A Lady Never Surrenders Part 7

"Thank heaven for that. Still, aren't you worried it will go off by itself?"

"No. It has two protections to keep it from firing accidentally. I made sure of that when I purchased it." She hefted the pistol. "I've been told that ladies of the evening use this sort of gun to frighten customers who try to hurt them."

"Told by whom?"

"My gunsmith, of course."

"How on earth did you find a gunsmith?"

Celia shrugged. "Gabe introduced me to his."

Virginia rolled her eyes. "You and my husband are mad, I swear."

"I suppose we are." With a faint smile, she stroked the pearl handle. "I learned how to shoot from him."

After Celia had been forced to crown Ned with a brick to get him off her in the garden shed that awful day, she'd gone right to Gabe and asked him to teach her. Thank heaven, he'd taken her seriously. Because from then on she'd felt safe in the knowledge that no man could ever get her at a disadvantage again.

Virginia peered uncertainly at the pistol. "Only powder in it, right?"

"Enough to make a very loud bang. But I daresay it would quite frighten a fellow if fired."

"I daresay." Virginia began to grin.

"What?" Celia asked.

"Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea for you to go for a moonlight walk with Pierce. He could use a little shaking up."

Celia laughed. Then they both started laughing.

By the time they left the retiring room, she was almost hoping that Lord Devonmont would indeed take her out somewhere and try to ravish her. Though she'd already fired her pistol in a controlled situation, she'd been wanting to test it under more typical conditions.

But it wasn't Lord Devonmont whom she practically ran into as she and Virginia entered the ballroom. It was the Duke of Lyons.

"Well, if it isn't Lady Celia," he said with his usual dukely reserve. "And Lady Gabriel, too. What a pleasure."

Both women dropped into curtsies.

"Come now, let's not stand on ceremony. I've known you both since you were in leading strings."

"True," Celia remarked. Gabe and Virginia's late brother Roger had been close friends to the duke when he was still a marquess. "And you and I have also been in shooting matches together a time or two."

His manner cooled a fraction. "We have indeed."

Oh, dear, since she always beat him, she probably shouldn't have mentioned that. No man liked to be reminded of such failures.

He glanced about the great hall, which was devoid of music at the moment. "Have I arrived too late for the dancing?"

"I believe the ladies taking turns at the pianoforte are pausing to indulge in some refreshment," Celia said. "I'm sure they'll start again soon."

"I should apologize for my lateness," he said smoothly. "I had a bit of trouble with my curricle. It lost a wheel."

"How awful!" Virginia exclaimed. "It's such a fine curricle, too."

"I think so."

They fell silent. Celia was wondering how to move the conversation along when Virginia said, "Since there's no dancing just now, Your Grace, you ought to tour the orangery. We decorated it for his lordship's birthday tomorrow. I'm sure Lady Celia would be willing to show it to you."

A strange look crossed his face before he smiled and offered Celia his arm. "I'd be delighted to see it."

He sounded as if he meant that. As Celia took his arm, she caught him casting her a rather calculated glance. What was that about? She didn't really know him all that well. He'd been abroad off and on throughout her come-out.

As they skirted the room, he said, "You look different tonight, Lady Celia."

How was she to respond? Make some coy remark? She opted for directness. "In what way?"

"More like a lady than usual. Most of the time when I see you, you're dressed in smocks for shooting."

"Oh. That's probably true."

They walked a moment in silence. Then he said, "Perhaps we should lay our cards on the table." His glittering green gaze met hers. "You need a husband to gain your inheritance. I need a wife to bear my heir. There's no reason we couldn't come to some agreement on the matter."

She gaped at him. The duke was making it easy for her, and with practically no effort on her part.

So where was the exultation she'd expected? Where was the triumph that she'd beaten Gran at her game?

"You are very direct, Your Grace," she said, scrambling to find her purchase in this odd conversation.

"I gather that your situation requires haste."

"Yes, but ... well ... this is hasty even for me. What did you do? Wake up this morning and decide to acquire a wife?"

A thin smile cracked his reserve. "Not quite. I've given the matter some thought for the past few months, ever since Gabe suggested it."

"My brother suggested that you marry me?" she said irritably. Gabe truly doubted she could gain a husband on her own, didn't he?

"He planted the seed." They walked out the ballroom door and headed across the courtyard toward the orangery. "May I be frank?"

"You seem to be going that direction already," she muttered. "I don't think you need my permission to continue."

He chuckled. It was a surprisingly warm sound for a man she'd always thought rather cold. "As I'm sure you know, my father had a ... problem."

"You mean, his madness?" As long as they were being frank...

"Yes," he said after a moment's hesitation. "Any woman who takes me on risks watching me go mad and perhaps pa.s.sing it on to her children. So marriage to me might not be an advantage. I've known that for some time. It's why I haven't made any offers before. I am willing to risk marrying, for obvious reasons, but many women may not wish to take the same risk. I thought that perhaps in your case-"

"Given my limited choices and the urgency of my situation," she said cynically, "I might be willing to risk it, too."

"Exactly."

She struggled not to show her hurt feelings. She wasn't sure which was worse, having a man desire her only because it was "a kind of challenge" or having a man want her only for the convenience of it. Was she really so very unmarriageable?

Tears stung her eyes as they entered the orangery. The Buzaglo stove that had been newly installed kept it surprisingly warm for winter, and the gas lanterns cast a soft light over the tile walkway.

Ten potted orange trees were ranged in a line along the windows. On the opposite wall was a row of benches so people could sit and enjoy the scent and sight of orange trees in bloom or in full fruit. But even the bright ribbons jauntily festooning the pots couldn't cheer her.

Because something else had occurred to her. How could she let Lyons make an offer if she meant to refuse him? He would think she was refusing because of the madness in his family. And if word got around that he'd offered and been rejected, it would worsen his situation. She couldn't do that to him.

But her only other choice was to marry him. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, either. It was hard to imagine spending her life with such a lofty personage. "So this would be strictly a marriage of convenience."

"Not exactly. I would hope we could have a normal, amiable marriage."

Amiable. Like friends.

He stopped to search her face. "I shall give you time to think about it, my dear. I know I've sprung this on you rather precipitously. But may I a.s.sume that you are at least interested in my proposition?"

She might be. If ... "Tell me something, Your Grace. Do you find me at all ... appealing as a woman?"

He appeared startled. "Forgive me. I suppose my offer sounds rather cold-blooded."

"A bit, yes."

That brought a glint to his eye. "Then perhaps this will set your mind at ease." He reached up to catch her by the chin, then lowered his mouth to hers.

She held her breath. A kiss would certainly soothe her misgivings.

But as his lips touched hers, soft, coaxing ... cool, she felt a stab of disappointment. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with his kiss. It was just too ...

Careful. Reserved. As if he were testing the waters. She didn't want a man to test the waters with her. She wanted him to seize her in an impa.s.sioned embrace and show her in no uncertain terms that he found her desirable. That he wanted- "I suggest you release the lady, sir," growled a familiar voice, jerking her up short. "Or you won't like the consequences."

THE SIGHT OF the duke taking liberties had made something boil up inside Jackson that he couldn't suppress. He'd uncharacteristically acted on impulse, and already regretted it.

Because the duke now pulled back with the languid motion of all such men of high rank to fix him with a contemptuous stare. "I don't believe we've met, sir."

Jackson fought to rein in the wild emotions careening through him. Lady Celia was glaring at him, and the duke was clearly irritated. But now that Jackson had stuck his nose in this, he would see it out.

"I'm Jackson Pinter of the Bow Street Office. This lady's brother has hired me to ... to..." If he said he'd been hired to investigate suitors, Lady Celia would probably murder him on the spot.

"Mr. Pinter is investigating our parents' deaths," she explained in a silky voice that didn't fool Jackson. She was furious. "And apparently he thinks that such a position allows him the right to interfere in more personal matters."

When Jackson met her hot gaze, he couldn't resist baiting her. "Your brother also hired me to protect you from fortune hunters. I'm doing my job."

Outrage filled the duke's face. "Do you know who I am?"

An eminently eligible suitor for her ladyship, d.a.m.n your eyes. "A man kissing a young, innocent lady without the knowledge or permission of her family."

Lady Celia looked fit to be tied. "Mr. Pinter, this is His Grace, the Duke of Lyons. He is no fortune hunter. And this is none of your concern. I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself."

Jackson stared her down. "As I said the other day, madam, there isn't enough money in all the world for that."

The duke cast him a considering glance. "So what do you plan to do about what you saw, sir?"

Jackson tore his gaze from Lady Celia. "That depends upon you, Your Grace. if you both return to the ballroom right now, I don't plan to do anything."

Was that relief or chagrin he saw on the duke's face? It was hard to tell in this bad light.

"As long as you behave yourself with propriety around Lady Celia in the future," Jackson went on, "I see no reason for any of this to pa.s.s beyond this room."

"That's good of you." The duke offered Lady Celia his arm. "Shall we, my lady?"

"You go on," she said coolly. "I need to speak to Mr. Pinter alone."

Glancing from her to Jackson, the duke nodded. "I'll expect a dance from you later, my dear," he said with a smile that rubbed Jackson raw.

"Of course." Her gaze locked with Jackson's. "I'd be delighted."

The minute the duke was gone, however, any "delight" she was feeling apparently vanished. "How dare you interfere! You should be upstairs searching my suitors' rooms or speaking to their servants or something useful instead of-"

"Do you realize what could have happened if I hadn't come along?" he snapped. "This room is private and secluded, with a nice hot stove keeping it cozy. All he would have had to do was lay you down on one of those d.a.m.ned benches that are everywhere and-"

He caught himself. But not quickly enough.

"And what?" she prodded. "I would have let him ravish me like the wanton I am?"

Confound it all. "I wasn't saying that."

"That's what it sounded like. Apparently you have some notion that I have no restraint, no ability to resist the attentions of a man I've known since childhood."

"You have no idea what a man can do to a woman!" Jackson shouted.

She paled. "It was just a kiss."

He strode up to her, driven by a madness he couldn't control. "That's how it begins. A man like him coaxes you into a kiss, then a caress, then..."

"I would never let it go beyond a kiss," she said in outrage. "What sort of woman do you think I am?"

He backed her toward the wall. "The sort who is too trusting to realize what some men are really after. You can't control every situation, my lady. Some men take what they want, and there isn't a d.a.m.ned thing you can do about it."

"I know more about the true nature of men than you think." She stopped short as she came up against the wall. "I can take care of myself."

"Can you?" He thrust his hands against the wall on either side of her, trapping her.

He thought of his mother and the heartbreak she'd endured because some n.o.bleman had taken a fancy to her. A roiling sickness swamped him at the idea of Lady Celia ever suffering such a thing because she was too reckless and nave to recognize that she was not invincible.

Bending in close, he lowered his voice. "You really believe you can stop any man who wants to hurt you, no matter how strong and determined he is?"

Challenge shone in her eyes. "Absolutely."

It was time someone made her realize her vulnerability. "Prove it," he growled. Then he brought his mouth down on hers.