“Perhaps not always clever. She did encourage me to marry Grenfell, and I count my marriage as the great disaster of my life.”
She didn’t often speak of her marriage. Or her husband. Brandon wasn’t unfamiliar with the gossip concerning her. Grenfell had been an unabashed philanderer, both before and after their nuptials.
“Yours was an unhappy union?” he ventured.
“Vastly.” She sighed, her mouth tightening as she revisited painful memories before she forced a smile—for his benefit, he knew. “Grenfell was an adulterous scoundrel.”
“Only a fool would have strayed from you,” he told her quietly, meaning those words to his core as he turned his attention back to the bridle way.
“Or perhaps only a fool would have believed in his avowals of love,” she said, her smile fading. “Or for expecting constancy in a marriage. Faithfulness is so very bourgeois, I’ve learned.”
“I am sorry for the pain he caused you, Lottie. You deserved far better.” He looked at her, holding her gaze to show her it was not a mere platitude he offered.
He meant it sincerely. Grenfell hadn’t been worthy of her, the bastard.
She nodded, her countenance softening. “Thank you for saying so. It is exceedingly rare for a man to admit that a woman has a right to something more.”
“Perhaps you’ve been keeping company with the wrong men,” he suggested gently.
Her gaze turned thoughtful. “I’m beginning to think that I have.”
They spent the remainder of the drive engaged in lively conversation, deftly avoiding such weighty matters. They spoke of their reading preferences—Lottie adored mysteries. He preferred romances. They both favored the poetry of Elizabeth Barrett Browning. As they approached her town house, he found himself reluctant to part.
“Will you join me for dinner this evening?” he asked, hoping she wasn’t otherwise engaged.
He needed all the time with her he could manage to beg, borrow, or steal. If he was to plead his case—and with all haste—he needed as many of the hours in the day that she was willing to give.
“Shouldn’t you be continuing your hunt for a bride?” she asked pointedly.
Damn her for her persistence on that subject.Yes, he thought to himself,and continuing is exactly what I will be doing. With you.But he kept that carefully bottled away inside.
“There comes a time when every hunter grows weary and needs to rest,” he offered instead.
She frowned. “Who will be in attendance?”
“You’re looking at him.”
Her eyes narrowed, drawing his attention to those brilliant orbs and coppery lashes. “Just you?”
“You find me an insufficient dinner companion? I ought to be affronted.”
“Hardly, but it seems an unwise decision to accept your offer.”
“Unwise, how?” They had reached her dwelling now, a humbler affair than his own town house, though still fine for a widow’s portion. He stayed the horses and turned to her fully, thinking her quite the loveliest—and most stubborn—woman he’d ever known.
“Because we have already…” Her gloved hand waved between the two of them. “And that portion of our association is decidedly at an end.”
“Is it?” he asked mildly. “I wonder if you would think so if I were to kiss you now.”
Her eyes went wide. “Kiss me? Before all of London?”
“Before all of London presently on this street.” He slid nearer to her on the bench, until his thigh pressed into her voluminous skirts.
“To do so would be an invitation to disaster,” she said, sounding properly scandalized.
Which was rich for a lady who had no qualms about shagging against a door at a ball.
He leaned nearer to her, tantalized by the faint scent of roses and violets. “Then you had better accept the invitation to dinner instead, my dear.”
