Couple's Quarrel from "She's No Princess"

"Infatuation is not love!" she said, becoming exasperated. "I told you, I will only marry a man who loves me. Lord Montrose and Lord Haye are infatuated with me, perhaps, but they certainly do not love me."

"They damn well care enough about you to engage in brawling at a gentleman's club!" Ian roared. "And I'm the one who ended up with a black eye!"

" Santo cielo!" she cried, her own frustration rising in the face of his. As always, when her temper was roused, Lucia found English inadequate to express her feelings and lapsed into her own language. "Men fight over women all the time," she said in Italian. "The same way boys fight over toys."

"I think it is Lord Haye and Lord Montrose who are the toys here," he answered, also in Italian. "Your toys."

"That is not fair!"

"No? Hayes thinks you are going to marry him."

"I never agreed to his proposal!"

He glared at her, hands on hips. "Then, for the love of God, what were you doing kissing him?"

"He asked me to marry him, and I know I have to marry somebody, so I thought I should at least consider his offer of marriage. But of course I couldn't agree to marry a man without knowing how he kisses."

"Of course not!"

"So I had to kiss him and find out if I could ever grow to love him. But no, after that kiss, I knew I could not marry him."

Ian was staring at her in disbelief. "You mean, you only kissed him as some sort of henwitted experiment?"

"Would you marry a woman without kissing her first?" She shook her head, looking at him with sadness. "If so, I fear there is no hope for you, Englishman."

Ian raked a hand through his hair. "I don't suppose you could just go ahead and marry him anyway?" he asked, a hint of desperation entering his voice. "Then I could go handle some easy diplomatic problem. Like the Turks and the Greeks. I mean, you could teach the poor sod how to kiss, couldn't you?"

She was appalled. Just the thought of enduring Haye's wet, fishlike mouth until the end of her days made her a bit queasy. Her feelings must have shown on her face, for Ian gave a deep sigh. "Never mind," he muttered. "I knew it was too much to hope for."

"I deserve a man who knows how to kiss," she said stubbornly.

"So this is what I am to expect for the next three weeks? Do you intend to investigate the kissing skills of every bachelor in London?"
Those words made Lucia's frustration flare into outright anger. "I did not ask for any of this!" she cried. "I did not decree that I had to get married and that six weeks was plenty of time in which to find a husband! My father did."

"That is a fact that cannot be helped. And it is also a fact that you brought a great deal of that situation about by your own past conduct."

She was not appeased by his facts or the disapproval with which he uttered them. "We are talking about my life, my future, and I seem to be the only one who thinks it is important enough to warrant serious consideration!" With each word she spoke, Lucia became more frustrated and more angry at the entire impossible situation in which she had been placed. Her temper unraveled.

Lucia glanced around and caught sight of the flowers reposing in a vase on the foyer table beside the calling-card tray, a dozen red carnations that had come the day before from Lord Walford. She yanked the bouquet out of the vase and brandished it at Ian. "You present men to me as if they are hats in a milliner's shop," she said as she struck him in the shoulder with the dripping-wet bouquet, "so you cannot blame me for treating them as such and trying them on. Shall I take this one? No, he does not fit me. Perhaps that one? No, I do not like him. What about that one? No, his kiss I do not like."

As she spoke, she punctuated her words with more whacks to his head and shoulders. "My father gives the money," she went on furiously, "and you bring the men for me to buy. I do not want to buy a man as if he is a hat!"

Ian swatted at the bouquet with which she was attacking him as if it were a troublesome fly. "Damnation, woman, cease batting me with that idiotic thing. I have already been struck enough this evening, thanks to you."

She landed her best blow yet, bashing the flowers right over his head, wishing it capable of smashing his
thick masculine skull. She drew back for another strike, "Right now, I wish I could really hurt you, Englishman."

"Hurt me?" He eyed the pathetic, broken stems in her hand with scorn. "If that is your intent, Miss Valenti, then have the good sense to use something more effective than a bunch of carnations."

She ignored that. "My father does not care what I want. You do not care what I want. I am the only one who can look out for my own interests, and that is just what I intend to do!"

"Interests? You seemed very interested in Montrose a few days ago. Then you thought you might have wanted Haye. I think you may even have wanted me for a moment there, but obviously, I was just another kissing experiment!"

"What kiss?" she shot back, and hit him again. "Was that a kiss? It was so quick, I wasn't sure."

He yanked the bouquet out of her hands. "Unlike your lovesick suitors, I don't like being played like a Spanish guitar," he said, crushing carnations in his fingers, "and I don't like listening to these men moon over you like pathetic schoolboys. And I really don't like having fists put through my face!"

"That is not my fault!"

"Like hell it's not!" His eyes flashed fire and he threw the carnations aside. He stepped closer, closing the short distance between them, his Italian words flying fast and furious. "You play with men, and you have no idea what you play with. These are intelligent, ordinarily rational British gentlemen, and you've got them so worked up, they are making utter fools of themselves over you, while you don't care one whit for any of them."

Faced with a blaze of such hot, splendid fury, even Lucia was forced to retreat. She took a few steps back, then stopped and lifted her chin a notch. She swallowed hard and faced him down. "I deserve to find a man who truly loves me," she said, mustering her dignity and controlling her own anger in the face of his. "I see no reason to settle for less, and if you and my father expect me to do so, you can both go to hell. As I said, Haye does not love me. He wants me, perhaps, but he does not love me. Lord Montrose does not love me either."

"They gave everyone at Brooks's a fine imitation of it when they proceeded to beat each other to a bloody pulp! They were both thrown out into the street. They may even lose their memberships over this."

"When the man comes along who truly loves me," she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "I will know it in my heart."

"Well, tell your heart to damn well get on with it, so I can get on with my life!"

"What on earth is going on here?" Grace's shocked voice entered the conversation. Both Lucia and Ian turned toward the stairs at the opposite end of the foyer to find they had gathered a crowd of amazed spectators. Not only had their quarrel awakened Grace, but also Dylan, Isabel, and a handful of servants. "Good heavens!" Grace gasped as she looked at Ian's face. "What happened to your eye?"

Before he could answer, Dylan spoke up, sounding both astonished and thoroughly amused. "You got in
a fight? You, my disciplined, dignified big brother? Ye gods, I can scarce believe it. The last time I saw you like this, I was thirteen and put poison oak in your drawers. You gave me a damn fine whacking for it, too, if I recall."

"I did not get in a fight," Ian said through clenched teeth, speaking in English this time. He glared at Lucia. "I tried to prevent one, and this is what I got for my trouble."

His brother started to ask more questions, but Ian held up his hand to stop him. Still looking at Lucia, he resumed speaking in Italian. "Tomorrow," he said, "you will face Lord Haye. You will tell him that this was all a mistake, and you will apologize profusely for any misunderstanding you caused by your behavior. You will make it clear to him that, as wonderful as he is, you cannot in good conscience marry him. Since you have so much charm, I leave it to you to come up with a reason that will not hurt the fellow too badly."

Ian turned and strode toward the front door. Opening it, he went on, still in Italian, "Everyone at Brooks's knows about the fight, the kiss, and Haye's proposal, by the way. So in addition to already being London's most determined flirt, you will soon be its most famous jilt. Congratulations." With that, he walked out and slammed the door behind him.