By noon the next day, Leonora knew what it felt like to be under siege.
When Trentham—damn his arrogant hide—had finally consented to release her, she’d been left in no doubt whatsoever that they were locked in combat.
“I am not going to marry you.” She’d made the declaration with as much strength as she’d been able to muster, in the circumstances not as much as she’d have liked.
He’d looked at her, growled—actually growled—then grabbed her hand and marched off to his curricle.
On the way home, she’d preserved a frigid silence, not because various pithy phrases hadn’t been burning her tongue, but because of his tiger, perched behind them. She’d had to wait until Trentham handed her to the pavement before Number 14 to fix him with a narrow-eyed glare, and demand, “Why? Why me? Give me one sane reason why you want to marry me.”
Hazel eyes glinting, he’d looked down at her, then bent closer and murmured, “Do you remember that picture we spoke of?”
She’d quelled a sudden urge to step back. Searched his eyes briefly before asking, “What of it?”
“The prospect of seeing it every morning and every night constitutes an eminently sane reason to me.”
She’d blinked; a blush had risen to her cheeks. For an instant, she’d stared at him, her stomach clenching tight, then she’d stepped back. “You’re crazed.”
She’d spun on her heel, pushed open the front gate, and stalked up the garden path.
The invitations had started arriving with the first post that morning.
One or two she could have ignored; fifteen by lunch-time, and all from the most powerful hostesses, were simply impossible to dismiss. How he had managed it she didn’t know, but his message was clear—she could not avoid him. Either she met him on neutral ground, meaning within the social round of the ton, or…
That implied “or” was seriously worrisome.
He was not a man she could easily predict; her failure to foresee his objectives to date was what had got her into this mess in the first place.
“Or…” sounded far too dangerous, and when it came down to it, no matter what he did, as long as she adhered to the simple word “No” she would be perfectly safe, perfectly secure.
Mildred, with Gertie in tow, arrived at four o’clock.
“My dear!” Mildred sailed into the parlor like a black-and-white galleon. “Lady Holland called and insisted I bring you to her soirée this evening.” Subsiding with a silken swish onto the chaise, Mildred turned eyes filled with zeal upon her. “I had no idea Trentham had such connections.”
Leonora suppressed a growl of her own. “Nor had I.” Lady Holland, for heaven’s sake! “The man’s a fiend!”
Mildred blinked. “Fiend?”
She resumed her activity—pacing before the hearth. “He’s doing this to”—she gestured wildly—“flush me out!”
“Flush you…” Mildred looked concerned. “My dear, are you feeling quite the thing?”
Turning, she looked at Mildred, then switched her gaze to Gertie, who had paused before an armchair.
Gertie met her eyes, then nodded. “Very likely.” She lowered herself into the chair. “Ruthless. Dictatorial. Not one to let anything stand in his way.”
> “Exactly!” The relief of having found someone who understood was great.
“Still,” Gertie continued, “you do have a choice.”
“Choice?” Mildred looked from one to the other. “I do hope you’re not going to encourage her to fly in the face of this unlooked-for development?”
“As to that,” Gertie responded, entirely unmoved, “she’ll do as she pleases—she always has. But the real question here is, is she going to let him dictate to her, or is she going to make a stand?”
“Stand?” Leonora frowned. “You mean ignore all these invitations?” Even she found the thought a trifle extreme.
Gertie snorted. “Of course not! Do that, and you’ll dig your own grave. But there’s no reason to let him get away with thinking he can force you into anything. As I see it, the most telling response would be to accept the most sought-after invitations with delight, and attend with the clear aim of enjoying yourself. Go and meet him in the ballrooms and if he dares press you there, you can give him his congé with half the ton looking on.”
She thumped her cane. “Mark my words, you need to teach him he’s not omnipotent, that he won’t get his way by such machinations.” Gertie’s old eyes gleamed. “Best way to do that is to give him what he thinks he wants, then show him that it isn’t what he really wants at all.”