“You could.” It was his turn to pause as he stared into the pretty room, his mind working through strategies and consequences. “Now you’ve set up your pieces, my love, let’s leave the game’s outcome to fate.”
“Thank you,” Sidonie whispered, placing her hand on his heart, the heart that was eternally hers. “I wonder what on earth Marianne will think when she sees Elias.”
* * *
Marianne thought that a malicious fate was set on tormenting her into screaming insanity.
What in the name of heaven was Elias Thorne doing in Wiltshire? Astonished, she glared at him. She’d hoped that awkward, humiliating encounter in London meant an end to this torture. Seeing him was so unfair when she’d finally put aside all her forbidden hopes, when she’d steeled herself to reject his proposal, when she’d struggled so hard to reconcile herself to becoming Lady Desborough.
“Lord Wilmott,” she said, her voice chillier than the air in this isolated copse. Inside, she wasn’t cold at all, but furious. How dare he pursue her to the country when he must know he was the last man she wanted to meet?
A break in the weather had allowed her to escape the house. She’d been frantic for some privacy, particularly from her father. He hadn’t taken today’s news of her delay accepting Desborough well. He’d hectored her and played upon her affection until her head ached and she was tempted to give in purely for the sake of peace.
She’d wandered disconsolately through Ferney’s woods before curiosity had drawn her onto the grounds of Barstowe Hall. Now she wished she’d stayed home with her embroidery, despite the prospect of another parental lecture.
Here her other bugbear leaned against a beech tree, wearing an elegant blue coat and looking as smug as a well-fed cat. Temper had her brandishing her closed umbrella before him like a weapon. She was so heartily sick of the male of the species that she didn’t care if she looked unhinged. Even males whose sheer beauty set her wayward heart somersaulting.
Why must this scheming rogue possess that flashing masculine appeal that turned women silly? She strove to recall that this morning she’d thought Lord Desborough an attractive man. Unfortunately, his distinguished air couldn’t compete with Elias’s dark fascination.
“That’s a poor greeting for an old friend,” Elias said without shifting from the lichen-covered trunk. He was the most remarkably malleable man she’d ever known, fitting himself with feline grace against anything upright and solid. She bit back a waspish demand for him to stand up straight like a Christian.
“An old friend would know when he’s not welcome,” she snapped, breathing slowly in a futile attempt to calm her heart’s mad gallop.
A smile played with his mouth. “Old friends are always welcome.”
Her stare was sour. “Then clearly we’re not friends.”
With a theatrical gesture, he clapped one long-fingered hand to his chest. “You wound me.”
Reluctantly she lowered her umbrella. Paragons of behavior did not batter annoying gentlemen, no matter how much they might like to. “What do you want?”
His amusement receded, leaving in its place a disturbing intensity that set her belly clenching in dread. “You know what I want.”
“My inheritance,” she retorted, refusing to betray that he made her nervous. He wouldn’t hurt her, but if he touched her, she didn’t trust herself to resist. And they were a long way from Ferney. “You’re not getting it so you may as well go back to where you came from.”
“Barstowe Hall?”
Horror flooded her. When she’d first seen Elias, she’d assumed he’d ridden from London. She’d been too flustered to realize that if he had, he’d traveled all night through driving rain, yet somehow emerged perfectly dry. “Did you break in?”
His laugh held an edge. “No, my lovely goose. Sidonie invited me.”
She bristled, wishing he wouldn’t address her as if he was genuinely fond of her when they both knew he wasn’t. “Why in the world would she do that?”
“I’d hazard a guess that she thinks you and I belong together and she’s willing to take measures to achieve that end.”
Marianne was famous for her unshakable poise. Now she was angry, angry enough to growl and start pacing, digging the point of her umbrella deep into the mud with every stride.
“What unforgivable interference.” She raised her head and scowled at Elias. “I don’t know what you’ve told her—”
As her agitation grew, Elias only became calmer. Beneath her rage lurked panic. Icy, clawing panic that she could relent, that despite Elias pursuing her for her fortune alone, she might yet take him. Pride alone held her firm. She refused to spend her life eating her heart out over a man who didn’t want her. That way lay toxic bitterness.
But it was so much easier to remember that she couldn’t marry Elias when he was several counties away than when he stood before her in all his louche elegance.
“Actually I’ve told her nothing.” He went on even as Marianne sucked in a relieved breath. “She’s a perceptive woman. She’s seen that I can’t keep away from you.”
“I’d think my father’s response to your proposal would do the trick. Don’t imagine he was bluffing about cutting me off without a farthing if I marry you. He’s a stubborn man.”
“He loves you, that’s clear.”