Alice looked unconvinced that none of this was her fault.
‘I mean, didn’t you hear what I said about why we were pretending to be engaged in the first place? Because he has a lover. A married lover.’
‘Hada married lover,’ Alice said, being unnecessarily pedantic. ‘So that was the only reason you kissed him, because you were bedazzled by his good looks?’
‘Yes. Well, that and because he is charming and funny and he was being so lovely last night when we were sitting together in his carriage, making me feel, well…um…different, as if I wasn’t my usual self.’
Her body seemingly remembering how it had felt before she’d kissed him, her skin warmed and a soft sigh caught in her throat.
‘And then there wasThe Garvagh Madonna,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
‘The what?’
‘It’s a painting we saw at the National Gallery. The way he looked when he was staring at that painting…’ She closed her eyes, recalling the expression on his face. ‘It was as if he was mesmerised. He looked like a different man, not the rake I had met at the Earl’s party, but a man who could be touched deeply by beauty. A man who had depth to his character. A man who—’
‘A man who you could love?’
Margaret’s eyes sprang open. ‘No one is talking about love,’ she gasped out.
‘Aren’t we?’
‘No, definitely not. I admit I rather fell under his spell last night. And yes, I’ll also admit I was a fool to kiss him, but I would never be so much of a fool to fall in love with him. Please, credit me with some intelligence.’
‘Well, if you’re not prepared to admit to loving him, do you think he might just be in love with you?’
Margaret could hardly believe the words coming out of her friend’s mouth. She had always considered Alice to be a sensible, rational woman. It would seem she’d been wrong.
‘Alice. He is a rake,’ she said, enunciating each word carefully and slowly so her friend would finally understand what she was talking about. ‘Men like him do not fall in love, and certainly not with women like me.’ That surely was so obvious it did not need to be stated.
‘Maybe. But you gave him the option to get out of the fake engagement. He didn’t take it. You’ve now given him the option to get out of this marriage. He is a duke and no one, not even your formidable father, can make a duke do anything he doesn’t want to. Do you think there is a possibility hewantsto marry you?’
‘None whatsoever. He will go through this marriage because he has to and because he knows it will make no real difference to him. He knows he can continue to live exactly as he always has. That is what he said to me, that this marriage will change nothing. For him, that will mean he can take as many lovers as he wants, and there will be nothing I can do about it.’
Tears pricked at her eyes. ‘Alice, last night, when I watched those high-kicking dancers I got so jealous at just the thought of him with another woman. When I met the Baroness I was so consumed by rage it was as if it was possessing me. Once we’re married, if he takes a lover I’m not certain I will be able to bear it.’
Her friend held her close and those tears she had been fighting back began to roll down her cheeks.
‘Maybe you should tell him how you feel,’ she said quietly.
Margaret pulled back from her friend’s embrace and furiously brushed away her tears with the back of her hand. ‘No, never. It’s bad enough that my reckless kiss got us into this situation. If I tell him how much I’m attracted to him he’s likely to think this is all deliberate on my behalf. He’ll assume I wanted to marry him.’
‘But maybe honesty is the best approach.’
Margaret shook her head, as disappointed with her friend as she had been with the Duke. ‘No, it is not.’
Alice looked at her with compassion, but compassion was not what she needed. She needed ideas, suggestions, plans, before she found herself trapped in an unwanted marriage with a man who did not love her, who was not attracted to her, and had only kissed her because she’d all but thrown herself at him. What those plans, suggestions and ideas could be she did not know, but one thing she did know for certain—she would not be marrying the Duke of Rosedale.
Chapter Ten
Jacob was right. The next time he saw Miss Whitmore she was walking up the aisle towards him. He couldn’t see her expression as it was covered by a lace veil, but suspected it was not a happy one.
Just as he had promised her father, Jacob had immediately applied for a special licence, allowing them to marry within the week. A small chapel near his London home had been chosen for the hasty ceremony. No invitations had been sent out, and only Margaret’s family and her two friends acting as bridesmaids were in attendance.
Jacob had no family he’d wanted to invite, and did not wish to ask Henry or any of his other cohorts to be his best man, their attitude to marriage being even worse than his own.
Unbeknown to Miss Whitmore, he had visited her father prior to the wedding day and tried to convince him that this marriage was not in his daughter’s best interests and something she wanted even less than he did. He’d apologised profusely. Had assured the man that no one would hear of what had happened. He’d even suggested they continue with their fake engagement so his daughter could meet someone she really did want to marry. Someone who could give her what she surely deserved—love and a happy home. Unlike her, he had no experience of such things and he had no idea how a good husband would behave. She deserved to be with a man who wanted children, not one who flinched at the mere thought.
It had all been to no avail. Mr Whitmore had stated repeatedly that he knew his daughter better than anyone. That she would not kiss a man she did not wish to marry. Nor would she allow any man to kiss her unless she wanted it. Presumably that was a reference to the attack on the Earl of Covington with her lethal parasol.
