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?”
“He fell over a stool.”
After she’d pushed him, then whacked him with the ruler.
“How unfortunate.”
Gerrard’s drawl was deepening-worsening.
“Yes, well…” Jacqueline blew out a breath, puffing aside a lock of hair her tussle with Rupert had loosened. “As you can see”-she went to gesture at the cowering Rupert, then realized she had the ruler in that hand and switched to using her other-“he’s…getting himself together again.”
Much as she was tempted to leave Rupert to whatever fate Gerrard might mete out, it was, in a way, at her instigation that Rupert had come to be alone with her. She’d never imagined he’d do anything so patently silly, but…He was nearly finished buttoning his shirt. He didn’t seem able to look away from them, his eyes wide, resting first on her, then on Gerrard; he looked like he was struggling not to whimper. “And then he’s leaving,” she pointedly said, hoping he’d take the hint and go with all speed.
“Oh, he’s definitely leaving.”
Gerrard took one step, grasped Rupert’s arm and hauled him to his feet.
“Here! I say, old chap-”
Resisting the urge to shake Rupert, Gerrard marched him to the door. “Just be thankful there are ladies present.”
Rupert goggled at Chloe, a silent martyr in the doorway, and shut up.
Chloe stepped back. Gerrard thrust Rupert, still struggling to tuck his shirttails in, through the door, then nodded to Chloe. “If you’ll excuse us?”
No real question; he shut the door on Chloe’s suddenly interested face and turned back into the room.
Jacqueline watched Gerrard stalk, slowly, toward her. While he’d been occupied, she’d tossed the ruler back on the desk, and quickly smoothed down her skirts. Pressing her hands together, she lifted her chin.
“What the devil were you thinking, going off alone with Rupert?” Gerrard halted immediately before her, his expression hard, a definite scowl in his eyes. His tone was harsh, rather flat.
She tilted her chin higher, and suppressed an answering frown. “He said there was a special statue in here. I had no idea he had such a…a salacious scheme in mind.”
“Well, he did.” Gerrard’s eyes bored into hers; his accents were exceedingly clipped. “Indeed, I think it safe to say most of the gentlemen you’ll meet in this season will be entertaining salacious thoughts of you. Most, however, won’t act on them, not unless you encourage them-for instance, by going apart with them in a setting such as this!”
He paused; she saw something-some emotion-roiling behind his eyes. Instead of giving voice to it, lips compressing, he reached for her hand, turned and headed for the door. “I would be exceedingly grateful if in the remaining few days we’re in town, you could refrain from consorting with other men.”
Towed behind him, she almost tripped. “No.” She pulled back on his hand, then almost tipped backward as with a low growl, he swung to face her. “What I mean,” she hastily amended, eyeing his harsh expression, “is why?”
For a moment, he said nothing, just stared at her. Then, “In case it’s slipped your mind, we’re lovers.”
His tone had grown dangerous again; for one fanciful instant she felt as if she was in a darkened room with a large wild animal. Her nerves flickered. Her eyes locked on his, she carefully said, “Yes, but that’s…private. Just because we’re lovers shouldn’t mean I don’t dance or speak with other gentlemen. No one else knows we’re lovers-it looks odd if I cling to your arm all the time.”
And you cling to mine. People are getting quite the wrong idea…But she didn’t wish to be quite so forthright. He might feel obliged to marry her if society expected it, but once the portrait was finished, she’d return to Cornwall, and society would be irrelevant.
She could see thoughts shifting behind his eyes.
His expression hardened, his jaw set. “We’ll only be in town for a few more days-any additional oddity will be neither here nor there.”
Turning, he started towing her to the door again.
Her grand plan lay in shreds, and if he adhered to his pigheaded edict and insisted she remain by his side, she’d never be able to correct the mistaken impression they’d given the ladies of his family-and possibly everyone else.
They were nearing the door. She dug in her heels and tugged back. “No. What you don’t understand-”
He halted; his chest swelled, then he rounded on her. His eyes blazed; his features resembled a granite mask. The air between them shimmered with aggression, and poorly concealed possessiveness. “Do you recall”-his voice had lowered, his diction precise, his tone a dark warning-“agreeing to be mine until I released you?”
She had to nod. “Yes, but-”
“I haven’t released you.” His eyes burned, holding hers. “Until I do, you’re mine-and-no-other’s.”
She stared at him, stunned; she’d never imagined he’d draw such a line.
Apparently believing her silence denoted agreement, he continued in a fractionally less domineering vein as he turned and opened the door, “Specifically, you will not encourage any other gentlemen-you won’t seek their company, nor encourage them to seek yours.”
Drawing her through the door, he reached back, shut it-and to her continuing dumbfounded astonishment went on as he led her back to the ballroom, “And most importantly, you will not go anywhere alone with cads like Rupert-”
She shook aside her astonishment; it was doing her no good. “How the devil was I to know he was a cad?” Her temper rose. “If you want my opinion, Rupert’s a handsome lackwit. For the good of young ladies everywhere he should be locked up in Derbyshire-”
“If you’d remembered your promise-”
“I didn’t promise you my every hour!”
“I have news for you. You did.” His voice had gone dangerously flat. The gaze he bent on her was hard and unyielding. “Even if you didn’t mean it, I’m claiming exactly that-every last hour of every day.”
She searched his eyes; her jaw fell.
He held her gaze for a pregnant instant, then looked ahead and whisked her into the ballroom.
Jacqueline snapped her mouth shut, bit her tongue, swallowed her scream of frustration; too many pairs of eyes had fastened on them.