CHAPTER2
Jeffrey Worthington, Marquess of Berkley, casually strolled past Lady Phoebe into the drawing room, hands behind his back as he made a show of studying the military paintings lining the walls, the intricate carvings in the marble of the hearth, and the time upon the ormolu clock set upon the mantle. The gold walls were bright and cheerful, the carpet a cream that he estimated would likely require much upkeep.
Finally he turned, seeing the woman was still standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips as she tapped her foot on the floor impatiently.
“Ah yes, Lady Phoebe,” he said as though he had forgotten she was there, and he saw the cross look on her face deepen, her vivid green eyes narrow in consternation. He wished she would open them further, as they seemed particularly striking. As a whole, she was actually quite attractive, he considered, looking her up and down. Her hair, such a dark brown it was near black, was tied back in a chignon but was held loosely away from her head, with wavy, soft tendrils of hair framing her face.
He couldn’t help but notice the way her dress – which matched her eyes – skimmed curves that were … the perfect shape, he realized with a start, an image of his hands upon her hips, caressing her backside overwhelming him.
His face must have belied his thoughts, for suddenly her hands moved from her hips to cross over her body as though she were hiding something from him. So perhaps the woman was a bit shyer than she came across, he thought with a flare of interest.
She bit her lip as she stared at him, and his eyes dipped down from her surprisingly delicate nose to her rosy, plush bottom lip. Which was not a particularly smart idea, for it did nothing to remove his mind from her generous curves or the swell of her bosom.
“Are you done, Lord Berkley?” she finally asked, breaking the silence, and he smiled thinly at her. “Is there anything you would like to actually speak about, or did you simply request that I remain so that you may determine whether any of my attributes are particularly pleasing?”
He raised his eyebrows. Of course, he expected nothing less from a woman such as this one, who seemed to disregard all propriety and determine for herself what was proper and polite.
He chuckled to throw her off balance, but she ignored him as she moved to the door, placing a hand on the knob.
“If you have nothing to say, then I will be going,” she said, beginning to turn the handle.
“Actually, Lady Phoebe, there is something else,” he said, and when she turned to him expectantly, he continued. “You see, I opened the door of this drawing room some minutes ago to avail myself of its privacy, however within I found the four of you, deep in conversation. I was about to leave when I heard your words. I must tell you, Lady Phoebe, I was appalled.”
“Oh?” she asked, coming toward him now, her eyes now wide, fury lurking within them. “And what aspect of ourprivateconversation did you not approve of, Lord Berkley? For I must tell you that whatIdo not approve of is gentlemen — or ladies, for that matter — lurking around doorways, listening to matters which do not concern them.”
“On that, I must disagree,” he said, standing tall in front of her, attempting to intimidate her but wondering if anything ever could. “For when a woman begins to question the order of our society, I find that such views do concern me, as a man with responsibility to uphold our way of life. You reject the opinions of men toward women, Lady Phoebe, but you must realize that there are reasons our society is shaped as it is. You speak of women warriors, of women who have influenced the decisions of men. But what you declined to note in your tirade was that it is stillmenwho have always made decisions. It ismenwho have the ability to make change. Women have influenced men, yes, but has that been a good thing? I would argue that when emotion becomes involved, decisions are swayed in a way that removes all practicality, all rational argument. And women, Lady Phoebe, are composed of emotion, so how are they supposed to make any decision logically, the way a man does? Emotion leads only to weakness. To allow a woman such control and responsibility would be a detriment to all society — you must understand this. On that note, I implore you to keep such opinions to yourself, to not affect other young women. In fact, it was why I decided to return and seek you out. For all you will do is keep them from making the matches required of them. Women have an important role to play as well. They birth children and raise them, so of course, they are contributing to society in a very important manner. Now, you would not want to harm your closet friends with your foolish notions, would you?”
Pleased with his speech, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall, studying Phoebe to determine her reaction. As he had spoken, she had remained in one place, her expression stoic, her body frozen. Only her fists, which had tightened into balls, belied any sort of emotion. She opened her mouth once, twice, three times. Jeffrey stood, smiling, pleased that he had gotten through to her. He strode forward, nodded, and was about to walk around her and out of the room.
Until she slapped him in the face.
* * *
Well,that captured his attention.
She hadn’t meant to do it. She really hadn’t. He had just been so smug standing there, figuring he had taught her some lesson. When he tried to brush by her, she had acted before thinking.
Violence was never the answer – she knew that as well as anyone.
But she couldn’t give him the satisfaction of apologizing now.
It was his turn to stand in shocked silence as he stared at her, and finally Phoebe found her words. Her anger had been so great, her frustration so pronounced, that it had taken her a moment to register what he had said to her. It was not such a shock that he believed what he said, or that he actually thought he was correct in his assumption, but it was that he had no qualms in sharing such opinions and felt completely within his rights to say such things to her.
“You arrogant, impossible man!” she ground out, pointing a finger at him, striding forward until it was buried in his chest. “Do you honestly believe that you are so important, so far above me, that you can come in here and berate me for words that were not even said in your presence, but in a private conversation? You speak of politeness, butyousir, are at the height of rudeness! And let me ask you this. Do you truly believe that most men are incapable of emotion? Whileyou, Lord Berkley, certainly might be, I truly believe that most men feel as much love, as much emotion, as any woman. It is simply that they do not have the strength to accept it, as women do, and therefore most choose to hide it instead. I can tell you that I am capable of making decisions much better than a manbecauseI use both my heart and my head. Love is real, Lord Berkley, and so is hatred, which at the moment, I am feeling inspades.”
“You slapped me,” he said in wonderment, and she stomped her foot on the floor, frustration coursing through her, made worse by what she knew was a childish response. After all she had said to him, he didn’t hear a word of it, as he was still caught off guard. She knew, belatedly, she had made a mistake in taking such an action, but her hand had moved of its own accord before she even knew what she was doing. She didn’t exactly regret it, though she was unsure what repercussions might come of it.
“I did,” she said, her head held high. “And I am glad of it. You, Lord Berkley, epitomize everything that is wrong with our entire society. Now, if you will excuse me, I have far more important things to do with my time than explain myself to you.”
And with that, she brushed by him with a flounce of her emerald green skirts. As her shoulder knocked into his, a jolt of heat raced through her, and she was disgusted with herself that part of her found this man attractive, that she had actually appreciated his rugged handsomeness when he had first walked into the room. She simply reminded herself of his words, however, and all thoughts of him as anything other than a stubborn, frustrating, idiotic man fled.
She pushed open the door, the din of the great room echoing down the hall, breaking the silent tension that had been present between the two of them in the drawing room. She slammed the door behind her and continued down the corridor toward the noise, for once welcoming it and the people it held.
* * *
Jeffrey rubbedhis cheek where it still slightly stung, and he could imagine a hand imprinted within its folds. A sleek, slender hand, that looked as though it was fair, feminine, and altogether lovely, but in fact held a fierce temper of a different kind. What was wrong with the woman? Who did she think she was, that she couldslaphim, a marquess, for speaking the truth, one she needed to understand? He was trying to help her. For if she shared her opinion within larger society, it would only be of detriment to herself.
He shook his head as he pushed open the door she had slammed behind her, his face set in a grim line as he followed her likely path to the ballroom. He needed a drink — badly.