“It does no good to beat up on ourselves.” She continued stroking her fingers through his hair, contemplating. “Others will do it for you.” She didn’t wait for him to answer. He obviously didn’t want to talk about himself anymore.
“You told me last night to imagine that I’mgood enough. To try to think of myself asgood enoughto land a husband.” She laughed a little. “Thank you ever so much for that, by the way. Anyhow, I’ve been ruminating the matter. How does one pretend to begood enoughwhen no one has ever given you any indication that this is the case? And can I pretend enough so that one of the bachelors here might actually make me an offer?”
Emily’s fingers rhythmically combing through his hair were mesmerizing. His heart slowed considerably, and Marcus found himself practically slumped into her lap.
She somehow eased the self-disgust that at times threatened to overwhelm him. And now, this talk about not being good enough.
But as she explained, in her calm soothing voice, that she’d never been good enough for anyone, a different sort of disgust built within him. Who had caused her to feel this way?Did I play a part in it?
Damn my eyes.
Marcus reached up and grasped her tiny wrists. At the same time, he sat back on his heels and held her gaze. “Miss Goodnight, Emily.” She had it all wrong. “Of course, you are good enough to receive an honorable offer. Likely, you’re too good for all of us.”
He’d always treated her as something of a friend, a sister, almost, excepting last night. A moment of madness. He’d sensed she needed protection though. From bastards much like himself. “You’re smarter than most of us, quite pretty, really, and you always make the most interesting conversation.”
Her gaze shifted away from him. “I’ve rather come to believe that’s a great deal of the problem.”
Marcus stared at her lips while she spoke. How had he not noticed how full and lush those lips were before now? He’d tasted them last night. Obviously, he’d drank too much brandy after dinner. This wasMiss Goodnight,for God’s sake.
“Some gentlemen actuallyappreciate awoman of intelligence.”
She licked her lips. “Do you…” She licked them again. She shouldn’t do that. He tried to ignore the tightening in his groin. “Do you think Lord Carlisle might appreciate somebody like me?”
“Carlisle?”
“You look incredulous.” She exhaled a deep sigh and grimaced. “Just as I thought, I am looking too high then.”
He shook his head. They’d already discussed this, hadn’t they? He couldn’t quite remember but for some reason, the notion didn’t sit well with him.
It should. Carlisle, a former vicar, could provide her with a home, respect, financial security, protection… children.
“No.” His voice came out sounding like something of a croak. “No, of course, you’re not looking too high. I simply hadn’t considered…” He shook off this odd sensation she’d wrought. “Haven’t you any swain waiting for you in London? Fellows who’ve followed you from ball to ball, sniffing at your skirts?” He far preferred to imagine her being courted by some nameless, faceless, spineless sort.
“You’d be surprised.” She lifted one corner of her mouth and attempted a smile. At the same time, Marcus realized he was still kneeling on the ground.
He rose and took a few steps backward. “Try your shoe now. I’m pretty sure I removed whatever was bothering you but…” His voice trailed off as she left the bench and gingerly stepped across the gazebo, away from him.
Her shoulders slumped, she seemed smaller than when they first had set out.
It wasn’t right that he leave her in such doubt as to her abilities to attract a husband. Even as he chastised himself, he chuckled as she stomped her feet to further assess the condition of her shoes.
“I believe you’ve taken care of the problem. You’re making a habit of doing that.” She forced an awkward smile. “Oh, look, the sun is peeking through.” She took hold of the umbrella, nonetheless, and then handed him his hat.
He’d left the house feeling melancholy. She’d managed to cheer him up while he’d done a bang-up job of shaking her confidence—the very last thing she needed.
“You haven’t changed your mind about eloping with Miss Mossant, have you?”
Hell, he’d nearly forgotten all about the girl. From what Nottingham and Prescott had been discussing over billiards, she needed to marry desperately. Her reputation would never survive her current scandal. He only wished he could see his father’s face when he received the news.
“I gave you my word. I don’t imagine she’s interested in a long engagement?”
“She needs to marry right away. It’s just that…” Miss Goodnight gathered up the umbrella and stepped out from beneath the gazebo.
“Just that what?” Marcus prodded, stepping out behind her. He’d not be left in the dark if his intended had misgivings.
“She’s being… difficult.” At his questioning look, she continued hurriedly, “Oh, not because she is reluctant, mind you, but because, well, I suppose it’s rather because she’s such a good friend.”
The rain had stopped, and a small edge of the sun peeked through the clouds. “I’m afraid you’ll have to explain further. I’ve made attempts my entire life, but I’m afraid I fail spectacularly as a mind reader.” And he would know all the pertinent details surrounding his own engagement.
