C*cky Marquess by Annabelle Anders

Chapter 8

“Ithought I might find you here.”

Greys turned away from the eyepiece to record his observations to paper, not as annoyed as he usually would be to be interrupted in his observatory. “Clear night,” he answered.

“How was your evening?” Blackheart folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorframe.

Greys shifted his stare to his impertinent butler. “Troublesome, if you really must know.”

“And by troublesome, are you referring to Lady Isabella or Miss Diana Jones?” The duke sauntered inside, turned a chair backward, and sat down to face Greys with all-too-knowing eyes. At Greys’ incredulous stare, Blackheart shrugged his shoulders. “Servants are the backbone of all good gossip. Surely you haven’t forgotten that?”

But of course. Rather than belabor the point, Greys frowned at his current circumstances. “What the hell was Chaswick thinking?”

“That his sisters deserved more than his father gave them?”

“Yes. Yes. Of course. But bringing them into society doesn’t make sense. They are ladies, but they are not, in fact, genuine ladies.”

Blackheart cocked a brow.

“You know my meaning. Of course, they are ladies. But although they carry Chaswick’s blood, half their ancestors are completely unknown.”

“So, what would you suggest?” Blackheart played an excellent devil’s advocate.

“Teaching. Acting as companion or governess for a respectable family.” Greys suggested hopefully.

“Chaswick has landed the elder Miss Jones a teaching position at Miss Primm’s, and Miss Diana will attract an appropriate suitor soon enough.”

Blackheart might be right about the elder Miss Jones, but as far as her younger sister, he didn’t know what he was talking about.

Good God, she’d all but threatened to apply for the ballet. The irony was, Greys could see Diana as a dancer or performer. She possessed a charisma and distinctive grace that was rare.

Chances of her ever garnering any respectability in such a career, however, fell somewhere between slim and none. Her brother was right in wanting her to have a better life than the one she’d been raised to expect. She deserved to be taken care of. If she wished to dance privately for her husband, by chance, then that was something else altogether.

“You are attracted to her,” Blackheart observed.

“An anomaly,” Greys dismissed. But was it? Even if the attraction persisted, there was nothing he could do about it.

“You cannot set her up as your mistress,” his friend remarked, as though Greys lacked any intelligence whatsoever.

“Obviously,” Greys groused. Damned Blackheart for his uncanny ability to read minds.

Greys was going to find himself dueling one of his best friends if Chaswick ever so much as suspected he’d considered such an option.

That being said, Greys couldn’t marry her either.

Marriage was not something one used to solidify romantic inclinations, but instead a tool for strengthening one’s estate and political influence.

“And how are matters progressing with Lady Isabella?”

“Who?”

“Lord Huntly’s daughter? The woman you have determined is, in fact, worthy of becoming the next Marchioness Greystone?”

Greys shot Blackheart another scowl. “I haven’t initiated courting her yet. I intend to see to Diana first.”

“See to Diana?” If the damned duke’s eyebrows shot up any higher, they’d disappear entirely into his hair.

“I’ve agreed to help her settle into the Ton,” Greys explained.

Blackheart didn’t respond but simply stared back at him for a significant moment before finally flicking his glance to the notes Greys had been taking.

“Any luck with your equation?”

A more pleasant subject indeed.

Greys reached for the pile of notes on his desk and nodded. He had been working on a theory put forth by the brilliant German Mathematician and astronomer, Carl Friedrich Gauss, which involved working through more than one challenging equation.

“I had transposed a cosign,” Greys said.

If only such a theory existed that would explain women.

* * *

“I thoughthe was only pretending to court you,” Collette pointed out in a sing-song voice, but then frowned.

Diana had sent Bethany’s maid away for the night and told her older sister everything because, well, that was what sisters did.

“He is pretending,” Diana insisted as she stared at the looking glass while her sister wove Diana’s long hair into a perfect braid. Collette’s fingers moved so swiftly, Diana could hardly make out each separate motion. “He didn’t seem all that happy with himself after…”

“I should think not.”

“It’s not as though he planned it.” Diana wasn’t sure why she was defending him. No one was forcing him to help her capture a gentleman’s notice for something other than being one of Baron Chaswick’s bastard sisters…

For some reason, Diana was reluctant to tell Collette about how he’d placed his hand on her leg at the dinner. He’d seemed to know she needed reassurance.

Not that she couldn’t have made it through the evening without that. But… she’d been grateful for his support—for his touch.

Diana leaped off the bench the second Collette tied the ribbon off.

Too restless to even think about sleep, she twirled in a circle and then, holding the post of her bed, swung from side to side, moving to a rhythm made up in her head, raising one of her legs high into the air and then lowering it, toes pointed.

Her sister, quite used to Diana’s propensity to dance around her chamber, dropped onto a chair, brought her feet up to the edge so she could hug her knees, and watched her thoughtfully. “A first kiss is a momentous occasion. Did you like it? The kiss itself?”

Diana froze and stared at her sister from her upside-down position.

“It was… delicious.” She pulled herself up and then dropped backward again. “I thought my heart was going to burst right out of my chest.”

“It’s doubtful anyone will ever kiss me after I’ve gone into teaching.” Collette exhaled a long sigh.

“Don’t be silly. It’s not as though you’ll stop meeting gentlemen just because you’re a teacher,” Diana scoffed. “You simply won’t have to endure the Ton in order to meet them.” But what could she tell Collette about the kiss? Diana bent her knees and moved her hips as she attempted to break down all the parts of the kiss that had made up the experience.

Part of her wanted to tell Collette everything, but that moment—those spectacular seconds that Lord Greystone’s mouth explored hers—had been the most intimate seconds of her life. Certain details demanded protecting. Details such as his scent and taste, the tenderness with which his tongue had explored inside her mouth. Even more precious was the longing she’d seen just before he’d released her. It was as though he’d been fighting something inside himself.

Diana fingered her braid and recalled the strength in his hand when he’d clutched the back of her neck.

At the memory, a liquid heat pooled low in her belly—a wanting between her thighs. But Collette was watching her. Dear, sweet Collette, who didn’t think any gentleman was ever going to kiss her.

“He opened his mouth.” Diana finally said. “Our tongues touched.”

“I’ve heard of that sort of thing. It’s called a French kiss. I saw mother and father doing that once.” Collette made a disgusted face.

“That’s revolting.” Diana paused a moment to blink away the image her sister’s words summoned. She refused to compare her first kiss with anything her mother and father had done.

“Lord Greystone is very handsome.” Collette, thank heavens, changed the subject. “But I thought you preferred Captain Edgeworth.”

“I do prefer Captain Edgeworth!” Diana protested instinctively. She must prefer Captain Edgeworth because Lord Greystone was a marquess who would never consider her seriously. “And Lord Greystone told me nothing between us was real.” But it had been.

Hadn’t it?

“Is it possible that kissing you is part of this scheme to make Captain Edgeworth jealous? Is it possible that Captain Edgeworth would guess what happened after he’d left you alone with the marquess?” Collette asked the question that had been teasing Diana ever since.

“I don’t know. But a kiss cannot be fake just because he says it is. A kiss is real.” Especially with the way she had felt his touch, taste, texture, and his secret desire with every fiber of her being.

“Do you want it to be real?”

“No!” But her denial was instinctual, the response she would have given her sister before—when she had considered the Marquess of Greystone as nothing more than their brother’s lofty friend. “I don’t even know his given name. I doubt I ever will. He’s so much older than me, and… he’s a marquess.” She bit her lip. She would never allow herself to fall for a titled man that way. To do so was unthinkable.

Even if he was also handsome and charming and honorable. Was this how their mother had felt when she’d first met their father? Diana winced at the thought.

“Dee…” Of course, her sister was able to read her mind. “He is a marquess.” Collette’s voice was filled with all the caution and warning older siblings managed to convey so easily.

“I know, but…”

She did remember the moment, though—the exact moment she’d first viewed him differently. It was in his ballroom, just after she’d danced for Lady Posey. She had caught him watching her with a gleam of interest, a unique appreciation in his eyes. And he had not shown any reluctance at having to partner her that afternoon in his ballroom.

Dancing with him had been like a dream. Not only because the steps came effortlessly to him, but because he moved as though he, too, could feel the music.

“We cannot all have eyes that match the exact color of the sea on a summer day,” he had told her.

Diana had spoken to him with no respect for propriety. She had teased him for his lace and fine colors. Because by refusing to be serious, she’d been able to ignore the alarming sensations she’d felt when he placed his arm on her back and grasped her hand in his—even if he’d only done so because the dance required it.

His extravagant clothing, she’d realized, ironically magnified his masculinity.

“We cannot all have eyes that match the exact color of the sea on a summer day.”

He’d complimented her almost reluctantly, as though he couldn’t help himself. Diana would wager everything she owned that that afternoon—that dance, in fact—he too had seen her in a different light. Not that he’d wanted to, but…

He’d become aware of her as a woman.

The thought was a tantalizing one, even though she knew their attraction was hopeless.

“You are ridiculous sometimes.” Collette rose from her chair and moved toward the door. “Just don’t do anything foolish.”

“I won’t,” Diana answered even as her conscience niggled at her.

Because one thing was for sure, and she would not lie to herself. If Lord Greystone kissed her again, she wasn’t about to stop him.