to meddle in my life, but I will not allow him to do so. I shall decide if and when I marry.’ Jemma drew a deep breath and threw back her head to slam her eyes on his impaling steely gaze. ‘I was at his home just now to impress on him that fact and for no other reason that concerns you. Secondly,’ she uttered on a shuddering breath.
‘Thirdly…’ Marcus corrected softly.
‘What…?’
‘I’ve heard your second point,’ he reminded her with studied solemnity. ‘You weren’t aware of the outcome of my visit…’
‘Umm…oh…yes…thirdly…’ Jemma stuttered. ‘Thirdly…’ she resumed in a muted tone, the wind temporarily sucked out of her sails. A darting glance at his cynical expression soon had her temper again simmering. ‘Thirdly,’ she snapped icily, ‘there is nothing of which I care to persuade you except perhaps this: I find your arrogant assumption that I wanted to extricate a marriage proposal from you most unpleasant. I believed I had already made it clear some years ago that I had rejected you as a husband. Nothing has happened since to change my mind. Good day, sir.’ Jemma had managed just one triumphant pace away from him when a firm grip on her wrist arrested her, spinning her neatly around.
‘Are you sure nothing has changed your mind?’ he taunted softly. ‘Wyndham seemed quite taken with the notion of having a Countess in the family. He implied the idea appealed to you, too, now you’re slightly less immature.’
‘Let me assure you it does not,’ Jemma hissed, whitening with wrath at his insulting implication that she was ambitious for a title and childlike to boot. ‘And let me assure you of something else. My guardian is also quite taken with the idea of laying his hands on what is mine,’ she informed him acidly. ‘It makes no difference to him if I marry a noble or a nobody, just as long as he has the marriage lines as proof that he can legally claim my property.’ With a wrench she had her wrist from his grip. A phantom touch of firm fingers tingled warmly on her skin, making her rub in irritation at the spot. ‘I believe, sir, that in your arrogance you assume you are the only gentleman who received a letter from my guardian.’ She could tell by the hardening of his features that he had not heard rumours in clubs about the others, nor had Theo put him wise to it. A harsh little laugh bubbled in her throat. ‘You may or may not recall that you were just one of many gentlemen who offered for me five years ago. Every one of those fellows who lacks a wife has been invited by my doting cousin to renew his proposal.’ Jemma elevated her shapely little chin, looked up boldly into eyes that were glittering dangerously. ‘I fear I must go on to dent your ego, Mr Speer…’ she sighed with mock regret ‘…but say it I must: there is nothing special about you.’
‘Except perhaps that I am no longer unattached, and well you and Wyndham know it,’ Marcus returned quietly.
His answer was calm, and undeniably correct, yet oddly it disturbed Jemma more than a scathing outburst from him might have done.
* * *
Marcus could feel his temper rising, as was a part of his anatomy over which, it seemed, he had no control when in this little vixen’s vicinity. She could infuriate a saint with her acid tongue, and he was tempted to haul the infuriating chit against him, but whether to kiss her or throttle her he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t been so close to her in five years, but he remembered well enough how she could stir his blood with just a saucy smile or a deliberately subtle scuffing of her skin on his. Once she’d captivated him to such an extent he’d risked ridicule when she’d rejected him. Inwardly he’d pined for her for a year; outwardly he’d seemed to become polite society’s most predatory rake.
But he could admit to himself what he’d been keen to keep from others. At the time a girl barely out of the schoolroom had brought him to his knees—quite literally—he’d proposed in traditionally humble pose. Then she’d gone home to her swain to find a broken heart awaited her in Essex. When he’d heard about it he’d briefly felt a sense of malicious satisfaction that she’d tasted her own medicine. But much as he might have wanted to continue using the balm of vengeance, it had lost its efficaciousness, leaving him simply feeling bereft. He’d hoped her father might bring her back to London during the following Season. But she’d not appeared, and he’d wondered whether he might find the humility to travel to Essex and propose for a second time.
During those twelve dark months when his moods were unpredictable and his business dealings neglected, his uncle Solomon had watched quietly from the sidelines, keeping his own counsel on the matter of Miss Jemma Bailey. But Solomon had had no hesitation in taking him to task over bad business deals and impatiently had guided his nephew’s investments back on course. Thus it had been left to Marcus alone to decide whether to swallow his pride and follow his heart or to salve his wounds in customary male fashion. His pride had won. He’d stayed in town and submerged his sorrows by carousing nightly with licentious friends and promiscuous women. After two years had passed he’d been sure he’d forgotten all about Jemma Bailey. At Christmas time, he’d travelled through Essex to see his mother and new stepfather in Norfolk and not once had it occurred to him during that trip to take a minor detour from his route and go past Thaxham House, John Bailey’s small estate. His healthy ego had helped him survive his first disastrous encounter with falling in love. He’d been determined not to appear a maudlin fool in front of his family and friends. Thankfully he had not. And now he was over her.
* * *
Jemma fidgeted as the tense silence between them lengthened. She’d been very rude and regretted it. Yet she wasn’t sure why she felt guilty when his implied insults had equalled her spoken ones. A moment ago she’d been ready to sweep away from him, feeling victorious. Now something about his attitude held her quiet and still. Instinctively she knew what was in his mind. He was brooding on what had happened between them five years ago.
She glanced about. Passers-by were starting to take an interest in them. Sidelong glances and sibilant whispers alerted her senses to potential trouble. The last thing she wanted was to stir more gossip.
‘Shall we walk and talk, Miss Bailey?’ Marcus had also become conscious that they were under observation. With studied gallantry he offered Jemma his arm. ‘It might be wise if we do not appear to be involved in a tiff in the middle of the street.’
Jemma hesitated but a moment later nodded. She knew he was heading home, and so was she. Her small town house on Pereville Parade was not fashionably situated, whereas his mansion on Beaufort Place was in a prime spot. But they had to walk in the same general direction before their paths diverged. It would be silly for one of them to stay a step or two in front or behind to avoid the other’s company. She knew too that it was sensible advice to maintain an appearance of civil acquaintance rather than one of being at loggerheads. Her small fingers hovered over the crook of his arm as a poignant feeling fluttered in her chest. Once she’d adored having the feel of his clothed muscle beneath her hand when they’d danced or promenaded. Yet all the while she’d felt so terribly guilty that she’d found him attractive for she’d believed Robert to be patiently awaiting her return to Essex so they might elope.
‘What did you say to Theo?’ Jemma forced her eyes up to his and her mind away from painful memories. She looked at him, really looked at him, and the ruggedly hewn, handsome features close to her made icy fire streak through her veins. He looked only slightly older than he had at twenty-six. There were a few silver threads in the thick blackish hair springing back at his temples and the grooves bracketing his thin yet sensual lips seemed a mite deeper than when last she’d studied his face. Her eyes diverted to the long firm fingers close to her own and unwanted images of being intimately touched by them made blood fizz beneath her skin. She’d been wanton—at such a tender age, too! It was little wonder that a moment ago he’d looked at her, spoken to her with such lustful amusement. He hadn’t forgotten her lack of restraint either.
