When Marrying a Duke.... Helen Dickson

She sighed. Nothing seemed to escape those penetrating silver-grey eyes of his.

      ‘I hope I’m not the cause and that you’re not bearing a grudge over our little altercation when I forcibly made you leave the native quarter.’

      ‘No. I don’t bear grudges—even if you do think I’m a flighty, fluff-headed socialite who only cares about enjoying herself,’ she said with a puckish smile curving her lips. ‘I said I was sorry and I meant it. I hope you will accept my thanks for not telling my father. I’m grateful to you for that. And I was quite obnoxious on our encounter in Happy Valley, wasn’t I?’

      ‘Yes, you were, but I don’t bear grudges either.’ He grinned, his eyes dancing with humour. ‘It’s not every day a pretty young lady throws herself at my feet,’ he teased lightly.

      ‘Not intentionally. I’m glad I didn’t land on you or your wife. I should hate to have hurt her, or you for that matter.’

      ‘Thank you. I appreciate your concern. But you might have hurt yourself. So—why the long face?’

      ‘Oliver and Julian are going to Europe to further their education. I’ve only just found out.’

      ‘I see. And you’ll miss them, naturally.’

      ‘Yes, of course I will. Emma, my closest friend, is also leaving the island. Her parents are sending her to be finished off somewhere in Europe.’

      ‘And that bothers you?’

      ‘It felt like having a bucket of cold water poured over my head. If it weren’t for you telling Oliver’s father about his visit to China Town, he wouldn’t be leaving. Do you make a habit of interfering in other people’s lives, Lord Trevellyan?’

      ‘Only when I deem it necessary,’ he replied coolly. ‘I’d like to think I’ve done young Schofield a favour.’

      ‘But his father is sending him to England.’

      ‘It’s the best thing for him, if you ask me.’

      ‘I wasn’t, and that is your opinion.’

      ‘Which I trust.’

      ‘But to see my three best friends leave the island! We’ve been together for a long time. I can’t bear to think of the group being broken up. Nothing will be the same any more. Life will be so boring.’

      ‘Oh, I think you’re still young enough to change all that.’

      ‘I doubt it,’ she admitted bluntly. ‘To be honest, I don’t know if I would want to.’

      ‘So a betrothal to the opium-smoking young man I found you with in the native quarter the other day is not to be considered?’

      ‘Oh, no,’ she replied. A frown marred her smooth forehead at the idea that she and Oliver might be linked together. ‘Even though my father is unaware of Oliver’s partiality for a particular narcotic, he would not encourage a match between us.’

      ‘He doesn’t like Mr Schofield?’

      ‘Oh, no, that isn’t the reason. In fact, Father would have no reservations about Oliver making me an excellent husband. It’s just that he would have serious reservations about my life with my prospective mother-in-law.’

      Max chuckled softly. ‘Having encountered Mrs Schofield on several occasions, I can see his point. She’s a tiresome busybody and worse than a washerwoman for the pleasure she takes in idle gossip and malicious talk.’

      ‘Exactly. Besides, I believe she thinks I have a disruptive influence on her precious Oliver.’

      He arched a brow. ‘And have you?’

      ‘I don’t think so, but perhaps the fact that I love having fun and don’t always listen to the dictates of my father has crystallised all my sins in her mind.’

      At the tragic note in her voice, humour softened Max’s features and his firm, sensual lips quirked in a smile. ‘Poor you. What a truly miserable time you are having, Miss Westwood. Still, I applaud your honesty. It’s a rare virtue in one so young.’

      ‘My father says I’m unconventional and I suppose I am, which is why all the old tabbies on the island are always complaining to him about me and giving him advice on the best way to deal with a wayward daughter. But he likes me the way I am and wouldn’t like it if I were to change.’

      ‘Your father is quite right. You are what you are. You can’t please everybody. One’s true character springs from the heart and dwells in the eyes. Unconventionality is an invitation to disaster in the world we inhabit.’

      She stared at him. ‘My word, how very profound.’

      Gazing into his unfathomable eyes, she saw cynicism lurking in their depths. There was something primitive and dangerous about Lord Trevellyan. She had the uneasy feeling that his elegant attire and indolent stance were nothing but disguises meant to lull the unwary into believing he was civilised, when he wasn’t civilised at all. He looked like the sort of man who had seen and done all sorts of things, terrible and forbidden things, things that had hardened him and made him cold. A chill crept up her spine as she wondered what dark secrets lay hidden in his past. Surely there must be many to have made him so cynical and unapproachable.

      ‘I don’t mean to pry, but are you happy, Lord Trevellyan? What I mean is, do you get the very best out of your life?’

      He looked irritated by her question, but he answered it. ‘I don’t suppose so, but then, who does?’

      ‘There you are, you see.’ She lifted her face up to the star-strewn sky, her entire being radiant with optimism, innocence and hope. ‘I love life, even when things happen to me and my friends are deserting me. I can’t stop loving life.’

      Transfixed, Max stared at her. Marietta Westwood was unspoiled, without artifice or pretence, young and naïve and realistic. Her irresistible smile doused his momentary irritation and brought an answering smile to his lips. ‘Long may you continue to do so.’

      Marietta turned and looked at him. In his late twenties, Lord Trevellyan’s potent attraction to women was a topic of much scintillating feminine gossip among the ladies, young and old, in the colony, and as Marietta gazed into those cynical grey eyes, she suddenly felt herself drawn to him as if by some overwhelming magnetic force. Understanding was in his eyes, along with a touch of humour. It was these things, as well as his dark good looks and blatant virility, that impelled women towards him, even though their attentions went unrewarded, for he ignored them all. He was so worldly, so experienced, that he clearly understood them. He understood her, and although it was obvious he didn’t approve of her, he accepted her for what she was, with all her faults.

      ‘Are you going to return to your wife?’ she asked. ‘She might want you to dance with her.’ A strange expression crossed his face, as if he were struggling to master some emotion—anger, she thought.

      ‘Not yet.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because, Miss Inquisitive Westwood, she’s dancing with someone else.’

      ‘I know—Teddy—my father’s business partner.’

      His smile disappeared and his face darkened. ‘I am aware of that.’

      Marietta tilted her head to one side and considered him quizzically. ‘Do you mind?’

      ‘Should I mind?’

      ‘Since it’s the custom to dance with different partners when one attends a ball, then I don’t think you should.’

      ‘Then I don’t.’

      Unaware of his sudden change in attitude, Marietta proceeded to delight Lord Trevellyan with a wickedly humorous description of some of the events she’d attended on the island and some funny stories acquainted with the people she knew. She told him of how, on one of her trips to Kowloon on one of her father’s