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‘Not at all, Mr Felstone. I was simply thinking about your proposal. I was wondering whether, as a man of business, you’d be prepared to negotiate...’
Chapter Six
‘I’m always prepared to discuss terms, Miss Holt.’ Robert concealed his surprise with an effort. ‘What exactly did you have in mind?’
‘You said that you wanted a business arrangement.’ She spoke slowly, as if choosing her words with care. ‘I’d like to know what exactly that would entail.’
‘Very well, then. Perhaps we should sit down?’
He led her into the supper room, glancing back over his shoulder towards Sir Charles. He was still standing on the edge of the dance floor, watching them with a look of ill-concealed, simmering fury. Robert narrowed his gaze, vaguely disturbed by the intensity of the other man’s expression. This was more than just jealousy. This looked like something more, something darker. He was looking at Ianthe as if she were a possession he wanted back. At him, as if he wanted to shoot him.
Well, at least there were some benefits to not being considered a proper gentleman, he decided, turning his back contemptuously. Sir Charles probably assumed, quite rightly, that he was more than prepared to fight back.
‘Would you care for some punch, Miss Holt?’
She nodded, and he led her towards a small table, stalling for time as he tried to gather his scattered thoughts. Whether she needed a drink or not, he certainly did. What did he expect from a wife? To be honest, he hadn’t thought that far ahead, though now the question raised distracting possibilities. He wasn’t accustomed to being caught off guard, especially in contract negotiations, but she seemed to be full of surprises this evening.
Her appearance, for one. He’d intended the dress as a gesture, simply selecting a style and colour he’d thought would suit her. He hadn’t expected her to look quite so good in it. The shoulderless style accentuated the sleek, smooth curve of her neck, not to mention the way her breasts swelled distractingly over the top of her bodice. She’d done her hair differently, too, arranging it in a softer style than before, making her gaunt features appear less severe and yet, paradoxically, her eyes even more huge, like umber-brown orbs that seemed to glow with amber flecks in the candlelight.
His eyes had been drawn towards her the moment she’d entered the hall, though it had taken a few more seconds for him to actually recognise her. She seemed to have gone from virago to vision in just one day. At first he’d kept to the back of the room, keeping out of sight as he’d battled an unexpected surge of jealousy, trying to work out the relationship between her and Sir Charles. Judging by the Baronet’s proprietorial manner, a casual observer might reasonably have assumed they were engaged already. Certainly everyone else in the room seemed to think so. Only she seemed resistant to the idea, the tension in her face obvious even from a distance.
She’d practically dragged her brother out on to the dance floor, though whatever their argument had been about had been enough to drain the colour from her face in an instant. Not for the first time, he’d thought that what the youth needed was a good sound smack in the jaw, though seeing him abandon her so cruelly, he’d revised that opinion to a thorough beating instead. Seeing her standing alone, the object of laughter and ridicule, he’d rushed to her aid with the sole intention of offering comfort. He hadn’t been thinking about marriage, hadn’t intended to bring the subject up at all.
He certainly hadn’t expected her to do it. Was she seriously considering it, then?
He poured her a glass of punch before filling his own to the brim. After their dance, he needed to calm more than his thoughts. The way her body had softened beneath his touch, yielding to his embrace as they’d whirled breathlessly around the room, had been surprising and enticing in equal measure. He’d actually found it a wrench to let her go at the end.
He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said that she seemed like a different woman. She thought he’d been talking about the dress, though he’d actually been studying her face, trying to reconcile its carefree expression with that of the severe-looking woman he’d proposed to on the train. The features were the same and yet everything else about her seemed completely different. How could he ever have thought she looked severe? At second, or more accurately third sight, she was one of the prettiest women he’d ever laid eyes on.
‘So this business arrangement...’ She peered at him over the edge of her glass. ‘What are your terms exactly, Mr Felstone?’
‘Robert.’ He pulled out a chair opposite her. ‘If we’re discussing marriage, then I think you can start using my first name.’
‘Very well.’ She glanced around the room, as if afraid of being overheard. ‘Then you may call me Ianthe.’
‘Ianthe.’ He leaned forward, resting a forearm on the table. ‘Then to answer your question, I expect my wife to attend social functions with me, to make calls and arrange the occasional dinner party. Beyond that, you may do as you please.’
She dipped her head thoughtfully. ‘That sounds acceptable. Though I’d like to do more with my time than make calls and arrange entertainments.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. I wouldn’t stop you from doing anything else that you wanted.’
‘I like
lectures, music recitals, art exhibitions. Would you permit me to attend such events?’
‘Of course. Though I wouldn’t have thought...’ He paused mid-sentence. He’d been about to say that he wouldn’t have thought she’d be interested in such things, but the look on her face was intensely serious.
‘You thought what?’ She looked offended, as if she’d just read his mind. ‘Those things mean a great deal to me.’
‘Like dancing?’
She flushed slightly. ‘That’s different, but, yes. I couldn’t give them up, not for anyone.’
‘I wouldn’t ask you to.’
‘Some men would disapprove.’
‘Lester, for example?’
