‘Leaving my good name in tatters,’ she said bitterly.
‘Oh, I would not be so sure of that,’ he replied, eyes glinting. ‘The ones who each cherish particular hopes of marrying me would surely not like to hear it spread abroad that I have been dallying with another, under their very noses. Would not that risk making the previously favoured lady a trifle ridiculous?’
‘I would not care to wager my character on Mary Debenham’s discretion!’ she shot back.
He smiled a little grimly. ‘I can understand that. Nor would I, if had a character. She is quite poisonous, is she not?’
‘She is. And I am sure the “unfavoured” ladies would be all too glad to spread scandal abroad, if you reject them. As you said last night, you are not the Grand Turk – you cannot marry all of them!’
‘Alas.’
She snorted, and Tam snuffled as if in agreement. ‘I think not! Mary Debenham would smother you as you slept if it was to her advantage!’
‘Adorable,’ he said softly. ‘The way you wrinkle your nose when you are being disapproving. Quite adorable. Tam agrees, I am sure of it. Look at his face: the hopeless adoration. He has excellent taste, of course.’
Georgie thought she ought to be beyond blushes where this man was concerned, but she was not, it seemed. ‘Nonsense,’ she said firmly. ‘You need not trouble to make up to me.’
‘No…?’ he asked softly. ‘It occurs to me that I was a little uncivil last night, when I kissed you and left you so abruptly. I owe you an apology, I believe.’
‘For kissing me, or for leaving?’ As soon as the words had left her mouth, she regretted them.
His eyes sparkled silver in appreciation. ‘Very nice,’ he said. ‘Neither, I suppose. For disingenuity, though I accused you of it most unfairly. For taunting you with a desire which you must be fully aware I too feel; for implying that you alone experience this curious and very powerful pull between us. And for not kissing you properly. Kissing you should not be undertaken carelessly. It merits care and attention. Time.’ He put out his hand and brushed her lips with one long finger. ‘Privacy.’
‘We should never be alone again!’ she whispered shakily, the sensitive skin of her lips tingling at his touch, light though it had been. ‘Indeed, we are not alone now, and I am not referring to your dog! And that reminds me – before you leave, as you must realise you should without loss of time, I need to tell you that we were overheard last night!’
‘Really?’ he said easily. He did not seem in the least concerned. ‘By whom?’
‘Miss Spry! And I have told her everything.’
‘Everything?’ He was smiling in a most disturbing way.
‘Yes! I have no secrets from her now. She does not mean to tell my aunt, thank goodness. But it shows you that this must stop – we must be careful and never be alone together again!’
‘It shows me,’ he said, rising to his feet, ‘that next time I pay you a nocturnal visit, I will be much quieter. You are quite right to reprove me. Tam, stay!’
And before she could reply, he was gone, though his dog, obedient to his master, remained behind, and looked up at Georgie with expectant eyes, clearly hoping for another caress.They were quite as bad as each other, she thought, and both of them in their very different ways difficult to resist.
15
It seemed to Georgiana that the Duke’s final words to her in the library turret had been little less than a promise that he would come to visit her chamber again soon. Tonight, probably. She should, she thought, be anxious at the prospect – Alice would have been terrified – but if she was honest with herself, she was not. She should, of course, have repeated her demand that he close up the secret stair that led to her room, or show her how to do so herself. She had done neither of those things, had not so much as mentioned the matter, despite having had several opportunities to do so. The idea that he was still free to come and go as he pleased should have appalled her. Not excited her.
Miss Spry’s suggestion on the beach had set all manner of thoughts and fancies roiling in her brain, and the Duke’s brief caress in the library had electrified her body. She was still tingling at the memory of his touch. She dared not look at him for the rest of the day for fear of what he might read in her eyes. The afternoon and then the evening passed – she could scarcely say how, what she ate, with whom she conversed – and she found herself in bed at last, curtains open to admit the fitfulmoonlight, with her eyes fixed on the section of the panelling that she knew concealed the hidden stairway.
It was a little after midnight when he arrived. The panel did not creak this time; perhaps he was more careful, or perhaps he had oiled the mechanism as he said he would. She could easily believe it of him. He set down his lantern on the tallboy and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You were expecting me. That’s encouraging.’
He crossed the room and sat on the bed, very close to her. ‘I saw you walking on the beach earlier today with the poetess,’ he said very low. ‘She is uncommonly tall, of course, and unmistakeable, but you are much of a height with most of the other young ladies, and yet there was no way I could mistake you for another. You looked quite at home there, I thought. And I began to realise as I watched you, and later when we talked I became sure of it: there is not the least need for all this heart-burning and worry about your reputation.’
‘How so?’
‘Marry me.’
He had said it, and her heart pounded in her chest at his words. But he was not done. ‘I have the finest flower of English womanhood here, do I not? Or nearly so, for we must exclude any fortunate damsel whose parents have too great a care for her to let her marry such as I. But here they all are, at any rate, and I must confess that I find them dead bores, every last one. But you, you are not a dead bore. You are a constant surprise to me. And after all…’ His voice was a caress, always, but his words held a sting. ‘After all, the main requirement of me in this proposed marriage is somewhat… functional.’
She must have betrayed some small sign of distress or disapproval, for he said, ‘I need an heir – you must surely know this. I would not have involved myself in this farrago otherwise. Until my younger brother and then my cousin died, I had nothought of marriage. I was lucky – I did not need to think of it, and Lord knows I did not want to. But now I must, for the sake of the estate and all its people. The next heir now, my man of business has informed me, is the elderly grandson or great-grandson of some distant great-uncle of mine – I confess I was not attending to the precise details – and lives a blameless life as professor of Greek and Latin in distant Massachusetts. A blameless unmarried life. The heir after him, his nephew, though they are apparently not on visiting terms, runs a low tavern on the dockside in Boston, and is married in a casual sort of way to a lady who rejoices in the name of Leaky Sue. There’s a parcel of grubby brats about her heels, nominally his, though it is by no means clear if he is indeed their father. So you see…’
Still she did not speak, and he said with a twisted smile, ‘I am sorry it is not a very romantic offer, Lady Georgiana. A sadly clumsy one, I fear. Put it down to inexperience, if you please, for I have never asked a woman to marry me before. But setting Leaky Sue aside for a moment, and setting aside too the fact that I am apparently to be the prize bull of the North Riding, I think we could deal together rather well, you and I. Looking at you now, I am sure we could. I promise you, it would not be such a terrible life, the one I could offer you. Not terrible at all. The status of a married lady is no small thing in our world, and I would strive to be a charming, undemanding sort of a husband most of the time – except of course where demands might be… appropriate and necessary. On both sides, my dear.’
He reached out and stroked a stray strand of hair back from her cheek. ‘Will you not answer me?’
