The Truth about Love

When he looked down at her, she rolled her eyes resignedly. “He uses the dance to butter them up-you know what he’s like. When the music ends, she’ll be curious to see whatever it is he’s invented this time, but still convinced he’s perfectly trustworthy.”

“As most of us know, he’s not.”

“Indeed. But there’s nothing you can do until the dance finishes, so I’d appreciate it if you’d stop staring at them, and pay attention to where we’re going!” Chloe tugged at his shoulder; they barely avoided another couple.

Gerrard colored. “Sorry.” He hadn’t blushed in decades.

He tried to comply with Chloe’s edict-he knew she was right-but logic couldn’t prevail against the dark impulses surfacing; time and again, he darted glances at Jacqueline as, laughing and smiling gaily, she circled the floor in Rupert’s expert arms.

Jaw clenched, his teeth almost grinding, Gerrard waited for the waltz to wind to its conclusion.

Whirling around the room, Jacqueline wondered if any other man was ever going to meet, let alone eclipse, the standards Gerrard had set. Her senses assessed Rupert, and despite his obvious expertise, found him wanting. In just what way, she couldn’t say, but it was simply not the same as waltzing with Gerrard. Inwardly sighing, she continued to respond to Rupert’s conversation. He certainly had a glib tongue. They’d touched on various topics; he’d now steered the conversation to gardens.

Why they all thought she must be interested in gardens she had no idea. Yes, the gardens of Hellebore Hall were fantastic, but she’d grown up with them; she took their extravagant beauty and power largely for granted.

As if sensing how mild was her interest, Rupert shifted the conversation to statuary, specifically statues of Greek and Roman gods.

“I say.” His hazel eyes lit. “There’s a fascinating statue in the library here. Have you seen it?”

She shook her head. “This is only the second time I’ve visited here.”

“Ah, well-this is not to be missed. I’m sure Lady Sommerville, if she’d thought of it, would have suggested you view it. Coming from a house surrounded by gardens devoted to various gods, you’ll appreciate it-it’s a fabulously lifelike depiction of a thoroughly remarkable naked god. I’ve never been able to decide which one-perhaps you could hazard a guess.”

The music slowed; their feet halted. Rupert took her hand. “Come-let me show it to you. I assure you, it’ll take your breath away.”

He looked so eager, she hadn’t the heart to argue, let alone refuse. Especially as Rupert was helping her prove her point. She glanced back as he led her out into a corridor; she couldn’t see Gerrard. When last she’d glimpsed him, he’d been waltzing with Chloe.

The sight had caused her an unexpected pang, yet if, as she contended, his interest in her derived solely from her being his subject, and not at all because he saw her as his intended bride, then naturally, given the right opportunity, his attention should wander.

If she spent the next hour with Rupert and other gentlemen, quite apart from Gerrard, while he spent that time enjoying the company of some other lady or ladies, then surely she could cite that as tangible evidence-as factual, actual proof-that he didn’t see her as his future wife.

Rupert halted, threw open a door and waved her through. Crossing the threshold, she heaved an inward sigh. She felt certain that if Gerrard did see her as his bride, he wouldn’t allow her to be alone with Rupert.

Yet he had. So…here she was, in a darkened library. Actually alone with Rupert. She’d assumed the room would be open to guests, with lamps lit and maybe a few older gentlemen snoozing in armchairs. Instead, it was deserted, the dark shadows thrown by packed bookcases and heavily curtained windows encroaching on a desk and chairs grouped in the room’s center.

Rupert closed the door, plunging the room into deeper darkness. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust.

She looked about, swiveling to scan the room. “Where’s the statue?”

Rupert drew near. “Well, my dear, just give me a few minutes, and I’ll create it-to your abundant satisfaction.”

His tone warned her; clearly she’d made a serious error in judgment. Swinging to face him, she stared. “What?”

Rupert shrugged off his coat and tossed it on the desk. He smiled, his hands rising to his cravat. “Confess. You didn’t really think there was a statue, not one of marble, did you?”

His attempt at a seductive purr grated on her nerves. “Yes! I did!” She glared at him. “And here-” Grabbing his coat, she thrust it at him. “Put that back on.”

Rupert waggled his eyebrows. “No.” His cravat half undone, he undid his waistcoat and tugged his shirt from his waistband. “I promised you a naked god, and I always keep my promises.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, then nodded. “Very well. But I never promised I’d stay and watch.”

She darted to the side, intending to slip past him and race to the door.

He was quick, too quick; stepping sideways, he blocked her path.

Then he smiled, cynical yet still stupidly eager, and moved nearer.

Pressing her, herding her, back toward the desk.

He took her out this way.” Gerrard stalked into the corridor, towing Chloe behind him. He wanted a witness, especially one of Rupert’s family, so there’d be someone who’d know the reason for him thrashing Rupert to within an inch of his life.

“Are you sure?” Chloe asked, her tone beyond resigned.

“Yes.” Gerrard paused and looked up and down the corridor. “Where the devil have they gone? There’s no rooms open this way.”

“Rupert won’t be looking for an open room.”

Gerrard swore, and headed down the corridor, Chloe’s hand in his. “Your brother’s incorrigible.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Me? I don’t waltz young ladies out of ballrooms.”

“Precisely.”

Chloe’s tone was tart. Gerrard threw her a warning glance, which she met with a sour look.

“Ooooow!!” Crash!

The commotion came from a room further down the corridor. Gerrard dropped Chloe’s hand and ran.

“No!”

As he flung open the door, he realized it was Rupert shrieking.

“Stop it! That’s enough. Put the damned thing down!”

The sight that met his eyes brought Gerrard up short. Rupert, his shirt hanging open and cravat askew, was on the floor, on his arse, desperately scrabbling backward from Jacqueline, a virago wielding a long wooden ruler.

Protecting his head with his raised arms, Rupert wasn’t escaping.

“You fiend!” Jacqueline laid into him, slapping the ruler against his thigh. “You witless…” Words failed her. Dragging in a breath, she brandished the ruler. “Put your clothes back on this instant! Do you hear me? Now!”

Gerrard had known she had a temper; he hadn’t previously seen it totally unleashed.

Her eyes blazed as, unimpressed with Rupert’s bumbling attempts to find his buttonholes, she stepped nearer and raised her arm.

“No, no-see, I’m dressing-I am!”

“Good!” She stood over him and glared. “Don’t you ever-ever!-try such a thing with any other young lady. If you do, I’ll hear of it, and I’ll…I’ll-”

“I have a horsewhip you can borrow.”

Jacqueline jerked her head up, stared at Gerrard as he calmly-too calmly, with far too much control-strolled into the room. Snapping her mouth shut, she straightened, and slipped the ruler behind her, into the folds of her skirts. “Ah…” She really didn’t like the feral look in Gerrard’s eyes, which were fixed unwaveringly on Rupert. “Rupert had an accident.”

Gerrard’s lips curved, not in a smile. “I know just what sort of accident Rupert had. What, incidentally, caused the crash?”