“You were going to tell me why a smitten man visits his mistress,” Lady Lanora said, her tone even.
She watched him with curious, slightly confused eyes. Did his expression reveal so much, then? Enough that she felt a softer touch was required. William grimaced. He may as well begin with something terrible, then. “My mother is dead, as you must know.”
She nodded. “Yes, she and your older brother, both. I’ve heard the stories. After the…incident, she was brought to a place where she could be cared for, and you were sent to live with Mr. Darington, in Egypt, because your father was too heartbroken to look upon you.”
The story the marquess told the world. William had used it to soften many a heart. How he wished he needn’t begin his life with Lady Lanora on such lies. “That is… Well, yes, it’s what they say, is it not?” He tried not to let subterfuge bog down his tongue. The truth was so much darker and more complicated. “Putting that aside, what is important here is that the marquess feels my mother was flawed. Weak.”
That single line appeared on her brow again. She hadn’t expected his words. “Weak?”
William nodded. “Unfit. Not worthy. Add most anything else disparaging you like and you’ll have the gist.”
“But I thought it was his sorrow that drove him to send you away.” Her tone bled confusion.
As sorrow drove her father to leave when her mother died, he realized. Lady Lanora, who came from a home with a father who loved his wife and daughter, saw William’s world in the same light. He passed a hand across his eyes, threading his way between truth and lie.
“The marquess is not a loving man.”
Sympathy mounted in her expression.
William shook his head. He didn’t wish to win her through pity. “Which is neither here nor there. What matters is, much of my life has been spent attempting to convince the marquess of my suitability. He requires an heir who is strong, lacks sentiment, knows his place in the realm, and a host of other archaic traits.”
“You are telling me you’ve pretended to be a man different from who you are in order to please your father?” She sounded doubtful.
“It’s simpler to obey the marquess than war with him, and yes, that is what I’m suggesting.”
“And your mistress?”
“I have no mistress. I do keep a house, and a woman lives there, but she is not now, nor ever has she been, my lover. She is a ruse.”
“And the gambling?”
He shook his head, his smile returning. “Many men gamble. I’m not saying I’m a saint, only that I didn’t come courting you and then, hours later, avail myself of the charms of another.”
She pressed her lips into a thin line. “It all sounds a bit farfetched.”
“You have not met the marquess.” God willing, she never would. William studied her, weighing his options. They were alone, utterly so. She was eighteen, on her first season. He’d read the effect his nearness had on her the first night they spoke, and while they danced. He was certain he could charm her, befuddle her, leave her mussed and dreamy eyed. That wasn’t the way he wished to go about it, though, nor did he think it advisable.
Lady Lanora didn’t strike him as the type to wed where her heart wasn’t properly engaged, no matter what rash acts he drew her into. Worse, the way his blood surged at her nearness, the way the elusive sweet scent she wore reminded him of warm summer days, none of it boded well for his ability to stop once he began. That he could bring her around to agreement, at least for now, he did not doubt, but he would not deflower his future marchioness on a gravel walk under a statue of Achilles. Or lay her out on a stone bench and watch the sunlight caress her skin. Or—
“Lord William?”
He blinked, clearing visions of her from his mind.
“If you’ve no more compelling evidence to offer, I’m afraid I must insist you return me home.”
William ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair. What was wrong with him, lusting after her like a schoolboy when he should be conversing intelligently? He must think of something more to say. He couldn’t tell her anything else about Charles, or his mother. There must be something he could offer.
He mustered a crooked smile. “What more can I say? I’m not the man I show to society. I would be a good husband to you, not a cad who keeps mistresses and other bits on the side. Take the evidence before you. Have I attempted to seduce you? Have I been anything but a gentleman today?”
She studied him, her eyes guarded. “You are asking me to accept that your pursuit of me is in earnest, and you will be a model husband if we’re to wed?”
“I am.”
She pressed her lips together again, a habit he was beginning to believe meant she was struggling with an idea. “I will consider your words, but I must ask you to do something for me.”
“If it’s within my power.” He spoke carefully, trying not to let the happiness that shot through him show. Showing more enthusiasm than a female evinced was apt to scare her off. Or so other men reported. William had never been in such a situation before meeting Lady Lanora. “What must I do?”
“I’m afraid you must kiss me.”
