Marquesses at the Masquerade(40)

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Only Unto Him





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Susanna Ives





Chapter One





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Lord Exmore decided Miss Annalise Van Der Keer was beyond any hope. He, like the rest of Society, already knew her to be headstrong, ignorant, and silly. After all, he had warned his cousin Patrick away from the socially disgraced lady only days before. He and Patrick’s father agreed to send the impressionable young man packing to India, putting almost two continents between Patrick and Miss Van Der Keer. But now, as the woman in question stood in Exmore’s parlor in the late evening, having arrived with no hat, no gloves, and no chaperone, he realized that he had woefully overestimated what little sense the wild chit possessed.

“What kind of hideous, unfeeling monster are you?” she blasted him when he strolled in to meet her.

She brandished a crumpled letter in her hand. Her dark curls, wet from the rain, had escaped the mooring of her hairpins and were plastered about her cheekbones. Her enormous brown eyes were luminous with tears and hurt.

“What the devil?” He had neither the time nor desire to be hospitable to the girl, who had been plucked far too soon from the schoolroom. “Where is your uncle? Does he even know you are gone?”

Miss Van Der Keer had come to London for the Season and had stayed in the home of her uncle, Mr. Harry Sommerville. His was a well-respected family that was a hairbreadth above middling. Annalise’s aunt was as silly as the young lady, but Mr. Sommerville was a serious, ambitious man, who brooked no nonsense. Annalise must have slipped from under her keepers’ noses.

“You sent Patrick away.” Her girlish soprano voice cracked with emotion.

He crossed to the side table, where a tray holding a decanter and several tumblers waited. He poured a glass of brandy and took a sip, letting his anger simmer down before he spoke. “If you are referring to Mr. Hume, he left England of his own free will.”

Exmore did not lie to Miss Van Der Keer on this count. Patrick’s father had sent an urgent letter upon learning that his son had been caught in the snares of Miss Van Der Keer, who had made quite a name for herself in Society. The small age difference between Exmore and Patrick was such that Patrick regarded his cousin as a wiser older brother, rather than a disapproving father. Patrick had been easily swayed by his cousin’s arguments against a match with Miss Van Der Keer. Exmore, who had fallen in love and married young, had impressed upon Patrick the importance of choosing the proper wife for his station. Exmore had used his own wife’s superior characteristics as an example of an ideal wife for a gentleman: gentle, well-mannered, yielding, responsible, charming, and beautiful—all the attributes lacking in Miss Van Der Keer.

Exmore had then stroked his cousin’s ego by saying Patrick had the makings of a great man. Patrick would prove himself in India, making a name and a fortune. Upon his return to England, Patrick would secure a better wife than Miss Van Der Keer could ever make him.

Patrick had put up a weak defense of Miss Van Der Keer, claiming she was “rather pretty.” Exmore had waited for a more ardent defense of the lady in question, but when none came forth, he had explained to Patrick that a marriageable lady for his station needed more to recommend her than being merely pretty.

Now, as Exmore studied the miss in the intimate setting of his parlor, he realized that Patrick was right. She was pretty, but she didn’t possess the type of beauty that would have tempted him. Her pale, heart-shaped face, with her small, rather pointed chin, accented her overly large lips and luminous eyes. Her nose was slightly turned up at the end. Her brown hair parted in the center and fell about her cheeks and neck in thick, heavy waves. Her face hadn’t the elegance of his wife’s classical symmetry, but fit her giggling, girlish personality.

Nor did her prettiness make up for her atrocious behavior in any small measure.

“But you are a marquess and his cousin,” she retorted, her hands balled. “He had little choice but to do as you directed.”

“Mr. Hume decided on his own.”

“Impossible!” Tears dripped down her cheeks. “He loves me! He would never leave me on his own accord. We are to be married.”

Exmore’s fingers tightened on the glass he held. “Did he propose?” Patrick had said nothing of an engagement. They would have to pay a tidy sum to Miss Van Der Keer’s father to keep the matter quiet. The imprudent alliance must be avoided at all costs. Miss Van Der Keer could not be let near his family tree.

“It—it was understood,” she stammered.

Exmore released a relieved breath. Clearly, the engagement was a construct of her overactive imagination.

“We knew each other that way. We knew there could be no one else for either of us.” She raised her eyes to his. Hers were a deep brown, almost black. The candlelight reflected in them like moonlight on water. They were potent, somehow capable of transmuting her emotion into him. He could feel the wild sorrow that drove her tonight.

“I’m sorry.” He drew out a handkerchief.

“No, you’re not,” she spat, staring at the offered cloth. “This is what you wanted. You never liked me. I can tell. You are so humorless and deadly proper. You’ve never thought me good enough.”