The Incurable Matchmaker Read online

  "No," she said. "As long as I love him, and as long as he loves me, he doesn't have to be particularly handsome or particularly rich. Or a prince."

  "Is it too much to hope that you have had enough of climbing for one day?" Lord Crensford asked.

  "And are ready to let me help you down again?"

  "You will only scold and scold if I go higher," she said.

  And she was gone, descending the tree as quickly and as nimbly as she had ascended it. When Lord Crensford finally lowered himself cautiously to the bottom branch, it was to find her sitting there, swinging her legs.

  ''I have waited for you to lift me to the ground, you see," she said, "so that you can be quite sure that I will land safely." She crinkled her nose at him.

  Lord Crensford jumped down and raised his arms for her. She was laughing down at him, the little pest, knowing full well that he was feeling considerably hotter and more out of breath than she. She set her hands on his shoulders, and he swung her down to the ground, his hands registering again soft femininity.

  "You do look funny," she said, her hands still on his shoulders. "You have a twig in your hair." She reached up and pulled it free.

  Yes, anyone who did not know differently might well mistake her for a normal pretty, pert, nicely behaved young lady. Her teeth were even and white. She had a pretty mouth. His hands were still at her waist. He felt suddenly uncomfortable.

  "Did you see which way Diana went?" he asked with a frown. "She was with Peabody, wasn't she?"

  Angela took a step backward and brushed the skirt of her dress with her hands. "Yes," she said.

  The laughter was all gone from her face, Lord Crensford noticed as he offered his arm for the return walk to the pavilion. Was it too much to hope that she had suddenly realized the impropriety of her behavior for the past half hour? And he hoped Diana was safe. These would be the perfect surroundings for Jack to make his move on her.

  * * *

  It had been very much a choice between the devil and the deep blue sea, Diana thought. Mr. Peabody had offered his arm as they left the house, and he had hovered close ever since. And while she might have got away from him if she had really wanted to, she had been afraid of what the alternative might be. For although she had spent a whole hour with the Marquess of Kenwood that morning without serious incident, she had sense enough to know that there was some difference between being alone with him in the music room and being alone with him in such picturesque surroundings and with such possibilities of losing themselves among the trees.

  It was true that she had apologized to him for her words of two afternoons before, though she had somewhat despised herself for doing so. For even if she had been right and she had been as much to blame for what had happened as he had been, there had still been the incident with the chambermaid less than an hour afterward, and such an incident was distasteful, to say the least.

  But it was also true that he had rejected her apology, or at least her assumption of some of the blame. He had quite openly told her that he had been guilty all the time, that he had deliberately maneuvered her into that embrace, that he had been prepared to make more of the kiss if opportunity had presented itself.

  And he had made no secret of the fact that he desired her and that he would continue to pursue her. Why would he admit to such a thing openly if he were not quite confident of success? And why would he be so confident if she had not made him so? He understood her very well, she might well give in to him if she were alone with him in the right surroundings. Like quiet, green, shady woods. Better to stay far away from him.

  And so she accepted Mr. Peabody's suggestion that they take a stroll among the trees before tea. She knew she had made a mistake almost before they were out of sight of the blankets and the pavilion at the bank of the river.

  "I envied Teddy Ingram from the day of his wedding to the day of his death," Mr. Peabody said after having made the observation that he had met Diana for the first time at her wedding.

  "Oh?" She could think of nothing else to say.

  "He died very young," he continued. "But those four years must have been worth more than a lifetime to other men."

  The marquess had said something uncomfortably similar. But then the marquess had been speaking with his customary irony at the time. Mr. Peabody was serious.

  "He was well loved by his parishioners," she said. "And he was doing something he believed in and something he loved doing. And until the very last he enjoyed quite good health. Yes, sir, he would be the first to agree that he had a good life."

  "He had a wife who made him the envy of all men," he said.

  Diana smiled. "It is kind of you to say so," she said. "I did my best to be a good wife. Do you not think that Mr. Turner is embarrassed to have his birthday so publicly noticed?"

  "Ah," he said, stopping walking and taking the hand that had been resting on his arm in both of his, "I see I have discomposed you, my dear Mrs. Ingram. I have made my admiration too obvious, perhaps?"

  "I can only feel flattered, sir," she said. "Does your son return to university in the autumn?"

  But he was not to be deterred. Try as she would to turn the conversation into other channels, he quite persistently forged ahead with the outpouring of his admiration and with the expression of the fond hope that she would make him the happiest of men.

  "I am deeply honored, sir," she said, "but I cannot think of marriage with any man at the moment. My husband has been dead for only a little over a year."

  It was perfectly understandable, of course. She was a serious young lady who had undoubtedly been deeply attached to a man of Teddy Ingrain's exemplary character. He would not expect an instant betrothal. Just a word of encouragement. Something to give him hope over the long winter ahead.

  Diana felt considerable distress. Mr. Thomas Peabody was not a man to despise or dislike. He was a perfectly worthy gentleman of middle years who appeared to have developed a serious attachment to her. And she feared that she had encouraged him more than she ought in order to avoid the attentions of another man.

  "I am sorry," she said, trying to slide her hand from between his. "It would be wrong of me to say that perhaps next year I will feel differently. Sensible as I am of the honor you do me, sir, I do not believe I would ever wish for matrimony with you."

  "It is my age?" he asked. "It is true that I could give you twenty years, my dear Mrs. Ingram, but I do assure you that I still enjoy the vigor of youth."

  And he proceeded to try to prove his claim in a manner that had her recoiling in indignation.

  "Sir!" she said, clasping her hands to her bosom and glaring down at his hands, which had grasped her waist.

  ''You must know that I find you adorable,'' he saids' 'Give me one word of hope, I beg of you."

  "Ah," a voice said from close by. "Some fellow mortals. Peabody, is it? And Diana? What a relief! I thought I was doomed to wander about the forest for the rest of my days. I have very little sense of direction, I'm afraid."

  He was not the only one feeling relief. And if she was relieved to hear the voice and see the person of the Marquess of Kenwood, Diana thought, she must be in trouble indeed-

  ''You really are not far from the river,'' Mr. Peabody said, lowering his hands to his sides. "If you go straight back in the direction from which you came, Kenwood, you will reach the pavilion in no more than five minutes."

  "You don't say so?" The marquess peered back through the trees with every appearance of great astonishment. "I fear I must have been walking in circles."

  "We are going back there," Diana said. "We can go together, my lord."

  Lord Kenwood stroked his chin and frowned. "There is a view to the castle from somewhere close to here, according to what the earl said at dinner last night," he said. "It was that spot I was looking for.

  You do not know it, I suppose, Diana?"

  "Yes, I do," she said. "But it would involve five minutes more of walking."

  "Ah, splendid!" he said. "I believ
e we have the time. Will you act as my guide, ma'am? Peabody, perhaps you will beg that some food be saved for us if we happen to be late? That's a good fellow."

  It was not clear whether Mr. Peabody realized that he had been outmaneuvered. When he closed his mouth, he bowed and turned back toward the river without another word.

  Diana did realize, but she felt only relief at her rescue from embarrassment as she took the marquess's arm and turned to walk in the opposite direction.

  11

  They walked in silence for a couple of minutes until Diana, tense with the emotions of her encounter with Mr. Peabody, among which indignation and guilt figured most prominently, glanced up into the face of her companion. His eyes were gleaming and his lips were set in that way she had come to detest.

  "Well, go on," she said, hearing the annoyance in her voice and incapable for the moment of doing anything about it, "say it."

  "Must I?" If she had not been well familiar with his eyes by this time, she might have been convinced by his look of abject humility. "Must I confess that I was consumed by embarrassment when I realized that I was breaking in upon a grand moment of romance?"

  "You were neither lost nor embarrassed," she said indignantly. "Why do you never simply say what is on your mind? Why do you make a joke of everything?"

  ' 'I must confess,'' he said,' 'that I did pause for a moment when Peabody seemed undecided whether to go down on one knee and plead his cause with greater eloquence or to seize you and conquer you with his ardor. I think I would not have had the heart to interrupt him if he had chosen the former course."

  "You would have been too busy laughing," she said crossly.

  "On the contrary," he said, "I would have been all admiration for a man who was willing to make an ass of himself in the cause of love. Unfortunately, Peabody is not made of such stern stuff. Were you sorry to be interrupted, by the way?"

  "I was not." Diana looked about her, wondering if after all she could find the small knoll from which one was afforded a splendid and unexpected view of the castle. She had been there before more man once, but always in company with Teddy.

  "Ah," he said, "I thought not. And I am not really interested in picturesque views of castles, Diana—or at least, not at the moment. I merely wanted to lure you deeper into the woods on my own account, you see."

  "If you expect to see me quake with terror, my lord," she said, "you will be disappointed. I know I have nothing to fear from you."

  "Ah, yes," he said. "I had forgot that you have discovered my darkest secret—that I am a gentleman at heart. But tell me, Diana, why are you always so cross with me? Apart from the delectable embarrassment of our first—no, our second—encounter, what have I done to offend you so?"

  "Nothing," she said. "Nothing at all."

  "And I have never known anyone," he said, "who can make 'nothing' sound like such a great deal of something. Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes flashing, your chin leading your advance. I would be in fear and trembling indeed if I had ever done something to offend you. Tell me what I have done."

  Diana jerked her hand from within his arm and turned to face him. "Nothing is serious to you," she said. "Nothing and no one is of any value. Everything and everyone is to be used for your own amusement. Especially women. The barmaid at that inn. Me. That chambermaid at the house. Doubtless dozens of others."

  "Ah, the chambermaid," he said, clasping his hands behind his back and looking down at her. "I wondered when she would be introduced into the conversation between us. I am sorry you were a witness to that kiss. It was careless of me to do that in an open doorway. Did I put you to the blush?"

  "You can never get beyond surfaces, can you?" she said. "What do my blushes matter? It is your character, your morality that is the question here."

  He raised his eyebrows. His eyes were still laughing at her. "Ah, yes," he said, "it was greedy of me, was it not, to take the stairs two at a time after having my wicked way with you in the music room so that I could do the same with the maid. A trifle exhausting, too. I was hard put to it to find the energy to drag a croquet mallet about the lawn with me afterward."

  Diana flushed. "That is not what happened between you and me," she said.

  "No." He smiled. "But that is what Ernie thought had happened when he came huffing and puffing into the room after you had left it."

  "Then he was mistaken," she said indignantly. "Did you explain to him?"

  "No." He strolled toward a tree that was a few feet away and set his back against it. He crossed his arms over his chest. "I very rarely interfere in what a person wishes to believe, Diana. Neither do I intend to deny that I went from our— embrace to an hour of vigorous sport with the chambermaid."

  "But did you?" she asked sharply.

  He lifted one eyebrow and looked at her mockingly. "What do you think, Diana?" he said, the amusement in his voice bringing the color back to her cheeks again. "That is all that matters. You do not believe half of what I say anyway."

  She frowned and took a step closer to him. "What is important to you?" she asked. "What gives life meaning for you? Just pleasure?"

  He was still smiling, but some of the mockery had faded. "Now," he said, "you must tell me, do you wish to hear what you wish to hear, or do you wish to hear what I choose to say?"

  ''What you choose to say,'' she said after pausing to work out the riddle of his words.

  "Ah, well, in that case," he said, "I would have to say I value my family—my mother, my two sisters, my nephew. My estate is important to me. I like to spend my summers there with my own people. But of course—" the mockery was back in his eyes— "I need the rents that the land brings in order to finance my, ah, pleasures for the rest of the year."

  Diana turned away from his blue eyes, which were mesmerizing her, and looked at the trees around mem.

  "Why do you like people to think the worst of you?" she asked quietly.

  "The worst?" He slid one booted foot upward to rest against the trunk of the tree. "I believe I am much envied by a large number of gentlemen of the ton, Diana, and much sought-after by certain, ah, ladies. I have a reputation to uphold, my dear."

  She looked back at him, frowning. "But it is a mask," she said. "It is a mask, is it not?"

  He shook his head, all the mockery back in his eyes and in the lift of one corner of his mouth. "No, Diana," he said, "you will not find a worthy gentleman hidden behind the, ah, libertine. I am what you see, my dear. And you are attracted to what you see, are you not? And so must try to see goodness and worthiness in me so that your attraction can be justified."

  "And yet," she said, "Mr. Peabody, who is undoubtedly a worthy gentleman, tried to force himself upon me a short while ago. You have not done so even though we are very much alone here."

  "Remiss of me," he said, returning his one foot to the ground and stretching out a hand for hers. "Come, then, let me not ruin my reputation, Diana. Let it not be said that I had a lovely lady alone in the woods and brought her out again unkissed."

  Diana supposed she must have lifted her own hand and put it in his. He certainly had not grabbed it from her side.

  She supposed she must have taken the two short steps toward him since he had not jerked on her arm. And she supposed she had raised her face to his since he had not lifted her chin. He was leaning back against the tree. She must have put herself against him even before his arms came around her and held her there.

  But it was an embrace quite different from any other she had shared with him. Although his mouth was open over hers, and though his arms held her close, one directly beneath her own arms, which had found their way about his neck, and one below her waist, he did nothing to arouse her further. And though she could feel his body with every part of her own and had one arm about his broad shoulders and one hand twined in his thick dark hair, and though her own mouth had come open to his, she felt no uncontrollable physical passion.

  Only something far, far worse. Only a deep feeling of affection. Only a cr
aving to get behind his" mask—because he assuredly did wear one, however much he denied doing so. Only a longing to know the man as he was and to find that after all he was likable and lovable. Only a need to deny reality and find her fantasy lover again.

  She drew back her head, looked into his intensely blue eyes, which gazed back mockingly—though whether they mocked her or himself she could not tell—and dipped her forehead against his neckcloth.

  "It is a shame that nature is uncooperative," he said, his hand reaching beneath her chin to pull loose the ribbons of -her bonnet and to drop the garment to the grass. "The ground is hard and uneven with tree roots. It is not even autumn so that we could have a bed of soft leaves. Alas, it seems that for today at least I must be satisfied with a standing kiss.''