If he was a decade younger, he would have thrown caution to the wind, pulled her close, and tasted those petal-pink lips that tempted him so. It was a good thing she had no idea how she affected him. Even with years of heartache to teach him prudence, it wouldn’t have taken much to send him over the edge of folly.
He cleared his throat and stepped back, pulling one hand away and using the other to put her hand back in the crook of his arm. They strolled in silence to a stone bench where he offered her a seat. He was careful to keep several inches between them when he settled beside her. “I do not wish to begin our marriageat odds either. And perhaps you are right that we should focus on how we start rather than worrying about how we’ll proceed from there.”
Her kind smile made him wish he could offer her more, but the pleasure of her company was tinged with the pain of knowing how badly awry this could all go. His battered and broken heart would find no safe harbor with her or anyone. Still, perhaps he was being overly fastidious. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and he obviously had done so if she felt the need to apologize.
“As a gesture of friendly good faith, my given name is David. I would prefer to simply be called Whitcomb, but it was foolish of me to try to keep it from you.”
Her eyes lit up as if he’d handed her a puppy. “Thank you! I promise to call you ‘Whitcomb’ until you are ready, but I’m delighted you were willing to share with me.”
He didn’t want to examine too closely why he had shared his given name. The thought of her murmuring it affectionately was nearly enough to send him running to the antipodes. But he needed a gesture of good faith if he was to soothe her hurt feelings, and at the moment, it was all he could come up with. “Thank you for calling me Whitcomb.”
They sat without speaking for a long moment as he struggled to find the words for another delicate topic he needed to raise. “I’m not sure if Mrs. Dove-Lyon told you this, but I have a son. His name is Timothy, and he’s four.”
“Oh, I love children!” She clasped her hands together and beamed. “I can hardly wait to meet him.”
Of course. He should have anticipated this reaction. He hadn’t known her long, but what he’d learned about her so far should have made it apparent that she’d be kind, at least, to Timothy. David took a deep breath and let it out in a relieved sigh. Many women would have balked upon learning they wouldhave a stepson, and some might even have been cruel, but he was grateful to be right about her reaction, if a bit apprehensive about how he was going to keep them from becoming too attached.
“He’s a very sensitive boy, and I would like to take things slowly with introducing you. The two of you can hardly avoid each other, living in the same house, but he is very attached to the memory of his mother, or at least what I’ve told him about her. And I don’t want to upset him, especially when you aren’t staying.”
If anything, he was going to have to pry the two of them apart, but he hoped he could convince her to keep at least some distance by warning her to keep away, at least for his little son’s sake.
Her eyes widened, and she nodded. “Of course, not! I promise not to trouble him, though I do hope he’ll warm to me with time. I’ve been told I have a way with children. What kind of toys does he like? My cousin introduced me to the most marvelous toy maker on Oxford Street when I was Christmas shopping with her last year.”
“Honeyfield’s?” He knew exactly the spot.
“You know it?” Her radiant grin rivaled the unseasonably bright afternoon sun.
David was all too familiar with Honeyfield’s Toys and Trifles. In general, he was careful to a fault with his money, but every time he walked through those doors with Timothy, he turned into a spendthrift. “I do. There’s a hobby horse in the front window Timothy has his eye on.”
“Then he shall have it!” Her lovely green eyes sparkled with merriment.
What was he doing? He was supposed to be warning her away, not helping her wrap Timothy around her little finger. The thought of her presenting the gift to Timothy made his heartsqueeze painfully. The heart that was supposed to be stone. The heart he claimed not to have. Hell and damnation. He needed to escape before he lost his himself entirely.
“I’m so sorry. I’m afraid I must be going. I forgot I have an appointment this afternoon with a friend at White’s. I shall see you on Sunday for the reading of the banns.”
He stood and reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips. It was a stupidly romantic gesture, but he couldn’t stop himself. The urge to touch her, taste her, and wrap her in his arms warred with his desperate need to escape before folly overtook him. Her skin was so soft and warm that it sent his head spinning, and he fled the garden without saying goodbye, hardly noticing where he went as he blundered through the house and out the front door to his waiting carriage. He didn’t dare look back.
Safely ensconced in his carriage, he lowered his head to his hands, grateful for the familiar clatter of wooden wheels over cobblestone. Without Clarissa’s radiant presence to distract him, his own folly came crashing down. He’d intended to keep his distance, to make it clear that their marriage would be a practical arrangement and nothing more. Good God, he needed a brandy.
Clarissa was a danger to his sanity, and he needed to keep her away at all costs if he was going to avoid losing his head. Hadn’t he learned his lesson well enough from Laura? No. He wasn’t going to think about that. The memories still hurt too much. It was much better to breathe deeply and clear his mind, steeling his heart against the pain he was determined never to suffer again.
By the time he’d arrived at White’s and settled in, he’d almost mastered himself. There were many things to be grateful for, after all. He might be gaining a wife he had no wish for, but his financial woes were at an end. And he’d drawn a line with Charles at long last. His brother could pay his own debts from here on out. So he splurged and ordered an 1811 Croizet cognac.After all, it wasn’t every day a man came into a fortune…or betrothed himself.
He took a deep drink, despite his intention to savor. The smooth, caramel liquid with hints of vanilla, spice, and almond spread over his tongue and warmed his throat as he swallowed. He welcomed the way it loosened the tension that never fully left him. He was almost starting to feel good when the last person he wanted to see came striding over.
“Mind if I join you?” Lord Effingham slid into the chair across from him, ignoring David’s warning glower. “Excellent. I’d like a word.”
The devil would like a word. How droll. What had Lady Clarissa seen in this wretch? He dressed like a dandy, had the most unctuous voice of any man living, and his round, louche face was nearly always red with drink. His features might have been handsome if not for the arrogance that oozed from every pore, the cynicism that hardened his blue eyes to ice. Even the man’s blond curls were an offense against decency, styled in a high pile like those of that ass, Beau Brummell.
“I’m not in the mood for a friendly chat,” David grumbled, taking another long sip of his drink. Good gracious, it was delicious!
“Be that as it may, I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.” Lord Effingham leaned in conspiratorially. “A little birdie told me you’ve taken an interest in Lady Clarissa. I felt it was my duty to warn you away before it’s too late.”
David didn’t deign to respond. He merely glared at Lord Effingham, hoping he would take the hint.
The man smiled as though he’d answered. “You may not know this, but I’ve been courting Lady Clarissa for some time. I can’t think why she’s avoiding me now, but ladies’ hearts are fickle.”
What an absolute bounder! Lord Effingham has the nerve to blame Lady Clarissa and not his own wandering eye?“Any self-respecting lady would end things after what you did.”
