“But…” Inspiration struck. “Didn’t you say you plan to marry me off posthaste? And yet, you do not plan to ferry me about London? In that case, wouldn’t it be more expeditious to remain here, at a week-long matchmaking festival, in which unmarried gentlemen from all corners of England have come to find a bride?”
She knew her logic was unassailable. The horror on his handsome face indicated he knew it, as well.
“I don’t intend to gad about with you anywhere. London or Marrywell or otherwise,” he said coldly.
“I’ll attend the events on my own,” she suggested.
“A young lady of good breeding would never dream of attending a social event without a proper chaperone.”
“I think we’ve established that the only one of those words that describes me is ‘young’, and even that’s only true for three more weeks. I’ve no idea how to be a lady, and doubt my breeding comes close to meeting your exacting standards.”
“All the more reason you shan’t show your face anywhere without a chaperone.”
“I’ll ask Aunt Stapleton to chaperone.”
“You will not. She’s old and tired and already stated her desire to return home after the tart-and-pie competition tomorrow morning.”
“Then I’ll ask…” her words faded.
He sighed. “You don’t know anyone else.”
“John Coachman?” she said hopefully.
“Good God.” The earl recoiled. “You really can’t be left to make decisions on your own. Very well. We’ll stay until the tart-and-pie competition.”
Matilda clapped her hands. “Thank you!”
“I’m not doing it for you,” he muttered. “I’m doing it for me. Find a husband fast, or I’ll betroth you to whomever wins the tart-and-pie competition.”
She patted his arm. “We’ll have a splendid time. You’ll see.”
He gingerly plucked her hand from his arm and dropped it back in her lap. “Rule number one: never touch me.”
“But I touched you when we were behind the—”
“Temporary insanity,” he interrupted firmly. “I’ve since recovered.”
“No touching means no kisses?”
“You’re catching on. No kissing me or any man, unless the banns have been read or you’re married to him. Understood?”
“Understood,” she parroted blandly. After all, one could understand a rule without having the least intention of following it.
Her guardian might think that finding a mate for Matilda was his new mission, but she had a new project of her own: the Earl of Gilbourne.
She would coax a smile to his lips if it was the last thing she did.
He might think himself incapable of loosening his rigid mores, but he’d done so once, behind the ferns with her. Which meant he was capable of loosening up again. She would simply have to keep poking until she pushed him right over the edge.
“I mean it, Miss Dodd,” he said warily. “Do not embarrass me. Behave as if you were a lady of high station tomorrow, or you will find yourself back in this carriage if I have to bind your hands and feet and toss you over my shoulder like a trussed pig. Understood?”
“Understood,” she assured him. She would behave… exactly how she pleased.
“Rule number two,” he continued. “All my rules are law. If I tell you to do something, you do it. If I tell you not to do something, you do not do it. You shall not question my judgment, my motivation, or my aims. You obey. Understood, Miss Dodd?”
“Understood,” she said again.
How long would it take him to realize understood was not the same as Yes, my lord and master, your every wish is my command and great honor? Could it really be that, as a peer of the realm, everyone he came in contact with obeyed his whims regardless of circumstance, personal preference, or basic humanity?
