When Marrying a Duke.... Helen Dickson

illicit dealings in the opium trade.

      The Chinese had banned opium from its territories, but it was smuggled into Hong Kong from India covertly, increasing the addiction of the Chinese to the drug. He was convinced that Miss Westwood’s knowledge about the drug went no further than it being a very effective medicine. And, he thought, when he considered the misery it caused, long may she continue to do so.

      ‘You don’t know me, Lord Trevellyan, so you have no right to say that. And I have apologised to you—and your wife—which you would have heard had you taken the wool out of your ears.’

      Max wasn’t accustomed to being answered back and was taken aback at her remark. One dark brow lifted over an amused silver-grey eye, before he checked himself and his lips curled scornfully across his even white teeth. ‘It sounded more like an excuse than an apology to me,’ he replied crisply, wondering what the hell he was doing arguing with her. Hearing the sound of youthful laughter, he glanced beyond her, noting the boisterousness of her group. ‘It’s certainly a wayward bunch you are with.’

      ‘These are my friends, actually,’ Marietta snapped defensively.

      ‘I think everybody would be obliged if they’d restrain their enthusiasm,’ he remarked, glowering beneath ferociously dipping eyebrows.

      ‘Why? We are just having some perfectly harmless fun.’ Snatching her bonnet off her head, she assumed an appearance of remote indifference as she turned her back on Lord Trevellyan and his wife and haughtily flounced back to her friends.

      ‘I say, Marietta!’ Oliver remarked, astounded and full of admiration for the way she had stood up to the formidable Lord Trevellyan. ‘You gave him what for.’

      ‘He deserved it,’ she remarked haughtily. ‘The man is arrogant, high-handed and quite despicable.’ Every word she uttered she believed was true, but if so, why was she drowning in an ocean of mortification? Why couldn’t she have walked away instead of arguing with Lord Trevellyan, which was what any well brought-up, self-respecting young lady would have done.

      Marietta had first seen Lord Trevellyan at a musical tea party being held at a prominent merchant’s house. Her eyes had been caught by the handsome man who was a stranger in their midst. In contrast to the bored languor of other gentlemen present, he moved with an easy grace that expressed confidence, which sat on him lightly but with a strength of steel. His manner was authoritative, his tall frame positively radiating raw power and the kind of unleashed sensuality her best friend Emma was always talking about.

      His charm was evident in his lazy white smile and there was an aura about him of danger and excitement that stirred her young and impressionable heart. Marietta thought it was an aura that women would find exciting and which would add tremendously to his attraction—indeed, every woman present seemed to be aware of his presence. But he appeared not to notice the smiles showered on him. His eyes looked cool and restless, his expression restrained and guarded. It was as if he were fed up with the whole occasion, which made Marietta suspect that he would very much like to be somewhere else.

      As she’d continued to look at him she’d only become more aware of him as a man. She was motionless. There seemed to be a warmth, a hidden fervour of feeling, as if her whole being had been stirred and some change were taking place in its very depths. All at once she wanted desperately to make this fine gentleman notice her, to dazzle him with her wit and brilliance, while he had probably seen her merely as some silly schoolgirl.

      Her eyes had continued to follow him until, unable to stand the suspense of not knowing who he was any longer, she asked her father.

      ‘Who is that man, Papa—the tall man with the black hair? I can’t say that I’ve seen him before.’

      ‘That—Oh! Max Trevellyan—Lord Trevellyan. He’s also a member of the British aristocracy—a duke, no less, but when he’s in Hong Kong he prefers to leave his title at home in England. That’s his wife, Nadine, a nice young woman and very beautiful, as you can see.’

      ‘Wife? Oh, I see.’ And Marietta did see. She’d been swamped with disappointment. Lady Trevellyan was perhaps the loveliest woman she had ever seen as she’d watched her walk across the room to her husband’s side. Her hair was blonde, her face exquisite, and she was poised, her slender figure swaying beneath the silk and lace of her dress when she moved. When she looked at her husband her lips were smiling, her eyes half-closed. Marietta recognised something in the charm of her attitude that caused a strange disquiet to fall on her.

      After that occasion, even though her eyes sought Lord Trevellyan out, she always remained at a distance. Once they were introduced, but he took no more notice of her than he would any seventeen-year-old girl.

      Marietta’s home was a substantial mansion high up on the Peak, which, overlooking the busy harbour and Kowloon, attracted prominent European residents because of its temperate climate compared to the subtropical heat in the rest of Hong Kong.

      She had been born in England. Her father had come to Hong Kong after the Charter Act had opened the China trade to independent enterprise. Before that, taking advantage of the fashion craze for Kashmir shawls, which were a prized possession for any woman who could afford to buy them, and aware of the commercial opportunity, he’d made his fortune importing shiploads from India to Europe and America. Before long he was trading in other commodities from India—sumptuous goods, luxurious and exotic. It was in India that he’d met Teddy and they’d formed a partnership.

      Arriving at the house, Marietta encountered Teddy on the veranda—the debonair Teddy Longford, a lady’s man who oozed charm and flattery. He was sitting in a bamboo chair with a cigar in one hand and a brandy in the other, his long legs stretched out in front of him. On seeing her he smiled a welcome.

      ‘Ah, here you are. Your father was wondering where you’d got to. I feel I must warn you that he’s not in the best of moods, having heard of your escapade at Happy Valley.’

      ‘Oh dear,’ Marietta said ruefully. ‘I was hoping he wouldn’t have found out about it. I thought I’d see you there.’

      ‘Not today. I had other fish to fry.’ A warm gleam lit up his brown eyes.

      Marietta laughed, giving him a knowing look. ‘You’re looking very pleased with yourself, Teddy. Do I know the lady?’ she said teasingly.

      He lifted a dark, winged brow, his lips twitching with humour. ‘I very much doubt it—but she’s a looker all right.’ Taking a long draw on his cigar, he squinted at her through the smoke. ‘Are you looking forward to the New Year celebrations?’ he asked, referring to the forthcoming event to be held at Government House.

      ‘Very much. What about you, Teddy? Will you be there?’

      ‘Naturally. Your father and I have a very important lady to escort.’

      ‘Then how could I resist two such handsome escorts?’ Marietta laughed, dancing off to placate her father.

      Lord Trevellyan’s rebuke for her inappropriate behaviour had done nothing but inflame Marietta’s smouldering resentment towards him, but when confronted by her father’s state of agitation over her escapade, she felt a deep remorse for causing him such anxiety. Her first idea of slipping to her room to change her clothes was instantly discarded when she saw how pale he was.

      Upright and decisive, Monty Westwood was a tall man with thinning fair hair and mutton-chop whiskers. His olive-green eyes were flecked with gold—a feature his daughter had inherited. He was a handsome man, though his flesh wasn’t as firm as it had once been, but he’d lost none of his ability to charm the ladies, although of late Marietta had noticed he’d lost weight and his tan had become an unhealthy yellow.

      For a long time now Marietta had begun to suspect he wasn’t well—although if he wasn’t he would never talk to her about it. He did not burden his daughter with his own worries, for there were some things he might have talked about, but didn’t. His eyes held a faraway look and his pupils were often dilated. Of course he drank too much, but then everyone in Hong Kong drank too much and many suffered from damaged livers.