"Mrs. Fielding?" He shook his head in resignation. "Can she not stop her matchmaking even now?"

"She does not wish," his grandmother returned with a victorious grin, "to own that I have succeeded where she failed. Look at the two of you! Anyone can tell that this match will be a successful one."

Lord Daniston arched a brow in Regina's direction. When she pressed her lips together tightly to hide her smile, he bent to kiss the dowager d.u.c.h.ess on the cheek. "Grandmother, I have never known you to be less than successful at anything you put your mind to."

"Just you remember that." She slapped his arm playfully, then pointed toward the parlor. "Now, do not loiter out here, or I fear our guests will be enjoying even more poker-talk than they are already at your expense."

"Dash it!"

"And watch your language, young man. Ladies are present."

Regina released her laugh, which refused to be held any longer, as the dowager d.u.c.h.ess scurried away. "Does she always order you about like that?"

"She has since I was in short coats."

"I am sure you were a rapscallion then."

He lifted her hand from his sleeve and ran his thumb along her palm. As she savored the shiver of delight surging outward from his touch, he whispered, "And what makes you think I have changed?"

"You still are a naughty little boy?" she asked as lowly.

"I am not a little boy any longer, madam." His fingers curved along her cheek as he tipped her mouth toward his.

Her breath caught, and her heartbeat thudded in her ears as she stared up at him. She should pull away, should tell him that she would not be his when he was also sharing his particular's bed, should remind him that they must not consummate their marriage until after the ceremony. But she could say nothing. She wanted to discover if his kisses were as wondrous as she had dreamed.

"Here they are!" The Duke of Attleby's voice rolled over them, pressing all desire from her.

Jumping back, Regina forced a smile as the duke introduced her to a friend. The gentleman-Regina's mind was awash with the pa.s.sions she had nearly let control her, so she forgot the man's name as soon as the duke spoke it-greeted her warmly and clapped Lord Daniston on the shoulder as he congratulated them.

The duke herded them all into the grand parlor. And it was grand. Regina stared about in amazement, for she had not been in this room yet. Although it was less than half the size of the ballroom, the ceiling was as high and ornate, with plaster designs of flowers and vines. Three walls were covered with a mural of a bucolic scene of what she guessed might be the landscape around Attleby Court, because in the far corner she saw a hint of a building that resembled the huge stone house she had seen in another painting. Horses grazed in the fields, and the gardens were a cacophony of color.

She had no chance to explore the mural further, though, because she and her new family were instantly surrounded by the guests. The polite questions she had answered before had vanished as the queries grew more pointed.

What did she think of Town? How long would she and Lord Daniston remain in London before they enjoyed a honeymoon far from the ton? Surely her father was returning for the wedding ceremony at the month's end, wasn't he? And ...

Regina tried to answer each person without revealing some facet of the truth of the uneasy feelings between her and her husband. If even a hint of that was divulged, the whole family would be the focus of conversation of those upon the gad.

When the folding doors were opened to the dining room and Lord Daniston came to escort her into dinner, Regina smiled.

"You look as if you are enjoying yourself," he said as they walked behind the duke and the dowager d.u.c.h.ess.

"As much as I would enjoy myself while being held in the Dey's prison."

"That much?"

Again she straggled not to laugh. She wondered how she could be irritated with him when he still could make her laugh with the simplest comment.

"Father's neighbors," he continued, but his eyes twinkled with merriment, "are of an ilk. They speak of boring matters unless they can find a tidbit of gossip to chew on. I do apologize that you have had them inflicted upon you during your very first week in Town."

She looked around the room. "I had thought to see that gentleman who is often by the statue in the center of the square."

"Which gentleman?"

At the sudden tension in his voice, she nearly paused. A sharp tug kept her walking. "I have not spoken with him, my lord, but I have frequently seen him from my window. He seems to prefer smoking his cheroot there."

Lord Daniston muttered something beneath his breath.

"What did you say?" she asked as they reached the table that was spread with silver and crystal that sparkled brilliantly in the light from the lamps encircling the walls.

"Andrews-"

"Your valet?"

"He has a bizarre sense of humor. He tried to convince me that the man loitering out there is a Bow Street Runner."

"What would a Bow Street Runner be doing here?"

He smiled. "Again we agree, madam, for that was my thought exactly. I suspect the man has slipped away from his duties in one of the houses along the square and that Andrews has taken the opportunity to create a jest."

When he seated her at the right of the head of the table, Regina relaxed. This setting was one she knew well. How many times had she sat with her father and the Dey's ministers? She had eaten the spicy food, watched the dancers and listened to the music, and had taken part in the conversation. At first the leaders of Algiers had been unwilling to accept her as her father's aide de camp, but they had learned not to underestimate either her father or her.

Giving Lord Daniston a smile to let him know that he need not worry about her any longer, she turned to the man on her left. She was delighted to discover Mr. Clay, who, if she recalled correctly from when he had been introduced to her by the ballroom, worked in the Home Office.

When she realized she and the gray-haired man had common acquaintances, the conversation flowed with an ease she had despaired of finding that evening. She discovered, too, that Mr. Clay possessed a droll wit. Soon she was laughing with him as he told stories about working with Lord Sidmouth and the others in the Home Office.

"You must find this life very tame after the adventures you had in North Africa," Mr. Clay said, his face wrinkling more with his smile.

"Papa always has urged me to see all of life as an adventure."

"But London is nothing like Algiers."

"No," she agreed with a laugh as she put her dessert fork on her cake plate, "but each city I have lived in has had its special charm."

"And what do you find charming about London?"

She faltered. How could she speak the truth and tell him that she had seen nothing beyond Berkeley Square save for the fog-shrouded streets she had traveled on her way into the city? Then she wondered if it was strange for a new wife to wander no farther than her own garden. So many things she did not know yet, and she must learn before she made a serious error.

Pasting her splintered smile back together, Regina answered, "I must beg your indulgence, Mr. Clay, to delay in giving you a reply to your question. There is so much of London that I have yet to see, and I would like to reserve judgment until that time. Of course, that may be the city's source of charm. There are so many places I wish to visit."

Mr. Clay looked past her. "Lord Daniston, I congratulate you on finding such a witty and diplomatic wife, who is also as pretty as a spring morning."

"Thank you," he said as he stood. When Regina stared up at him, wondering what was amiss, he put his hands on the back of her chair. "Madam?"

Even though a dozen questions filled her head, she rose compliantly. Her first pulse of dismay at having made a grievous mistake pa.s.sed when she saw that the other women were getting up from the table as well. She watched them parade from the room like dandelion fluff floating on the breeze.

"Madam?" Lord Daniston asked again.

"Do you wish me to leave?"

The duke said softly, "Son, I think you should escort Regina to where the other ladies are."

Regina bit back her curiosity as Lord Daniston offered his arm again. Letting him lead her into the hall, she could not ignore the sensation of every man watching her. She had wanted for sense to delay when the other ladies had departed, but she understood none of this.

"The ladies will be in Grandmother's sitting room," Lord Daniston said when they stood in the hall. It was deserted, but the sounds of conversation came from the dining room and the sitting room farther back on the same floor.

"I do not understand why I should withdraw at this time."

"Because that is what the ladies do."

"Because they have no interest in the conversation the gentlemen are sharing." She snapped her fan against her palm. "But I am interested in the conversation. Mr. Clay was making some very intriguing points on the present situation in the Mediterranean. I would enjoy speaking with him further."

"Madam, you are excused."

When she grasped his sleeve, Marcus had to bite back his curse. Had any man ever been shackled with a more bothersome woman? Carefully he lifted her fingers off his arm and turned to go back into the dining salon.

"I shall not be ignored as if I had no more value than the table," she said with a serenity that somehow added to his exasperation.

If Jocelyn had been the one denied what she wished, she would be screeching by this point and throwing things-preferably breakable things-at whatever offended her the most. Not more than a fortnight ago, it had been at him. A slow smile creased his taut lips as he recalled how they had spent the hours after she had calmed herself.

His gaze swept along Lady Daniston as he pondered what fires were lying dormant in his wife. Some of them he had discovered already, but he had had just a sample. A sample that made him yearn for more.

"It is being noted," Marcus said, reminding himself that he must concentrate on the problem at hand, "that you are paying more attention to a guest than to your new husband."

"I thought that making guests feel comfortable was a hostess's duty."

"Not when it appears you are doing so in order to ignore your husband."

"My lord," she said, "that was not my intention. I had hoped I would make your family proud by being a good hostess. Although I could do nothing to help in the arranging of this gathering, I could offer Mr. Clay some conversation."

Marcus locked his hands behind his back. Blast his fingers which urged him to touch her rosy cheek so he might discover if it was as deliciously soft as it appeared! She was his wife, after all. If he wished to caress her, there was no one who should deny him that pleasure. Again, as he had before, he reminded himself that it was better that she was not bracket-faced. When the time came for consummating this marriage, being attracted to his wife would make the predicament more bearable.

"If you would heed my lead, I will help you to understand how you should act tonight," he said quietly.

"You will tell me how to act?" Her eyes flashed a warning.

"Your education on a woman's rle has clearly been inadequate."

"On a wife's rle, you mean."

"Yes, of course."

He was astonished when she jabbed her finger at the b.u.t.ton at the top of his waistcoat. Her voice was taut as she said, "You have no idea what the proper wife could do for you."

"No? I have a very good idea."

He clasped her arms before he could halt himself. Pulling her to him, he slanted his mouth across hers. Her supple curves pressed against him as he drew her close. When her hands slowly rose along his arms to slip around his shoulders, he delved deep into her mouth. Her gasp of pleasure brushed his tongue and set him afire with the longing he had suffered since he first saw her. She was beautiful and seductive and his.

Her fingers clenched on the back of his coat as he sampled the sweetness along her throat. Shivers swept across her, so strong that she trembled in his arms. A soft moan oozed from her as he teased her ear with his tongue. He was sure he had never tasted anything as luscious as her skin.

She started to speak, but he recaptured her mouth. Her words infuriated him. Her lips inflamed him.

His hands splayed across her back, pressing her even more tightly to him. Hungry for more of the delights awaiting him, he reached for the hooks closing her gown. She was his wife, and he wanted her.

He froze, his fingers on the hooks, as he heard a laugh from the dining room. Dash it, but this was not the time to give free rein to the fantasies that had taunted him every night since she had come into his life.

Regina stared at him as he released her with obvious reluctance. Leaning back against the wall, for her bones had turned to jelly beneath his masterful caresses, she stared up at him. Pa.s.sions, deep and strong, burned in his eyes, and his hands clenched and unclenched by his sides as if he was fighting the same longing that infected her. Her skin still sparkled with the intriguing fires left by his lips. A single step would bring her back into his arms. A single step ...

"Excuse me, my lord," she whispered. "I think I should withdraw with the other ladies now."

Not giving him a chance to answer, she turned and hurried down the hall. It was the first time she had ever run away from a confrontation.

She feared it would not be the last.

Six.

When the carriage stopped, there was nothing about the shop to suggest to Regina that this was where the elite de l'elite came to purchase their gowns. A small sign, nearly scoured clean by the wind off the river, creaked over the doorway. The single window, which was not large, bore no lettering.

"Mme. LaPorte is anxious to meet you, Regina," the dowager d.u.c.h.ess said for the third time since they had left Berkeley Square. As the carriage slowed to a stop, she added, "You should feel honored that Madame was willing to take you on as a client this late in the Season. She is most strict about such matters. 'Twas only because I have been coming to her shop for so many years that she agreed to this unorthodox request."

"I appreciate all you have done for me." Regina could think of nothing else to say. Although she knew she needed new gowns, so she would not stand out among the ton in her outdated frocks, she could not give credence to the idea that Mme. LaPorte's work was without par. Every frock that she had admired last night had been splendid, and she was sure that Mme. LaPorte had not been responsible for all of them.

The coachman came to open the door. He set a step on the walkway and a.s.sisted the dowager d.u.c.h.ess, who was wearing pristine white, out of the crested carriage. Once he was sure she was set, he turned back to attend Regina. She was shocked when she heard him curse under his breath as he looked along the street.

"Is something amiss, Webster?" she asked.

"No, my lady. Nothing."

Regina did not believe him. He had answered too hastily and anxiously. When she gave a surrept.i.tious glance in both directions along the street as he helped her from the carriage, she could see nothing wrong. A pair of carriages awaited their pa.s.sengers, and a few pedestrians were peeking into the windows of the shops along the narrow street.

Looking at Webster, she was astonished when the tall coachee refused to meet her eyes. He bowed his head and turned to climb back into his seat.

"Do not dawdle, Regina," the dowager d.u.c.h.ess said. "We have waited too long to get started on this."

"Yes, Your Grace," she replied, but she took her uneasiness with her into the shop.

Aromas of perfume a.s.saulted her senses as she entered. In amazement, she stared at the jumble of fabrics and lace that seemed to cover every surface. It was as if an unbridled wind had swept through the shop, upsetting the bolts. From somewhere amidst the piles of cloth, she could hear two women talking.

"This way," said the dowager d.u.c.h.ess. "There is no need for the daughter-in-law of the Duke of Attleby to wait here like a common customer."

Regina smiled as she wondered if everyone was intimidated by the dowager d.u.c.h.ess's self-a.s.suredness. Not for the first time did she imagine the old woman standing toe to toe with the Dey as they argued some matter of state. She was beginning to suspect the Dey would find himself the loser.

"Mme. LaPorte!" called the dowager d.u.c.h.ess as they entered a smaller room that was only slightly more organized than the front room. "I ..."