his heavy features a mottled red. But still Gillian made no move toward the study, and drawing a deep, disapproving breath, he plunged into his diatribe. “Gillian, I am most disturbed! How could you have gone to such a place, with that young idiot as your only attendant? Don’t you realize what sort of reputation Lord Marlowe enjoys? And how very singular you must appear to have gone to his gaming hell? I don’t know what Sir Eustace Pogrebin will have to say to all this when he hears of it.”
“What has Sir Eustace Pogrebin to say to anything?” Gillian demanded, mystified.
“He has admitted a certain interest in your direction,” Derwent announced heavily. “I had not given up hope of having you turned off creditably, even at this late date, but after tonight’s outrageous behavior I have grave doubts.”
“Turning me off creditably?” Gillian echoed in a shriek. “Sir Eustace Pogrebin is a fat, pale slug who smells of wet dog and has damp, encroaching hands and the most pushing manner! Besides, he is ancient, and I am not having any part of him.”
“Sir Eustace Pogrebin is the same age as Ronan Marlowe, and a great deal more eligible,” Derwent said sharply.
“Not as far as I’m concerned.”
“Do you mean to tell me you cherish hopes of Marlowe? Let me tell you, my girl, that you wouldn’t be the first one to have her hopes dashed by such an unconscionable rake. He’s been holding out lures to susceptible young ladies ever since he reached the age of eighteen, and I would hope he hasn’t added you to his lists of conquests.”
There was still a trace of champagne in Gillian’s blood. “How do you know I haven’t added him to my list of conquests?”
Derwent’s mouth opened, closed, and opened again. “Do you mean to suggest he has had the temerity to make you an offer? I find that extremely difficult to believe.”
“I am not considered an antidote quite yet, Derwent!”
“No, of course not,” he agreed in a surprisingly soothing tone. “But you aren’t in Marlowe’s line at all. However, if he has made you an offer, it behooves me to meet with him and—”
“You know perfectly well he has not,” she said abruptly, disliking the smug gleam in his small dark eyes.
“And I know perfectly well that you have too good an idea of what is due your name and your family even to countenance such impertinence,” he said. “And I trust you won’t forget again.”
“Hmmph,” replied Gillian in an unencouraging manner.
“My dear.” He tried a more placating tone in the face of her response. “What in the world made you do anything so foolish? When you know how much we would dislike the connection?”
“ I do not dislike the connection,” she said flatly. “And I was celebrating my thirtieth birthday, something my family quite forgot to do.”
Derwent had the grace to look abashed. “You should have told me,” he accused.
“I did. Several times. But believe me, brother dear, I enjoyed myself far more this evening than I would have closeted with you and Letty!” With that bit of pleasurable impertinence she turned her back on him and sailed up the stairs.
“Did he ring a rare peal over you?” Felicity was awaiting her in the small, comfortable bedroom that had been allotted the maiden aunt, an anxious expression on her pretty face as she sat cross-legged on Gilly’s bed, a shawl around her thin night rail.
Gillian found herself unaccountably relieved and amused. “Well, he tried to do so,” she admitted, seating herself at her dressing table and beginning to divest herself of her diamonds. “But I refused to let him.”
“You refused to let him?” she echoed, aghast.
“Absolutely. I was not in the mood to be bullied,” she said blithely, eyeing her reflection with a critical eye. Her thick, tawny hair framed her face quite nicely in the new style, she had to admit. And the glowing eyes, the bright cheeks, and the tremulous mouth did not come amiss either.
“What has Sir Eustace Pogrebin to say to anything?” Gillian demanded, mystified.
“He has admitted a certain interest in your direction,” Derwent announced heavily. “I had not given up hope of having you turned off creditably, even at this late date, but after tonight’s outrageous behavior I have grave doubts.”
“Turning me off creditably?” Gillian echoed in a shriek. “Sir Eustace Pogrebin is a fat, pale slug who smells of wet dog and has damp, encroaching hands and the most pushing manner! Besides, he is ancient, and I am not having any part of him.”
“Sir Eustace Pogrebin is the same age as Ronan Marlowe, and a great deal more eligible,” Derwent said sharply.
“Not as far as I’m concerned.”
“Do you mean to tell me you cherish hopes of Marlowe? Let me tell you, my girl, that you wouldn’t be the first one to have her hopes dashed by such an unconscionable rake. He’s been holding out lures to susceptible young ladies ever since he reached the age of eighteen, and I would hope he hasn’t added you to his lists of conquests.”
There was still a trace of champagne in Gillian’s blood. “How do you know I haven’t added him to my list of conquests?”
Derwent’s mouth opened, closed, and opened again. “Do you mean to suggest he has had the temerity to make you an offer? I find that extremely difficult to believe.”
“I am not considered an antidote quite yet, Derwent!”
“No, of course not,” he agreed in a surprisingly soothing tone. “But you aren’t in Marlowe’s line at all. However, if he has made you an offer, it behooves me to meet with him and—”
“You know perfectly well he has not,” she said abruptly, disliking the smug gleam in his small dark eyes.
“And I know perfectly well that you have too good an idea of what is due your name and your family even to countenance such impertinence,” he said. “And I trust you won’t forget again.”
“Hmmph,” replied Gillian in an unencouraging manner.
“My dear.” He tried a more placating tone in the face of her response. “What in the world made you do anything so foolish? When you know how much we would dislike the connection?”
“ I do not dislike the connection,” she said flatly. “And I was celebrating my thirtieth birthday, something my family quite forgot to do.”
Derwent had the grace to look abashed. “You should have told me,” he accused.
“I did. Several times. But believe me, brother dear, I enjoyed myself far more this evening than I would have closeted with you and Letty!” With that bit of pleasurable impertinence she turned her back on him and sailed up the stairs.
“Did he ring a rare peal over you?” Felicity was awaiting her in the small, comfortable bedroom that had been allotted the maiden aunt, an anxious expression on her pretty face as she sat cross-legged on Gilly’s bed, a shawl around her thin night rail.
Gillian found herself unaccountably relieved and amused. “Well, he tried to do so,” she admitted, seating herself at her dressing table and beginning to divest herself of her diamonds. “But I refused to let him.”
“You refused to let him?” she echoed, aghast.
“Absolutely. I was not in the mood to be bullied,” she said blithely, eyeing her reflection with a critical eye. Her thick, tawny hair framed her face quite nicely in the new style, she had to admit. And the glowing eyes, the bright cheeks, and the tremulous mouth did not come amiss either.
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