“It depends.” I tapped a finger on my chin and tried to plan my response. “On the one hand, it is acceptable for a man of any age to marry someone young for the sake of propagation. Nobody would condemn you, and they would cheer her on for landing a duke.”
“And on the other hand?” He stole the punch from my hand and brought it to his nose. He tipped the glass, winced, and set it down on a small ledge carved into the column.
“If she doesn’t marry, she is a social pariah. Her youth will fade and, with it, her worth. Her family will pretend everything is as it should be, but they carry the burden of shame.” I had first-hand experience of what it was like. During my first season, I had such high hopes, but they were soon dashed. My writing had filled the void, and I relished the ability to tell a story. It was my story that led me to Lord Kendrick. Life had a way of coming full circle. “As a man, you have no such restrictions.”
“You are correct on that score, save my mother. By her will alone, I am even attending tonight’s event.” He studied me with his compelling stare. I expected to see pity for my sorrowful tale, but he merely reached out and ran a fingertip along my wrist. We were alone in a sea of people, one column away from discovery.
“I have a third argument, so perhaps it shouldn’t be on the other hand but the other finger,” I said.
“Or foot.”
Laughing, I shook my head at his teasing. “For all her bluster, she is fifteen.” My amusement fled as quickly as it came. “I find it repugnant for a girl—because she is still a girl—to be forced to marry someone twice her age simply to appease societal expectations.”
Lord Kendrick rubbed a hand across his face, blocking his expression from my view. My stomach sank, and I cleared my throat.
“I hope I didn’t insult you, but that’s how I feel.” I waited for the fallout of my statement. He wasn’t old by any means, but Miss Cameron was still a child in my eyes.
“No, you affirmed my feelings on the matter. I would feel like the worst despoiler if I made her my wife.” He shook hishead, his expression thoughtful. Although his hair was long, his sideburns were well-trimmed, accenting his powerful jaw.
“You could marry her and wait to, um ...” I couldn’t finish the sentence. It seemed easier to say such things in the privacy of his library. We had escaped notice, but it was only a matter of time before someone saw him.
“Fornicate?” he said, using my words.
“Yes.” I placed my palms on my warm cheeks, the silk of my glove cool against my skin.
“Even if she were twenty, I wouldn’t marry her. She was unduly cruel to you, and I don’t take kindly to people insulting my friends.” He clasped my hand and brought it to his mouth. He kissed the back of it, the gesture sending shock waves throughout my entire body. “Let no one tell you that you aren’t beautiful.”
Tears pressed at the back of my eyes. I didn’t want to cry. Except it was hard not to. I had vacillated from happy to sad to happy once more. It was disconcerting. “I’m not beautiful.”
His gaze locking with mine, I couldn’t look away.
“Again, I beg to differ. Your eyes are exceptional, and you are possessed with a beautiful soul. The body is a vessel. It’s what’s in your heart that makes you special. I’m proud to call you my friend.”
My throat became clogged with emotion, and I willed myself not to cry. He thought of me as a friend, both a blessing and a curse. It was all he would give, and I was grateful.
He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into my hand before dropping his own. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“You didn’t make me. I did it on my own.”
“I like a woman who voices her own opinion. Another positive trait,” he said, his fingers moving to the back of his neck.The way he contemplated me was suspect. What was going on in his mind?
The bell signaling the patrons to return to their seats sounded. I considered giving him back his handkerchief but thought better of it. He held out his arm. “Shall we find your family?”
“Yes.” I placed my hand on his sleeve. Where nobody had paid attention to me before, all eyes seemed to lock on us. I fought a blush, all of my earlier upset disappearing in the face of an unknown threat; public scrutiny.
“Did you recognize who is playing Hamlet?” he asked, nodding to a nearby couple, but he didn’t stop walking. A crowd of people was in front of us, blocking our momentum.
“No, I didn’t look.” I liked the theater and often came with my family, but I wasn’t familiar with the thespians. The playwrights were a different story. One day, I hoped I would adapt my book into a play. I had a sense that would never happen, given the change in subject.
He leaned in close and whispered, “Lord Golden.”
My footsteps faltered, and the woman behind me stepped on the heel of my slipper. I adjusted the footwear and tried to maintain my dignity. “Lord Golden. Are you certain? I mean, you are certain. Certainly.”
“Yes, I am certain. Of course, he isn’t speaking to me, but he will come around. He always does.” The crowd parted, and we took the nearby staircase.
A part of me wished he wouldn’t. I was jealous, and I had no right to be. Curiosity drove me to act in ways I wouldn’t normally do. I blamed the man walking confidently beside me. He was proving to be irresistible. “Lord Golden doesn’t have to be Hamlet. I mean, the man playing Hamlet doesn’t have to be Lord Golden.”
Another man would be the perfect fit for Lord Golden, but he was hiding his true self. At least I was fairly certain he was. It wasn’t my place to tell Lord Kendrick what I had observed about Colt. Even the thought of the two men performing intimacies on each other sent delicious sensations into my core. As Lady X, I would continue to pressure the duke to include me. If I was going to remain a spinster, what was the use of keeping my virginity?
