The Bedding Proposal Part 3

The auction moved on, more items coming and going as she waited for the kitten trinket box to make an appearance. Then finally, there it was. She sat up straighter in her chair, her attention riveted.

"Next we have item number one hundred and eight, Meissen, hand-painted porcelain box with cats," the auctioneer said in his clear voice. "The bidding will open at twenty pounds. Who will give me twenty? Twenty? Anyone twenty?"

No one spoke, Thalia among them, since she knew better than to take the auctioneer's opening bait.

"Five pounds, then, for this exceptional Meissen box with its sweet pair of moggies? Do I have five pounds?" the auctioneer said, quartering the bid.

A man in the second row raised the numbered card with his bidder number.

"And I have five, thank you, fine sir. Who will give me five and a half? Five and a half . . . Do I have five and a half?"

A man on the opposite side raised his hand.

And on it went at a frenzied pace. Still, Thalia held back, pulse hurrying beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as she waited for the right moment to jump in.

"I have ten . . . and a ten . . . and ten-"

Thalia lifted her card. "Fifteen," she said in a carrying voice.

The auctioneer smiled. "Fifteen! Excellent, madam. Fifteen it is. Do we have fifteen and a half? Fifteen and a half . . ."

She held her breath, leaning forward onto the edge of her seat as she waited to see if the leap in price would be enough to scare off the other bidders. She hoped so, since she'd planned on bidding no more than twenty and would feel quite pleased if she could come away with it for less.

Two of the bidders had dropped out already. The last-another woman-sat with a frustrated expression, her round florid face turning even ruddier, red eyebrows scrunched together like a pair of badly knotted ribbons. She hesitated, clearly warring with herself over the price.

"Fifteen going once, going twice-"

"Sixteen."

The voice that rang out was new and distinctly male. To her shock, Thalia realized the man's ident.i.ty without even having to look. And yet she couldn't stop herself from turning her head.

Lord Leopold looked straight at her.

"Sixteen from the gentleman in the back," the auctioneer cried. "Ladies, do we have seventeen?"

The redhead with the bad eyebrows frowned so hard it was a wonder her face didn't crack; then she shook her head.

She was out.

It was up to Thalia. She hesitated only a fraction of a second, then raised her bidder's number. "Seventeen."

"Eighteen," Lord Leopold said.

Thalia's jaw tightened. What was he doing bidding on her kitten trinket box? What possible use could he have for such a thing? Then it occurred to her. Was this his revenge for the other night? For her refusal of his overtures and the champagne she'd tossed in his face?

So much for wanting to start over.

"Nineteen," she said, the word hard and precise.

He barely waited for the auctioneer to confirm her bid before he spoke. "Twenty-five."

A little ripple of reaction went through the crowd, all eyes affixed to her and Lord Leopold.

Silently, she cursed.

Twenty-five? More than she wanted to pay. More than she could afford, if truth be known, since twenty pounds had been her top bid from the start. Yet it galled her, the idea of giving in to him, of letting him take something that belonged to her by rights and that had been stolen from her once already.

"Twenty-five going once, going twice-"

Was she really going to let him have her box?

"Thirty," she said, throwing aside the last of her common sense.

Renewed murmurs echoed. Then all was silent as everyone settled down, waiting for the next bid. Even the auctioneer paused for an extra moment before diving back into the action.

"Do we have more than thirty, my lord?" Christie's man asked. "Thirty-one? Will you go to thirty-one?"

And Lord Leopold's eyes met Thalia's once more, his own fierce and enigmatic as if the two of them were engaged in a battle that went far beyond the present moment.

She s.h.i.+vered, reading the barely concealed desire in his eyes. He wanted her; of that she had no doubt. And she sensed that he always got what he wanted, whether it be a porcelain trinket box or a woman who had taken his fancy.

"Fifty," he said in a deep, smooth voice.

Her shoulders sank.

It was over. She couldn't possibly pay more than that and he knew it. Fifty pounds was more than her cook's yearly salary, more than the cost of the coal she used to heat the house and the kitchen from autumn to spring, more than her allotment for food and sundries combined.

"Fifty once, fifty twice . . ." The gavel came down. "Sold."

She looked down at her hands, clenched tight in her lap. Fury and disappointment warred within her, knowing her father's lost gift was lost yet again.

And all because of Lord Leopold Byron.

She didn't know yet what game he thought he was playing, but he was in for a sad awakening and his own rude disappointment. She knew all about being a man's p.a.w.n and it was something she'd sworn never to be again.

Rising to her feet, she signaled to her maid. It was time to leave.

She didn't look at him, careful to keep her gaze directed straight ahead as she walked out of the salesroom, head held high.

To her relief, he didn't follow. But she knew her reprieve was only temporary. It was simply a matter of waiting for his next volley in this battle of wills they had begun.

Chapter 3.

"Would you look at that?" Lord Lawrence Byron said two afternoons later.

He and Leo were finis.h.i.+ng a late nuncheon in the study. Lawrence was ensconced in his favorite armchair near a sunlit window, Leo seated at a nearby table.

They had moved into their new bachelor quarters in Cavendish Square a few months earlier. The town house was far larger and much better appointed than their previous lodgings. It also gave them enough privacy that neither felt inconvenienced by the other's routine-although being twins, and close in a way only brothers could be, they never really minded each other's company.

"Look at what?" Leo asked absently as he ate the last few bites of an excellent beef pie.

"At the trio of Pocket Venuses who just came out of the house next door at"-Lawrence cast a glance toward the clock on the mantelpiece-"two o'clock in the afternoon."

Leo wiped his mouth on a napkin, then leaned over to look out the window at the females in question.

The trio of women-two blondes and a redhead-were giggling and talking as they climbed into a waiting coach in a colorful flurry of skirts. "They're pretty, to be sure, but why the interest? Beyond the obvious, of course," Leo said.

"Because I happen to have seen them arrive last night and they have only now emerged."

"Spent the night, did they? All three?" He waggled his eyebrows and laughed. "You're just cranky because Northcote didn't invite you to the party."

"What party? Far as I could tell, they were the only guests."

Leo whistled. "You've got to hand it to him. He certainly knows how to enjoy himself."

"You and I know how to enjoy ourselves. Northcote is . . . well . . . the man is a complete reprobate."

Leo laughed again. "Complete, hmm? What does that make us? Partial reprobates?"

"Very funny," Lawrence said.

Leo smirked. "I don't have to worry, do I? You aren't in danger of turning Methodist on me or anything?"

Lawrence gave a derisive snort. "Hardly."

"Then what's with spying on Northcote? If you aren't careful, old Lady Higgleston will be complaining that you're trying to steal her thunder as the biggest pair of prying eyes in the neighborhood."

"n.o.body could have a bigger pair of prying eyes than Lady Higgleston. Her front curtains twitch more than an aged beggar with the palsy. You know she has to have seen those playthings of Northcote's come trotting down his front steps just now. She'll probably be up all night writing the details to every Tom, d.i.c.k and Harry in a two-hundred-mile radius."

"I doubt the old girl knows any Toms, d.i.c.ks or Harrys, considering her general opinion of men." Leo grinned and leaned back in his chair. "It's really rather decent of Northcote to pull the limelight off us. Maybe we should send him a present. Box of French letters, do you think?"

He and Lawrence exchanged looks, then started laughing.

"You never did answer my question about spying on him," Leo said once he'd regained control of his voice.

"No, because I wasn't spying. Well, not the way you're implying. I was in here working on a case last night when his light-o'-loves arrived. It was rather difficult not to notice them."

"Oh, I'm sure. You just casually happened to note the time and everything, did you?"

Lawrence shot him a narrow-eyed glare, which Leo completely ignored.

"All I can say is the next time you run into Northcote, why don't you ask the man to be neighborly and share?" Leo said. "Or else invite your own coterie of ladyloves over."

Lawrence leaned back in his chair. "Two for me? One for you?"

"I'm not greedy-you can enjoy all three. I'm pursuing my own quarry at the moment and she's the only one I want right now."

Lawrence's gold and green eyes lit with understanding. "La Lennox, you mean? So you still haven't given up on that hopeless quest?"

"Not a bit. Why would I when I've only just begun? In fact, I'm sending her a little something special."

"Apology presents already? I take it this is for something more than the other night at Elmore's? What have you done now to vex her?"

"Vex" was a nice way to put matters, especially considering the expression on Lady Thalia's face when she'd walked out of the auction. She'd looked shocked and furious and curiously wounded.

He shouldn't have done it, he realized. He ought to have stepped back and let her win the bid. But he'd planned on buying the Meissen piece anyway and his natural compet.i.tiveness had a.s.serted itself so that he just hadn't been able to resist. Besides, as he'd realized at the time, it gave him an excellent reason to contact her again, which he would not otherwise have had.

"I've done nothing that cannot be repaired," Leo said. "Anyway, her vexation only livens up the game."

His twin laughed. "I doubt she agrees."

"We'll see." Leo laid his napkin aside and got up from the table. "Now as much as I hate to end our conversation, I'm promised to meet with my estate manager. Wants to talk about crop rotation and how best to drain the southern fields for planting next spring. He should be here any minute."

"Ah, Brightvale. When you won it at the card table, I bet you never imagined all the things you'd have to learn about property management, tenant relations and farming. Gives one new respect for our Ned."

"Believe me, he has my full respect and admiration. I thank my lucky stars that I wasn't born the duke. That's more responsibility than I'd ever want on my shoulders. Our brother wears the mantle well."

"Oh, I think you could take it on if you were put to the test."

"Me? The hedonistic wastrel? The unrepentant rake? I trust you won't be bandying that opinion about to any of our acquaintance or you'll have my reputation in tatters."

"What reputation?"

Leo grinned. "My point exactly."

"Will there be anything else, milady?" her maid asked after she set the tea tray on a small table in Thalia's study.

"No, thank you, Parker, this looks excellent."

While her maid let herself out of the room, Thalia went to the tray and poured a cup of hot, fresh Ceylon tea, steam curling upward from the beverage in misty tendrils. She added a splash of milk, then selected one of the b.u.t.ter cookies that Mrs. Grove had added to the tray. She bit off the end, the sweet golden crumbs melting deliciously against her tongue.

Rather than return to her desk, where the household account ledgers were stacked alongside a pile of bills and receipts in need of her attention, she carried her tea over to the window and gazed out at the garden beyond.

The tree branches were a riot of orange, yellow and red, fallen autumn leaves strewn in sere layers over the gravel walkway and small patches of gra.s.s. The neatly trimmed evergreen hedges were going dormant in preparation for the coming winter, the black wrought iron garden bench already too cold for sitting.

She would need to have the gardener come again to clear away the leaves. It would be a far easier matter to spare the money for his services now that she hadn't bought the Meissen trinket box.

Her fingers tightened on the cup handle, her mouth firming into a hard line. Regardless of how many times she told herself that the outcome of the auction was all for the best, that anyone might have outbid her and that she needed to put it all in the past, anger still flared inside her each and every time she thought of Lord Leopold Byron.

Clearly he'd known she wanted the Meissen piece and yet he'd decided to go toe-to-toe with her, upping the bid again and again with an arrogant surety that he would win.