Page 20 of More or Less a Marchioness
Helpless anger spread through Finn’s chest. He hadn’t meant to imply anything of the sort, any more than he’d meant to cut her so deeply with his cold rejection yesterday. He should beg her pardon, and try and tell her he regretted his harsh words to her, but he wasn’t accustomed to explaining himself or accounting for his behavior in any way, and he wasn’t even sure where to begin.
No one ever questioned him. He was a bloody marquess, for God’s sake, and had been since he was eight years old. He issued orders, and people followed them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been refused anything, and he didn’t think anyone but Lord Derrick had ever dared speak to him the way Miss Somerset had just done.
Not one lady in a hundred would jilt him—not for any reason—and he never would have dreamed she’d be the one who would, but here she sat with every hair in place, as if she made it a habit to jilt marquesses over afternoon tea.
“Let me see if I understand you, Miss Somerset. You’re jilting me over a kiss?”
She sighed. “I’m jilting you, Lord Huntington, because we don’t suit.”
He sat for a long moment, staring at her, trying to trace everything he’d never known or suspected about her in the lines of her face, because all at once he had the oddest sensation he was looking at her for the first time.
No, not looking at her.Seeingher.
She hesitated, and when she spoke again, her voice had softened. “I never intended to… I’m truly sorry to disappoint you, my lord.”
Washe disappointed? He wasn’t pleased, certainly. He was angry, yes, and even now he was fighting off a surge of wounded pride, but disappointed, at losing her? Damn it, he hardly knew, but there was something, weaved in among the other dark threads tangled in his chest.
Something he hadn’t expected, and didn’t welcome.
Awareness.
He wasn’t enamored of Miss Somerset. He’d chosen her because she’d make an admirable marchioness, and once he’d made that determination, he hadn’t spared her much thought. It wasn’t gallant of him, perhaps, but then marriage was a practical matter, not a romantic one.
But now she’d jilted him, she’d forced herself on his notice.
One didn’t jilt the Marquess of Huntington on a whim. Her future marriage prospects, her sisters’ prospects—they were all in question now, and that was to say nothing of her grandmother’s disappointed hopes. All of London would think her capricious to indulge in a courtship and then decline to follow through with the marriage. There was no question her reputation would suffer for it.
It took courage to jilt him, especially for the reasons she’d given.
While he’d been congratulating himself for choosing a bride who’d never give him a moment’s worry, Miss Somerset had been hiding a core of steel behind that agreeable smile.
A strange sensation swept over Finn as he studied her. He felt as if he’d read a page in a book, then realized only after he’d slammed it shut he hadn’t understood a word of it.
Such a lovely face she had, with those long, feathery lashes and her soft, pale pink lips. Such a delicate beauty, the perfect English rose, but now he looked at her—reallylooked at her—he could see a hint of stubbornness in the curve of her lower lip, and determination in the line of her jaw that matched the hint of willfulness in her eyes.
He rose to his feet. “I regret it came to this, Miss Somerset. I beg your pardon if I’ve caused you any pain.”
She rose as well, and surprised him by taking his hands. “As do I, Lord Huntington.”
He opened his mouth to say something more, but then closed it again, because there was nothing more to say. He bowed, and left Lady Chase’s drawing room without looking back.
But as Finn alighted on the street in front of the house, he felt as if he’d lost something— as if he’d turned out his pockets to find them empty of the treasure he’d hidden there—a treasure he wanted with an inexplicable yearning only now, after he’d lost it.
Chapter Five
A week later, in early August
“You’re wasting your time, Huntington. Miss Somerset isn’t here. She hasn’t set foot on the promenade for the past week.”
Finn had been scrutinizing the scattered groups of fashionably-dressed ladies prancing down Rotten Row, but at Lord Derrick’s amused tone, he jerked his gaze straight ahead again. Damn it, how many fair-haired ladies in blue riding habits were there in London? There seemed to be dozens of them on the promenade this afternoon, yet not a single one of them washer.
He slid his watch from his waistcoat pocket, a rough sigh in his throat as he flipped open the lid and noted the time. Seven o’clock. He’d been here for three hours. There’d been no sign of her, and the crowd grew thinner by the moment as thetonabandoned the promenade to dress for their evening entertainments.
She wasn’t coming.
Lord Derrick gave his reins an impatient flick. “For God’s sake, this has been going on for days. If you want to see Miss Somerset, then why not just call on her? There’s no use in skulking around the promenade, glowering at every lady who bears the faintest resemblance to her. Look at poor Miss Blanton, scampering off down the Row. You’ve frightened her to death with that terrifying glower of yours.”
Finn grunted. If Miss Blanton didn’t wish to be glowered at, she shouldn’t have worn a blue riding habit. “Ihavecalled on Miss Somerset, any number of times. She refuses to see me.”
