“Married!” His mother looked positively bilious. “To a Harrington girl? Bainbridge, I cannot countenance such a misbegotten misalliance, particularly after…”
Particularly after the debacle of his last marriage. Her words went unspoken, but he knew as well as she what she’d been about to utter. It weighed the air of their godforsaken vignette with loaded stillness.
Spencer’s ears hummed, and the familiar heft of blame curdled in his stomach. His jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. By God, his mother ought to know better than to allude to Millicent. No one had dared breathe her name to him after the last shovel of dirt had been laid on her grave.
And this day was not the one to begin resurrecting old ghosts. Indeed, there was never a day on which he cared to revisit that particular brand of perdition.
“Madam,” he warned, biting out the word as though it tasted as bitter as poison.
The sound of shifting silk reached his ears, and his entire body went on edge. How odd that he should be attuned to Lady Boadicea after one ill-conceived folly in his library. But he was. Some perverse part of him imagined he could sense the tenor of her thoughts as well.
She appeared at his elbow, dipping into a formal curtsy, playing her role to the hilt. He didn’t look at her, for fear that her beauty would once again undo him. She was a siren. An unwanted complication in his life after he had only just rediscovered a notion of purpose.
“Your Graces,” she soothed in that dulcet voice of hers, smooth as freshly whipped cream and just as sweet, “please do not fault the duke for my appalling lack of balance. I’m afraid my eagerness to reach the library resulted in my injury. His Grace was only too kind to assist.”
Wise girl for avoiding the insult his mother had delivered. He shot her a cautious look. If they played this properly, perhaps they wouldn’t be required to marry after all. Say the words, feign an apology, meet the hypocritical and sanctimonious demands of two elderly duchesses, and no one need spread this gossip any further.
He hoped.
“His Grace’s singularkindnessaside,” the Duchess of Cartwright said in tones to rival Wenham Lake ice, “I’m afraid the damage has been done. He should have had a care for propriety, regardless of your…injury, Lady Boadicea.”
Bloody hell. It would seem that not even her old friendship with his mother would be sufficient reason for her to turn a blind eye to what she’d witnessed.
His mother’s face had lost all color. She had always been a handsome woman, but the last few years of unrest had aged her. Her stern gaze snapped into his, and she straightened her spine, a grim cast to her thin mouth. “Bainbridge, I’m afraid you must marry as expediently as possible. It is the only recourse for what we have seen.”
Admittedly, the sight that the two duchesses had intruded upon had to have been damning. He’d been pleasuring Lady Boadicea, his hand between her glorious thighs, not remotely in the same region of her anatomy as her ankle.
His cheekbones went hot. He did not like this realization: the depths of his own depravity. “You are correct as always, Duchess, which is why I will marry Lady Boadicea as expediently as possible.”
Lady Boadicea’s bright eyes swung to his, the alarm in her expression more than evident. “You cannot mean to marry me,” she whispered.
He ignored her. The dye was cast, and his own inability to resist temptation was the cause. It had been some time since he’d last felt this low and abominable. He would have to wed Lady Boadicea Harrington, regardless of how distasteful he found the prospect. The answer was plain and clear on the Duchess of Cartwright’s face. She would not overlook his egregious conduct. Mauling an innocent lady—Harrington or no—beneath one’s own roof just wasn’t done.
And his mother couldn’t withstand any more scandal. He couldn’t ask it of her. Nor could Harry’s fledgling career as an MP survive the bitter knowledge that his brother had abused and tossed aside the woman he’d once longed to make his bride.
No, he would marry the Harrington chit.
Even if it killed him.
“It would be my greatest honor to make Lady Boadicea my duchess,” he lied.
o blinked, her gaze swiveling from the duketo his outraged mother and the red-faced Duchess of Cartwright as his bald pronouncement hovered in the silence of the library. He had offered to marry her. She’d allowed him to kiss her senseless, to lead her to a piece of furniture, lift her skirts. Good heavens, she’d allowed his touch on her most intimate place, where she’d never let another man take such shocking liberties. Worse, she’d enjoyed it.
What had she done?
She’d fallen down the rabbit hole, just like Alice, that’s what. Perhaps next, a mouse would appear and begin to explain William the Conqueror to her. It seemed every bit as likely as marrying the haughty man at her side.
Yes, that was the explanation for her inability to steel herself against the persuasive kisses of a man who had derided her as a tart masquerading as a lady. A man who thought she wasn’t good enough to marry his brother.
Her skin went numb as realization assailed her. She hadn’t been worthy of the matrimonial prize of his brother, but he’d had no compunction about touching her himself. Because he imagined her the sort of lady he could trifle with. He thought her fast. He thought he could offer her a furtive coupling in his private library—after mocking her—with no repercussions.
And she had proven him correct.
She would not marry such an oaf, a man who believed himself her better because he’d been born the heir of a duchy and she hailed from a family laden with scandal and eccentricities. She would be her husband’s equal, or she would have no marriage at all.
Not to mention the matter of Lord Harry, who was a dear friend. She was aware that he imagined he harbored tender feelings for her, even as what she felt for him was platonic. Still, she wouldn’t hurt him for the world by suddenly marrying his brother.
“No,” she said to the room at large. Three sets of eyes swung her way. So she said it louder, this time with more force, holding her head high with a dignity she didn’t feel. “I must decline any such offer.”
