony. Do you even recognize your hypocrisy?”
A hint of satirical amusement tugged at his lips. “I acknowledge your point, Miss Blanchard. But I am not the only one concerned about your relationship with Hennessy. Lady Wingate is worried that you have become overly attached to him. In fact, she sent me to find you.”
That gave Tess pause, as doubtless Rotham knew it would. Baroness Wingate was not just Tess’s godmother but chief patron for her various charities. She could not afford to offend the noblewoman whose generosity impacted so many lives for the better.
“I have not become attached to Hennessy in the least,” Tess finally replied. “He is a valued employee, nothing more.”
“Do you make a habit of kissing all your employees?” Rotham taunted. Before she could reply, he shook his head in reproach. “Lady Wingate will be severely disappointed in you. She arranged a lavish house party solely for your sake, so you could dun her guests for your assorted charities. And this is how you repay her?”
Unable to refute the charge, Tess regarded Rotham in frustration. Her godmother had long disapproved of her endeavors to promote her charitable organizations and had only recently relented and invited some four dozen wealthy guests to a weeklong house party, thereby providing Tess with a captive audience. She’d spent the past week attempting to persuade each one of them to contribute to her causes.
“Do you mean to tattle to her?” she asked Rotham.
His answer, rife with mocking humor, disturbed her. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not you intend to continue your liaison with Hennessy.”
“I tell you, I am not having a liaison with him! You have completely misconstrued the matter.”
“Who initiated the kiss?”
“What does that matter?”