‘Oh, why not? Life is meant to be enjoyed.’ She nodded to the butler and waited until he had come back with the wine. Argyle poured them each a glass. Then she said, ‘So tell me, Argyle, what brings you here today?’
‘I seek your advice. I’m thinking of becoming a tenant-for-life.’
She turned her faded but sharp eyes upon him. ‘Oh? In love, are you? And who is the object of your affections?’
‘I don’t know about love. She is one of the most annoying persons I have ever met. I just know I have to have her.’
‘That is indeed interesting. Who is she?’
‘The daughter of Lord Lennox.’ He took a sip of his wine.
Lady Montgomery nodded. ‘Oh yes. A sound man. He married a Frenchwoman—pretty little thing, as I remember.’
‘Yes, Lady Marguerite is half French.’
‘Is she intelligent?’
Argyle rose and took a few steps about the room, staring at the dark and forbidding portraits of ancestors on the walls. ‘I notice you do not ask if she is pretty. She is beautiful, in my eyes, even if not a classic beauty. As for intelligent, yes, I imagine so. And she is kind. But headstrong, stubborn, opinionated, and rude.’
‘As you can be, my dear. Also, very arrogant. It sounds as though she could keep your interest for more than two minutes. I like the sound of it. But will she have you?’
He shrugged. ‘Why wouldn’t she? I am full of juice, and a duke to boot. Prime marriage material, wouldn’t you say? Her parents should be all for it.’ He sat down again.
Lady Montgomery sipped her wine, another large diamond flashing on her thin hand. She looked at him with a small, sardonic light at the back of her eyes. ‘Well, that remains to be seen,’ she said. ‘But by all means try your luck, it is perhaps time you thought about acquiring an heir. And if you succeed, bring her to see me.’
‘I will.’ Argyle leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs before him. He smiled a secret little half-smile, as if he had made up his mind about something.
His aunt noticed it and said, ‘Something tells me she might lead you a pretty dance.’
Chapter 5
Argyle had left his aunt’s house determined to call upon Marguerite’s parents at the earliest opportunity, certain of his positive reception. A week later, leaving the Lennox house after having had his suit rejected, he went straight home and sat in his library, trying to pretend for a moment that he was not reeling from Marguerite’s refusal.
First, he felt a stab of anger—the little baggage, how could she have refused the best offer she would ever get? She had not even taken a minute to consider, she had dismissed him without a second thought. He tried to devise a method of revenge which would make her realise what she had missed, while at the same time putting her in his power and in his bed. He gave a savage laugh as he admitted to himself that he hated her for not doing what he despised other girls for doing: setting their caps at the one of best catches in the matrimonial stakes.
Then he realised he did not hate her—in fact he was close to falling in love with her. He was insanely attracted to her by now, that was certain—but was it lust, or perhaps the lure of the unattainable? All he knew was he must have her, but still underhis own terms. He would make her fall in love with him, and then he would decide what to do—once he had gained control.
Against his better judgment, he devoted himself in earnest to the conquest of Marguerite. He accepted invitations to which he would not have deigned even to reply in the past, and attended, hoping to see her; if she was not there, he left early—and if she was, he found opportunities to talk to her without appearing too interested. He refused to appear too interested—so he did not send her flowers or pay her any compliments. He arranged to cross her path as if by mere coincidence.
* * *
The first time he met her after she had rejected his offer, he asked her to dance. When she refused, saying she was feeling hot, he said, ‘Then let me get you a glass of lemonade, and sit with you. The fact that we are not getting married, does not mean we cannot talk together, don’t you think?’
She smiled, her rosy lips parting over white teeth, and said, ‘You are right. And thank you, yes, I would love some lemonade—I meant it that I am hot, I was not trying to avoid you.’ She sat down on a sofa by the wall.
He brought the lemonade, and sat next to her. ‘It would be a pity for us to be awkward with each other, since we are bound to meet in society.’
She fanned her face and took a sip of the lemonade. ‘That is true. But I do not feel awkward. One is not obliged to accept every offer that is made,n’es ce pas?’
Argyle noticed a strand of blonde hair clinging to her hot cheek in front of a small, pretty ear, and stopped himself from pushing it back. He said, stiffly, ‘Of course, although obviously I had hoped mine would have been agreeable.’
‘I daresay it would have been to most girls. But I am not most girls.’
‘I can see that,’ he said, smiling slightly. ‘May I ask, if it is not impertinent, do you have someone else in mind with a view to matrimony?’
‘Well, I might have, but I do not think this is any of your concern, Your Grace.’ She seemed to realise she had been abrupt, because she said, kindly, ‘I hope you do not feel too disappointed. I do not like hurting people.’
His Grace almost got up to leave. The minx, who did she think she was? Any other woman would have jumped at his offer. He would show her. But for now, he drew himself up and said, his voice cold, ‘Of course I am somewhat disappointed—I did not make a proposal of marriage without putting considerable thought into it. But I daresay I can find a replacement easily.’ He hoped this was just insulting enough.
