Page 55 of Gentleman Jim

“It was the waltz, that’s all,” she said.

He snorted. “Not any waltz I’ve ever seen.”

“How could you have? You’ve never traveled outside of England. Whereas Lord St. Clare—”

“Beresford says he was born on the continent. In Italy, apparently.” Fred’s brow furrowed. “I wonder…”

Maggie didn’t like the look on his face. Not one little bit. Fred wasn’t a great thinker, and his memory was nothing to boast about, but unless she was very much mistaken, some part of him had recognized St. Clare, just as Maggie had recognized him that night in the library at Grosvenor Square.

It was the dancing. The way she and St. Clare had been looking at each other and laughing. Fred was a man who needed things spelled out for him, and tonight on the terrace, Maggie and St. Clare had unwittingly written the truth out in capital letters.

How long before Fred made the connection? He was struggling for it now. Straining his feeble wits to put the pieces together. At the moment, those pieces remained just out of his reach, but soon…

Soon he would realize that St. Clare bore a startling resemblance to Nicholas Seaton.

And then what?

Maggie regarded Fred from across the carriage. There was little she could do to protect St. Clare from Fred’s vindictiveness, save try to nip his laborious process of deduction in the bud. “You’re obsessed with him. That’s what it is.”

Fred’s nostril’s flared. “I am not.”

“You are. It’s excessively tedious. I’d sooner we changed the subject.”

“If I speak of him at all it’s only because you insist upon being in the man’s company. As your guardian—”

“You are not my guardian. Not in the way you presume. And if you won’t oblige me by changing the subject, then pray be quiet. You’re incessant harping is giving me a megrim.”

A muscle twitched in Fred’s cheek. “This isn’t a game. You’re my responsibility, like it or not. What do you suppose a man like that wants from you? I’ll tell you what—”

“Please, spare me the gruesome details of your wild imaginings.”

“He wants to bed you,” Fred blurted out. “To take his pleasure of you and leave you ruined.”

Maggie reflexively drew back in her seat. She was no sheltered child. She nevertheless felt a quiver of uneasiness at Fred’s bluntness.

Ladies hadn’t much to protect them in this world. Little else but the rules of polite behavior. It was those very rules that made gentlemen treat them respectfully—almost deferentially. Maggie had never valued such deference. Not when it was offered purely on account of her sex. But now…the absence of it left her feeling peculiarly vulnerable. As if Fred had issued an unspoken threat.

“You mustn’t speak of such things to me,” she said. “It’s not decent.”

Fred continued undeterred. “You may not care one way or the other. You’ve made no secret how little score you set by your own reputation. But know this, I won’t wed a woman who’s been playing the light-skirt, nor will I support one.”

Heat rose in her face at his crass words. Her temper rose as well. “Is that what it will take to rid you of this ridiculous desire to marry me? If only I’d known sooner.”

“I mean it, Margaret. If you’re to be my wife, you’re to come to my bed untouched or not at all. And if I find out—”

“Untouched. There’s a word. It can mean so many things.” Maggie knew she was playing with fire but couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Am I never to have embraced another gentleman? Never to have kissed him? Or is it only the marital act that you object to?”

Fred’s face reddened in the dim light. He leaned forward in his seat. “Have you kissed him?”

“You’re not a feudal lord, Fred. You’re no lord at all. You’re not even a baronet. Not yet. And if you think you can dictate to me—”

“Have you kissed him?”

She lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “I can’t recall. One kisses so many gentlemen.”

A predatory glint shone in Fred’s eyes. “You’ve never kissed me.”

Maggie didn’t register the danger until it was too late. One second Fred was sitting across from her, and the next he’d caught her by the arms and pulled her from her seat, straight into his lap. She gave a muffled yelp of surprise.