Antonia knew she was scarlet with mortification. She attempted to free herself, but Hewitt clung to her hand until she extricated it with a sharp jerk. ‘Your Grace, good morning. Please sit down.’ She was amazed at how calm her voice sounded: inside she was trembling and, in truth, felt a little queasy. Her ankle throbbed, but that was nothing compared to her utter revulsion at Hewitt's embraces.
Steeling herself, she raised her eyes to Marcus’s face, hoping to see some sign of jealousy, some sign that finding her in the arms of another man was painful to him.
Marcus stared back, his face a polite mask. Not by one whit did he betray surprise, dismay or the slightest sign of jealousy in finding the woman to whom he had recently proposed in the arms of another man.
‘How kind of you to call,’ Antonia continued desperately. ‘May I offer you some refreshment? Hewitt, please ring the bell before you sit down.’
‘Thank you, Miss Dane.’ Marcus sat back and crossed his legs, smiling politely at both the cousins. ‘How pleasant to see you again, Mr Granger. I was wondering where you had acquired the striking animal you were driving yesterday.’
So you can avoid the same dealer, no doubt, Antonia thought sourly. She was hoping that Hewitt would leave, but at such flattering attention her cousin settled himself comfortably and began to prose on about his search for the perfect driving horse.
Marcus caught Antonia’s eye and allowed one eyelid to drop into an unmistakable wink. Antonia, despite everything, could hardly contain the laugh that bubbled up her throat. Marcus could have asked nothing better calculated to encourage Hewitt into a display of pompous conceit and now Marcus was inviting her to enjoy it with him.
With a struggle she controlled her expression. Beside her Hewitt, conscious for the first time that the other man’s attention was not solely on him, ground to a halt. Antonia spoke hurriedly in the sudden silence. ‘How did you know my direction, Your Grace?’
‘Your direction? Why, I had not come to see you, Miss Dane, but Lady Granger.’ Marcus smiled. ‘No, this is merely a pleasant coincidence. Did you know, Mr Granger, that Miss Dane and I are neighbours in Hertfordshire?’
‘No, I was not aware of that,’ Hewitt said shortly. ‘I was also unaware that you were acquainted with my grandmother.’
‘I have never had the pleasure of meeting her ladyship, but she and my grandfather were great friends. When I heard she had risen from her sickbed and was receiving once again, I naturally hastened to pay my respects. I would not have wished to, shall we say, leave it too late.’
‘l can assure you, Your Grace,’ Antonia snapped, ‘that my great-aunt is in the best of health. Touching though your concern is, there was no need to hasten to her side as though she were on her death bed.’
‘But she is very frail,’ Hewitt added hastily, as if to reassure himself.
At that moment the lady herself entered, looking not a day over sixty five in a mauve silk creation that combined the latest fashion with great dignity. Both men leapt to their feet, but she ignored her grandson completely, fixing Marcus with a gimlet stare before allowing him her hand.
‘Well, well. There was no need for Hodge to tell me who my caller was. Just like your grandfather, another handsome dog. Sit down, can’t stand people hovering about! What are you still doing here, Hewitt? Every day you are cluttering the place up, every day. Go to your club, why don’t you, if you can’t stand to go home to that simpering peahen your brother married.’
Hewitt, clearly deciding that being belittled by his grandmother in front of the Duke was detrimental to his dignity, smiled at Marcus as though to indicate that the old lady was ga-ga and bowed himself out with a meaningful stare at Antonia.
Marcus sat and smiled back at her Great-Aunt, apparently at his ease although Antonia wondered if he had ever encountered such a terrifying old woman in his life.
‘So you think I am like my grandfather, ma’am?’ he enquired.
‘Cut from the same cloth. I would have known you anywhere as an Allington.’
‘And I would have recognised you, ma’am, from his description.’
‘Get away with you, boy!’ Lady Granger waved a hand dismissively but Antonia could tell she was pleased. ‘I’ll wager he did not tell you everything about our acquaintance.’
Antonia blushed at the improper implication, but Marcus laughed. ‘Enough to make me envious, ma’am.’
The two settled into a conversation that subtly excluded Antonia. She sat to one side, watching Marcus’s face, the play of expression, the movement of his hands, listening to the laugh in his voice. She loved him, wanted nothing more than to run across the room to him, bury her face in his shirt front and hear his heart beat under her ear.
It was so painful to see him here in her old home, talking to her great-aunt, but to know that nothing had changed, nor could it. Ruthlessly she reminded herself that she could not ally herself with a man so unprincipled he would flaunt his mistress before her. And if that meant she had to live out her life in spinsterhood, well, so be it. If she could not have Marcus Renfrew, she did not want second best.
Not that she any longer had the choice. He had made it quite clear that he was not here to see her and his reaction to Hewitt had been one of total indifference.
Antonia became aware that Marcus was on his feet taking his leave. As he bowed over Lady Granger’s hand once more, Antonia saw her great-aunt give a decisive little nod as though she had reached a conclusion to a difficult puzzle.
Antonia curtsied slightly. ‘Good day, Your Grace.’ And goodbye for ever, she whispered to herself.
Antonia discovered, as she dressed for Almack’s that evening, that deciding on a life of spinsterhood did not diminish her pleasure in putting on her newest gown. The confection of silver cobweb gauze over a deep jade green underskirt was outrageously becoming, especially when worn with her great-aunt’s diamond set, just returned from the jeweller that afternoon.
As she waited for the carriage to come round Great-Aunt Honoria regarded her critically and observed, ‘You look very beautiful tonight, my dear: that simple Grecian hairstyle becomes you. But you are not in spirits, are you? It is Allington, is it not?’ Antonia nodded silently. ‘Well, I can see why you have fallen for him. Can you not forgive him? Men are but fallible creatures.’
‘No, never,’ Antonia said emphatically. ‘He flaunted his mistress before me and besides, he does not love me.’
Further conversation was cut short by the arrival of the carriage with the Granger party. Reluctant as she was to accept Emilia’s chaperonage, Antonia knew she had little choice: Great-Aunt Honoria could not be expected to attend every evening party with her niece.
As soon as they reached Almack’s Antonia accepted an invitation to dance and was not displeased at the end of the measure to find herself on the far side of the room from her relations. She encountered the family of Sir George Dover, another Hertfordshire neighbour, and was soon in conversation with his two pretty daughters.
Miss Kitty fell silent in the middle of a description of the most ravishing silk warehouse she had visited the day before. ‘…and two dress lengths for scarcely more than you would expect to pay for one…’ and blushed.
Antonia turned to follow her gaze and saw Marcus enter the room. Few men could carry off the severe evening wear insisted upon by the Patronesses of Almack’s to such advantage she thought. Her pulse rate kicked up and she fanned herself, fearing her cheeks were as flushed as Miss Kitty’s.
‘Is he not the most handsome man in the room, Miss Dane?’ Kitty Dover whispered in Antonia’s ear. ‘In fact, I do declare him the most handsome man in Town.’
Antonia could only stare dumbly across the dance floor, lost in hopeless love for Marcus, a lump in her throat preventing her from answering. She just hoped her feelings were not written plain on her face.
‘Oh. He is coming over here! Why, I shall just die if he asks me to dance,’ Kitty's younger sister Amanda exclaimed.
Marcus strode across the floor as the next set was forming. Antonia was aware that many pairs of female eyes followed his elegant progress, and when he stopped before the three young women, bowed and then addressed her, she was conscious of several dagger-like looks.
‘Miss Dane, Miss Dover, Miss Amanda. Good evening to you. Miss Dane, will you do me the honour of standing up with me for this cotillion?’
‘You must forgive me, Your Grace, I have a headache and cannot dance. Excuse me,’ she said to the girls as she pulled back a curtain and stepped into one of the small retiring rooms.
The room was deserted, without even the presence of the maidservant who was normally in attendance armed with smelling salts, a pincushion and other essentials for rescuing ladies at a disadvantage.
Antonia laid one hand on her breast in a vain attempt to steady her hectic breathing. It was so foolish to respond like this. After all, she told herself with an attempt at lightness, if she came to the most fashionable resort in Town she must expect to find Marcus there. She must accustom herself to the sight of him.
A footfall behind her sent her whirling around. ‘Marcus. You should not be in here, it is most improper. Were we to be seen people might believe… assume…’
‘Then they would be correct,’ he remarked calmly and took her in his arms in a manner which brooked no argument.
Despite that, Antonia tried to break free, just for her own self-esteem, but his arms were strong around her waist and when his lips neared hers she stopped struggling. All propriety, all thought of what was correct flew from her mind the moment his teeth nibbled delicately along the sensitive curve of her upper lip.
Antonia gave herself up to the sensation of being kissed by the only man she would ever love and when he deepened the kiss she responded in kind, kissing him so fiercely that she felt rather than heard his answering groan.
At length he freed her mouth, although his arms continued to support her. That, Antonia acknowledged shakily to herself, was a good thing, for her legs were too tremulous to hold her up.
Marcus's eyes as they smiled down into hers were dark with desire, yet sparkling with mischief. ‘Now confess – that preposterous cousin of yours does not kiss you like that.’
Antonia freed herself with an angry shake. ‘So that was what prompted your kiss, was it? A desire, not for me, but to best my cousin Hewitt? Well, for your information, Marcus, I have never permitted Mr Granger to embrace me, nor will I ever do so.’
Marcus looked down into the angry eyes, sparkling magnificently in the indignant face, saw the rise and fall of Antonia’s bosom and judged the time was right to do what he had intended ever since he came to Town in pursuit of her.
‘But you permit me to embrace you. Come, Antonia, let us end this charade. Say you will be my wife and have done with it.’
‘It is no charade,’ she said furiously. ‘When I give my hand, it will be to a man whom I can love and respect, not to one prompted only by primitive possessiveness.’
‘Antonia, stop behaving like an outraged old maid. After all, you have not always shown such delicacy.’ Marcus groaned inwardly as soon as the words were out. Clumsy clod, he told himself. There was hurt as well as anger now in her face. Even so, he was not prepared for the stinging impact as her palm met his cheek.
With a sound somewhere between a curse and a sob Antonia whisked out of the retiring room, carried onto the dance floor by the speed of her exit. A stately measure was in progress with complicated sets moving slowly the length of the ballroom. Her intrusion set several couples out of rhythm, but they were even more discommoded when Marcus strode to her side, seized her hands and forced a place for them in the line.
‘What do you think you are doing?’ Antonia hissed, sending apologetic glances to the couples on either side.
‘I had not finished with you,’ Marcus ground out, keeping the social smile on his lips with an effort. ‘And if the only way to stop you boxing my ears again is to converse on the dance floor, then so be it.’
They had reached the head of the set. To his horror, this brought them directly under the scrutiny of Lady Jersey. From her raised brows, he gathered that their irregular entrance had not escaped the Patroness’s notice. Hoping he had not completely ruined Antonia’s chances for acceptance Marcus directed a charming smile at her ladyship and was rewarded by a relaxing of her adamantine gaze.
He whirled Antonia around and they took their place in the centre of the circle. ‘Everyone is staring at us,’ Antonia muttered. She curtsied and began the complex sequence of steps with her partner while the other couples circled around them. Her deportment was perfect, her eyes were wild.
‘Will you stop this nonsense and say yes?’ Marcus demanded, keeping his tone conversational.
Antonia’s cheeks flamed. ‘Shh!’ The steps took them apart and then together again.
‘I mean it, Antonia,’ he warned.
‘You cannot force me,’ she flashed back, still in a whisper.
Now they were hand in hand, sidestepping down the long row. ‘You will stay on this dance floor until you give me an answer.’ Marcus wanted to plead, but he made his voice hard with determination.
He was conscious that heads were turning and amongst the watchers some women were whispering behind their fans. Antonia half-turned, looking to flee through the throng, but Marcus was too swift for her. He circled her wrists, keeping her to the measure.
‘Marry me, Antonia, you know it was meant to be,’ he insisted as they whirled around.
‘Never. Nothing you can do or say will induce me to marry you, Marcus Renshaw.’ The words fell into a sudden silence as the band came to a halt in a flurry of strings.
Aghast, staring wildly about her, Antonia realised her words had been audible to all the dancers around her. The floor failing to open up and swallow her, she picked up her skirts and fled and the crowd parted before her.
Outside, careless of cloak or bonnet, she hailed a passing hackney carriage. The driver seemed startled to find a lone gentlewoman hailing him outside Almack’s, but he was polite enough when she stammered out the direction.
Hodge, with the licence of an old family retainer, was frankly scandalised to find her returning alone. ‘Miss Antonia! Where’s Mrs Clarence? And your cloak and your bonnet. What is amiss?’
‘Oh, never mind. Please don’t fuss, Hodge. Just pay the driver and send my maid up to me.’
Antonia managed to maintain her composure until the maid had helped her into her nightgown, then she dismissed the girl. ‘Thank you, that will be all. Please make sure Lady Granger knows I am returned, but tell her I have a headache and will see her at breakfast.’
Antonia sank down on the bed, put her head in her hands and despaired. Under her fingers her temples throbbed and she could still feel the heat of humiliation burning her cheeks.
The whole of Society would know by tomorrow that she had made an indecorous exhibition of herself at Almack’s and humiliatingly rejected the Duke of Allington into the bargain. He would never forgive her for that very public rebuff, even though it was he who had been to blame, she thought bitterly.
Antonia groaned. To think she had come to London for sanctuary. Now she would have to retreat once more into Hertfordshire and rusticate until some other scandal arose to titillate Society and she was once more forgotten. And Great-Aunt would never forgive her, broadminded though she was.
At that moment the knocker thudded, audible even through her closed door. Hewitt, no doubt, with Emilia squeaking in his wake, ensuring that no sordid detail of her disgrace remained untold. There were footsteps on the landing and her great-aunt’s sitting-room door opened and closed. Strain her ears as she might, Antonia could not hear voices.
The visit lasted half an hour. When carriage wheels rumbled away in the street outside, Antonia sat tensely, awaiting the summons to account for herself. It never came and eventually she fell asleep.