But if truth were known, she enjoyed the marquess's company better than that of any of her brothers-and he enjoyed himself as much as she, she was sure. She enjoyed looking at him-he was undeniably one of the most handsome men of her acquaintance. And he was witty company. Verbally she could never get the better of him-or he of her. He never suggested to her that as a lady perhaps this walk or that ride might be too much for her. When she demanded the ride in the rain, he did not even so much as look surprised, though Lady Holt-Barron warned of all the dire consequences to their health of not simply taking tea in the Upper Rooms instead.

Freyja was not looking forward to the party at Lady Potford's, which was to be a grand squeeze of an affair since almost everyone with any pretension to gentility in Bath had been invited. She liked Lady Potford and did not relish the thought of such deception as the party would involve. But the more she saw of the Marchioness of Hallmere and Lady Constance Moore during the week, the more she realized that it would have been cruel indeed to have abandoned the marquess to what might well have been his fate-marriage with his cousin, who did not want him any more than he wanted her.

No, for this one week she was betrothed-again!-and she would act her part until the end and then retreat into her normal self and her normal life again when the party was over and the marchioness had left for Cornwall.

Life next week was going to seem very dull, she thought as she arrived back at Lady Holt-Barron's after the ride to Claverton Down. But she would think of that next week. Perhaps she would simply return home to Lindsey Hall. It should be safe to do so by then.

The marquess came into the house with her, since Lady Holt-Barron had invited him for tea. They were somewhat windblown and flushed from the outdoors, but Freyja did not go up to her room to change first. She preceded the marquess into the drawing room.

And stopped so abruptly that he almost collided with her from behind.

Lady Holt-Barron and Charlotte were both in the room.

So was Wulfric.

He was just rising to his feet, looking his usual elegant, immaculate, faintly cold, silver-eyed self. His long fingers were curling about the handle of his quizzing glass and raising it halfway to his eye.

"Ah, Freyja," he said, his voice haughty and distant.

"Wulf!" she exclaimed.

"And . . . ?" His glass went the rest of the way to his eye, magnifying it horribly.

"May I present the Marquess of Hallmere?" she said, standing to one side. "My brother Wulfric, my lord. The Duke of Bewcastle."

What in heaven's name had brought Wulf to Bath at this of all times? But she knew the answer without having to pummel her brain any further. Of course! Wulf, she sometimes thought, shared the quality of omniscience with God. It was this of all times that had brought him.

Someone had told him.

He knew!

His next words dispelled any shadow of doubt she may have felt.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, lowering his glass but still looking at the marquess with cold eyes. "Freyja's betrothed, I believe?"


CHAPTER IX


Bewcastle had a distinct advantage over him, Joshua thought an hour later as the two of them walked down Gay Street, Lady Holt-Barron's housekeeper having made arrangements for the horses to be returned to their stables. There was the advantage of rank, of course-Bewcastle was a duke while he was a marquess. But the difference between them was far vaster than that. Bewcastle had been born to his present role. He was an aristocrat to the marrow of his bones, while Joshua, even after being heir to his title for five years and holder of the title for seven months, still felt like a usurper.

They had conversed on a variety of topics over tea, the five of them, and consequently nothing of any significance had been said. Now Bewcastle spoke of the attractive appearance of Bath and Joshua agreed with his every word, trying not to feel like a whipped boy-or, rather, like one who was about to be whipped. But this really was a devilish coil. It had been too much to hope, he supposed, that word of the betrothal would not somehow come to the ears of Lady Freyja's brother, but who could have predicted that he would come in person like this instead of merely writing to his sister for more information?

"You will step into the Royal York with me?" Bewcastle asked as they reached level ground. It was phrased as a question, but Joshua recognized a command when he heard one.

"It would be my pleasure," he said.

The duke had a private suite of rooms at the hotel. His valet took their hats and gloves and brought a tray of drinks into the sitting room. Bewcastle indicated one empty chair and took another himself. The valet poured two glasses, handed one to each of them, and then left them alone, closing the door silently behind him.

Bewcastle regarded his visitor with pale, keen eyes that had Joshua thinking of wolves-the man was named appropriately, it seemed.

"You will doubtless explain to me," Bewcastle said in a pleasant enough voice, though his eyes were as cold as ice, "why your betrothal has been publicly announced to Bath society and not announced at all to Lady Freyja Bedwyn's family."

Joshua crossed one leg over the other. "It was an impetuous decision," he said. "I proposed marriage to Lady Freyja during a waltz at the Upper Rooms, she said yes, and we decided to invite our fellow guests to share our joy." His explanation sounded remarkably silly even to his own ears.

"Ah, impetuosity," Bewcastle said. "But you did not wish to invite her family also to share your joy, perhaps the next day or the day after-or the day after that?"

There was an unfortunate pause while Joshua tossed about in his mind a few possible answers. There was no convincing answer, of course. This was all devilishly embarrassing.

"Perhaps," the duke suggested, "you intended to wait upon me at Lindsey Hall after the first euphoria of your engagement had passed?"

"Lady Freyja is of age," Joshua said. "Strictly speaking, we do not need your consent. We would have sought your blessing in time, yes. During this past week, as you have suggested, we have been enjoying each other's company rather too much to consider what ought to be done."

"You have, then," the duke said softly, "conceived a passion for each other?"

Oh, Lord. He was wading in deep waters, Joshua realized.

"One might say so," he said.

"One might," Bewcastle agreed. "But do you say so, Hallmere?"

"I rather believe," Joshua said carefully, "that my feelings for Lady Freyja and hers for me are our private concern."

"Quite so." Bewcastle set down his half-empty glass, leaned back in his chair, set his elbows on the arms, and steepled his fingers. Silences, it seemed, did not embarrass him. It was a while before he continued. "It would seem, Hallmere, that you have always been an ambitious man."

Joshua raised his eyebrows.

"It would be strange if you were not," Bewcastle said. "All during your growing years you were one life removed from the heirdom to a marquess's title and property and fortune-a frustration, no doubt, to a penniless boy. And then that one life was extinguished under somewhat mysterious circumstances."

Good God! Joshua turned cold inside. At least it was now clear who had informed Bewcastle of the betrothal and why he had lost no time in coming to Bath.

"Under tragic circumstances," Joshua said. "Are you insinuating that you believe I had a hand in my cousin's death?"

"I insinuate nothing," his grace said, raising haughty eyebrows. "Very probably they were merely fortunate circumstances for you. You celebrated your new expectations by traveling extensively and, ah, sowing some wild oats, I believe?"

"I spent five years in France," Joshua said somewhat testily, "doing undercover spy work for the British government. I resent this interrogation, Bewcastle."

"Do you?" The duke still spoke softly. He was not to be drawn into any angry exchange, it seemed. "But you wish to marry my sister, Hallmere. I will interrogate any man who aspires to her hand, even if he has forced my hand by announcing his betrothal before speaking with me. You refused to marry the lowly gentlewoman you impregnated at Penhallow before you left there?"

Joshua pursed his lips. It would be interesting to read the letter his aunt had written the Duke of Bewcastle. But he would not allow her malice to put him on the defensive before a stranger.

"She never even asked me to marry her," he said, grinning. "But I have supported her and the child for longer than five years."

Bewcastle showed no sign of sharing his amusement. He picked up his glass again and sipped from it. "Lady Freyja Bedwyn is the daughter of a duke," he said. "She is also an extremely wealthy woman, as I daresay you know."

"I suppose I would have guessed it," Joshua said, "if I had given the matter any thought."

"She is, in fact," the duke said, "a quite brilliant match for you."

"And since we are speaking of rank and fortune," Joshua said, grinning again, "I am something of a brilliant match for her too. It is what Bath society has been saying since the announcement was made, anyway."

The duke regarded him with cold hauteur. Too late, it struck Joshua that perhaps he should simply have told Bewcastle the truth. This mock betrothal was going to be over within the next week, after all. Why leave it to Lady Freyja to have to explain to her family?

"You are not at all sure you approve of me," he said. "I can hardly blame you. I proposed marriage to your sister without first consulting you as head of her family, and then I compounded that error by having the betrothal publicly announced during an assembly and by neglecting either to write to you or to call upon you immediately after. My aunt, I perceive, has performed that task for me. I can only say now that I have the deepest regard for your sister and will accept her decision if she should see fit to break off our engagement after listening to your advice."