“That’s ridiculous, he has a title to pass on,” Lucy argued.“Some poor woman is going to have to bear his children one day.”
“Well, it won’t be me,” Gemma replied firmly, taking Lucy’s elbow and gently steering her in their mother’s direction.
“Not to interrupt you ladies in your disposition of my assets,” Thorne drawled, “but I am curious to know about Lady Gemma’s impending nuptials.If I’m not to be the lucky groom, then who is?”
A pause ensued while Thorne stared at something over Gemma’s shoulder.His black demon eyes flicked back to her as he suggested gently, “Perhaps you have an understanding with that ruffian glowering at us from behind the bar?”
Gemma controlled her startled breath but could not control the flood of color to her face.Thorne observed her with evident interest before turning his attention back to Lucy.“And who will you wed, mouse?I am at your service, of course.”
“I will never wed,” Lucy shot back instantly, resisting Gemma’s subtle nudges.“I intend to become a journalist and make my own way in the world.I have already had a story accepted by theLondon Observator.But if I did marry someone, I’d choose better than you!”
“Nonsense.No one is better than me.”
“You areawful.”
“And you’re intriguing.”
Gemma bit her lip, trying to see Lucy through Thorne’s eyes.She was young, yes—a girl on the cusp of flowering into her full womanhood.Her features were elfin and arresting, her figure fashionably slim and tall in a way that still alternated between the grace that would come with age and the gawkiness of adolescence.But most of all, it was the spirit that shone from her that set her apart from the common run of young ladies.
If most young ladies looked as though lit from within by a single candle, Lucy appeared to have been stuffed full of firecrackers, Catherine’s wheels, and Roman candles, ready to be set off by the least little spark.
So of course Thorne had noticed her.But far worse than that; Lucy had defied him.This was the exact outcome Gemma had hoped to avoid.
For the most part, everyone in Thorne’s life told him exactly what he wished to hear.It was a combination of his supreme social standing, his extensive fortune and holdings, and his own charisma.
Consequently, he was greatly interested in people who managed to resist falling under his spell, in the manner of a naturalist encountering a never-before-seen specimen to study.
Gemma, herself, had always enjoyed a special place in Thorne’s circle of friends as one of very few women who had never fallen in love with him.She exercised the privilege of that special friendship now by giving Thorne a thoroughly quelling glare and telling him, “No.”
It was important to speak firmly, to not show the slightest hint of underbelly, or he would take immediate advantage.
“No?”he repeated, with some surprise.The word sounded as though it tasted bad in his mouth.Or at least unfamiliar.“Gem, moving to the country has turned you into a spoilsport.I won’t have it.”
“It’s not the country, the country is fine.Lucy is my sister, Thorne, she is off limits.”
“Lucy,” he said, rolling the name around his tongue in a way that suggested this one had a savor he approved of.
Gemma threw up her hands and looked to her sister.“Can you please?Take Mama and go upstairs?I’m begging you.”
“All right!I said I would, didn’t I?”With a flounce that looked more like a child stomping her foot than a young lady in a fit of pique, Lucy rounded the table to offer her arm to Henrietta, whose head had begun to list slightly to one side as whatever energy had propelled her down the stairs gave out.
Gemma and Thorne watched them go in silence.Beside him, his sister, Lady Rosalie and her friend had their perfectly coiffed heads together in intimate conference; Gemma could only assume they were chewing over whatever tripe Henrietta had been feeding them about Grand Romantic Gestures.
Lucy guided Henrietta up the stairs and never looked back once, not a single glance back at the table where Thorne sat staring after her, and Gemma had to shake her head in rueful admiration of the utter cheek of the girl.
Having done her level best to insult the Duke of Thornecliff without success, there was literally no more devastating a parting blow Lucy could land than to utterly ignore him as she left.
His face was unreadable when he finally glanced back at Gemma, but there was a cruel set to the shape of his lips that sent a chill through her.She recalled suddenly that defying Thorne was permissible—but it had a price.
“You’ve deprived me of my entertainment for the evening,” he said silkily, taking a slow sip of whiskey.“I certainly hope you have a plan to replace that entertainment, or we shall be forced to tell the world back in London to avoid this boring, dirty little backwater inn at all costs.”
The coyly delivered threat made Gemma’s heart pound a bit faster.Of course Thorne had worked out her plan here, and with his usual perception as an expert manipulator himself, he’d seen at once the role Gemma had in mind for him to play—that of walking advertisement to the rest of the Ton, encouraging any fashionable people on their way to Bath to stop off for refreshment at Five Mile House.
All her senses sharpened.She needed to be on her guard, or Thorne would have her dancing on the bar in nothing but her chemise to secure his cooperation.
Thinking of the bar made her think of Hal, standing there and watching this little farce unfold.She could only imagine what he thought of these people, her friends…her.
She didn’t need to look in his direction to know his eyes were on her.She could feel the heat and pressure of his stare like a touch, branding the skin of her back and shoulders.
