Page 2 of Marry in Scarlet
She glared at him.
His lip curled and he continued with silken insolence, “We are not at Tattersalls, Lady Salter. There is no need to act the coper and enumerate your niece’s various qualities. I am not interested in furthering either her ambitions or yours.”
She bristled. Likening her to a horse coper indeed! “You forget yourself, young man—duke or not. Your mother would be appalled.” His mother was her goddaughter, as well as a friend.
He glanced pointedly at the clock.
His indifference was infuriating, as was his assumption that she was ambitious for her niece. She was, of course—Georgiana had no sense at all of where her duty lay—but the duke could not know that. He and Georgiana had barely even met. She doubted they’d exchanged a dozen words. It was yet another situation where an aunt was needed to step in and take control.
“Your mother and I—”
“—will, in future, kindly keep your noses out of my business. I’ve had enough of your interference.” In two paces he crossed the room and yanked on the bellpull. “Good day to you, madam.”
Interference?Madam?She almost choked on her indignation. Such ingratitude toward one who’d worked tirelessly—selflessly!—to arrange a suitable marriage for him.
The butler appeared in the doorway. The duke said, “Lady Salter is leaving, Fleming.”
Lady Salter rose and with great dignity stalked toward the door. As she reached it her temper got the better of her. She turned and in an icy voice said, “I was mistaken in thinking you and Georgiana would suit, Redmond. Far from being ambitious to marry you”—she gave a scornful huff—“the truth is, Georgiana did her level best to dissuade Rose from marrying you—”
“Wanted me for herself, no doubt.”
“Your arrogance is misplaced, sirrah! Far from wanting you, she was quite vocal in her dislike of you—and I see now she has a point. In any case the ridiculous child has declared far and wide that she would rather live with dogs and horses than marry.”
That silenced him, she could see. She added, with crisp satisfaction, “I had thought, your grace, that marriage to a young woman of good family, an independently minded young woman who would not hang off your sleeve, a girl who wants nothing more than to retire to a country estate and be left to breed horses, dogs—and possibly children—would be exactly what you required. A wife who would keep out of your way and give you no trouble.” She paused to let that sink in. It was exactly the kind of wife he’d described back when Rose was the bride being considered.
She made an airily dismissive gesture. “Even so, it would have taken all my considerable powers of persuasion to coax Georgiana to wed you.”
His eyes grew flintier, and she added with barely concealed relish, “I would not be surprised if we’d had todragher to the altar in the end. My niece is a headstrong gel who disdains the advice of her elders and betters. You, sir, are equally stubborn. Almost, I think, you deserve each other, but since you both lack a proper attitude to marriage—andtome!—I wash my hands of you.” She sailed from the room in high dudgeon.
***
“I’m not at home,” Hart told his butler after Lady Salter had left. “Not to anyone.”
The news of his aborted wedding had spread like wildfire through the ton. His doorbell had been jangling constantly ever since, with women—ladies of the ton—eager to soothe his injured feelings and shove him straight back into the marital noose, if not with themselves, then with their daughter or niece or granddaughter.
To hell with them all. He’d had it with women—no, not with women, withladies.
He tried to resume his correspondence, but the annoyance lingered. What the devil business of anyone else’s was it whether he married or not? He knew he needed to get an heir, but what was the hurry? He wasn’t yet thirty. And just because he’d been brought up to the mark once didn’t mean he was ready to do it again, dammit.
Because look how well that had ended.
A few days before, his erstwhile bride had called on him, supposedly to apologize, but then she had the cheek to invite him to the ball that had been planned to celebrate his wedding. Its purpose now was to celebrate her husband’s return from the dead, blast him. Hart had nothing against the fellow, but why the devil hadn’t he come back from the dead a week or two earlier and saved them all a lot of fuss and botheration?
He narrowed his eyes. Now he came to think of it, he had met the girl Lady Salter had just tried to foist on him. Lady Georgiana Rutherford had accompanied Rose on that little errand. A long-legged, dark-haired wench, with more than a dash of impudence.
She’d pulled her skirts up to warm her legs at the fire. Dropped them, cool as you please when he’d entered the room, not embarrassed in the least. A hoyden, if not a light-skirt.
Damned fine ankles, as he recalled.
She would rather live with dogs and horses.
He snorted. She was welcome to them.
***
“What?” Lady Georgiana Rutherford could hardly believe her ears. “You offeredmeto that... that...duke? Like a... a cake on a plate? Without even consulting me?”
George was taking afternoon tea in the drawing room with her uncle, Cal; his wife, Emm; and her two great-aunts: the sweet one and the sour one. The sweet one, Aunt Dottie, was knitting haphazardly in between poring over a dish of jam tarts and sipping her tea. Her sister, Aunt Agatha, sat like an offended poker, looking down her nose at them all, disdaining the offerings before her.
