magnanimous of you!”
“But a woman who has had nothing important to do with her life, whose whole existence centers upon frivolity and idleness, will never be able to survive in so inhospitable a climate …”
Joanna did not hear the rest of his words. She was too angry. Idle, superficial? She supposed she had never been a bluestocking, writing intellectual tracts or holding philosophical salons. That was Merryn’s interest. And it was also true that her existence in ton society was amusing and lighthearted for the most part. But that did not mean that she could be dismissed as no more than a giddy social butterfly, a woman with the emotional depth of a small puddle. How dare Alex Grant, with his juvenile bravado and high-handed manner, dismiss her as having no backbone? She felt a sheer, bloody-minded determination to prove him wrong.
“No,” she interrupted. “You may save your breath, Lord Grant. I am going.”
Alex got to his feet and took a few furious paces away from the bench. He was moving stiffly, as though once again his old injury was hurting. He turned back so sharply that Joanna almost flinched. He rested a hand on the arm of the seat, leaning in, trapping her against the hard wooden back. Once again, his physical presence engulfed her. She felt a tide of heat race through her body and retreat again to leave her shaking with a mixture of awareness and fear.
“You do not understand, Lady Joanna,” he said between his teeth. His eyes were blazing. Joanna could feel his anger like a living force. “Women have died on less demanding journeys.”
“And women have died at home,” Joanna argued hotly, “from sickness or in child bed or even from their clothes catching alight from a candle.” She spread her hands wide. “Men, too. Lord Rugby died of a chill he caught in Brighton. One cannot protect against every accident, Lord Grant.”
“One can avoid actively seeking them out,” Alex said. He looked as though he wanted to shake her. “Must you be so willfully foolish, Lady Joanna? If you insist on going then I shall do everything in my power to oppose you.” He straightened. “No one will give you passage. I will make it my business to see that you fail in this venture before you even begin.”
His hands were on her upper arms. The sensation of his touch whipped through her, making her shiver. He pulled her to her feet. Suddenly they were very close together, so close that she could hear how hard he was breathing and smell the scent of his citrus cologne mingled with the fresh morning air. She looked up into his face and saw the anger there; saw also the moment it transmuted into something else, hot and primitive, stealing her breath. He bent his head. She knew he was going to kiss her.
Not like this. Not in anger.
She did not say the words aloud, but her feelings must have shown in her eyes, for his brows snapped together in another intimidating frown as though he, too, had realized how close they had come to a shocking-and very public-kiss. He lifted his hands from her shoulders with such care that it seemed he could no longer bear to touch her. Joanna’s heart plummeted and she felt a little sick.
“Lady Joanna—” Now it sounded as though he could not bear to speak to her, let alone touch her.
“Lord Grant.” She was sure she could outdo him in hauteur if she tried.
He smiled a little grimly. “We have an audience,” he murmured. “Though if yesterday is anything to go by, that should encourage you to throw yourself into my arms.”
“I shall try to restrain myself, difficult as it may be,” Joanna said coldly. Inside she felt shaken. She had come so close to casting herself into his arms. The burn of his touch was still in her blood.
Turning away with deliberation, she saw that several ladies were scurrying across the grass toward them.
“Why are they dressed exactly like you?” Alex inquired.
“Because they wish to imitate my style.” Joanna sighed. “I shall have to introduce a new fashion now. It does not do to look like everyone else.”
“How demanding your life must be,” Alex murmured. “I am surprised that you have the energy to contemplate a trip to the Arctic when there is so much to be done here.”
“So many baubles and trifles to sell,” Joanna said sweetly. “Excuse me, Lord Grant. I must take full advantage of the demand for my services. There are ships to be chartered. I am sure that you understand.”
She had the satisfaction of seeing his black frown return. “We shall see,” he said. With a muttered curse he turned on his heel and walked away.
Chapter 5
“OF COURSE LORD GRANT would not wish you to venture to the Arctic, Jo darling,” Lottie Cummings said comfortably. “He has the most frightful prejudice against women traveling, and it is all to do with the death of his wife, poor creature.” She poured tea into the Sevres porcelain cups that Joanna adored. They were sitting in Lottie’s morning room, a room Joanna had decorated and furnished. It was as light and airy as Lottie herself.
“She died in some hideous accident,” Lottie added, passing the plate of petits fours, “or from scarlet fever or smallpox, or from some other ghastly illness. I forget exactly, but apparently Lord Grant blamed himself because he had insisted on her accompanying him abroad.”
“Poor man,” Joanna said, surprised by an unexpected pang of compassion for Alex Grant losing his wife so horribly. “How dreadful for him.” The loss must have hurt him deeply, she thought. For all his brusqueness and his almost brutal directness, Alex was a man of intense passions. She had felt that earlier, the volcanic emotion within him. She shivered, remembering.
“Well.” Lottie waved a vague hand and the pastries slid dangerously in the direction of Max’s expectantly open mouth. “It is most generous of you to sympathize with him, Jo darling, when he has been so unhelpful to you. I always said that you are a nicer person than I by far. I will ask Julia Manbury what happened,” she added. “She remembers all the old scandals.”
Joanna stirred milk into her tea slowly. “Did you ever meet Lady Grant?” She was aware that her interest was not entirely objective. She felt an odd stirring of something that was remarkably like jealousy.
Lottie wrinkled up her nose. “I think I remember her vaguely. She was a winsome little chit as I recall. Not very clever, but pretty and biddable.”
“Just the way Lord Grant likes his women to be,” Joanna said dryly. “Obedient and quiet. David was the same,” she added bitterly. “These adventurers are all cut from the same cloth when it comes to wanting a submissive wife.”
“Oh, dear.” Lottie’s berry-dark eyes sparkled with malice. “You really are at daggers drawn with Lord Grant if you compare him to David.”
“How could we not be opposed?” Joanna demanded. “Lord Grant promises to make sure that no one will offer me passage to Spitsbergen, though I hope I can still persuade someone to take me.” She sighed. “I have a feeling it will be most expensive.”
“Well, I know the very ship for you!” Lottie popped a sugared almond into her mouth and crunched it hard. “I am afraid that dear Mr. Cummings has refused to sponsor Lord Grant’s delightful young cousin in his harebrained scheme to find lost gold in Mexico, which means that poor Devlin is knee-deep in debt. You know that he co-owns a cutter with the most gorgeous American captain called Owen Purchase
