“How dare you.”
I drew back. Examined her fully. Her cheeks were bright pink, and her eyes looked almost ... pained. She’d been angry with me before, but this was different. This was unaccountable. “How ... dare I?”
She scoffed, folded her arms around her middle, and glared at my chest. “That man came to call upon me, brought me flowers, and you treat him with callous regard and then uninvite him to an evening we had already arranged?”
She had no idea. No wisdom on the matter. She ought to bethankingme. “That man is a filthy scoundrel. He is wealthy, yes, but marred by greed. His appetite, his vices, know no bounds. I cannot allow you to be associated with a man who—”
“I am aware of Lord Reynolds’s reputation.” Her jaw tensed. Still, she would not meet my eyes. Her refusal to hear and trust my opinion in this matter created a bubble of frustration in my chest that very well might explode. Did she not see that my only aim was for her good? No, for she continued,“He spoke at length of his desire to change. His hope for a wife and family. The vices that you speak of—he has abandoned them this Season entirely.”
Codswollop. Reynolds, a changed man? Not a chance. The man was too far gone. Especially for Georgiana, who’d barely scratched the surface of sin. “And you believe him?”
Her lips parted as though to chide me, but she thought better of it. She blinked, then slowly raised her gaze to mine.
I wished she hadn’t. Her golden-green gaze cut through me like a sword. I lost half my strength trying to hold it as she said, “You have no idea what it is to feel penitent for wrongdoing, do you?”
What the devil was she talking about? Penitent? For what? So far everything I’d done resulted in someone else’s happiness. Often I tried to be wise, to thwart their efforts, but when did my thwarting ever actually scratch deeper than the surface?
My temper started to flare. How dare she insinuate that my vices were anywhere near the level ofReynolds’s. I despised the gaming tables. I neglected, sometimes with great difficulty, seeking out pleasures. And this was what she thought of me? That I was no better than a man who made his bed in her worst nightmares. For what? Making demands of those who wronged me? Managing accounts and deciding with whom to entrust business matters?
She hadno idea— “You think so little of me?”
She raised her chin and swallowed. She seemed at war with her own emotions, feeling something she did not wish to feel. Second by second she grew stronger in resolve. She took the smallest step forward and pointed her finger at my chest.
“I think you live your life without thought to theconsequences. You say and do whatever you please, and you make everyone bend to your will. At the drop of a hat you might change your mind, your heart, and the rest of us must adjust. It is absurd—”
“I am the Duke of Marlow.”
She dropped her hand, her fury abandoned in an exhale. “Rest assured, we are all aware.”
The woman spoke in biting riddles aimed straight for the core of my lifeblood. She made me sound like some villain in her novels, and perhaps I was, but I had reason.
“I have a responsibility for your well-being until your brother returns, and I am using my best judgment. My only aim is to help you, to guide you where you deserve to be.”
She shook her head, unseeing. “Whyever do youcare? Why do you care what happens to me? Or with whom I associate? It can mean nothing to you whether or not Lord Reynolds wishes to escort me to Drury Lane.”
Her words were a twist of the sword in my wounded heart. For I realized, in that moment, it meant everything to me.
Shemeant everything.
“Nothing to you,” she reiterated, frowning. “But it could meaneverythingfor me once you’ve proposed to Lady Diana and I am gone.”
Gone? No, I could not fathom it. Why would she say such a thing? Did shewantto leave? Perhaps in my lack of experience, I had misread her. I had thought only of myself.
“Is that what you want? My proposing to Lady Diana?” It was childish and aimed at the heart, but I wanted her to argue with me. I wanted her to tell me she felt as conflicted as I did.
She drew back, again shaking her head. Her eyes found mine. They searched and searched and seemed to come out wanting. “What I want has never been at play, Marlow.” She swallowed hard and frowned. “Did you not say only yesterday that I should prove them all wrong? Speak against the rumors?”
“This is different,” I insisted. My heart started to thrum a steady beat in my chest. The space between us suddenly felt excruciatingly important. How could I find the right words to explain that I could not lose her?
“How so?” Her fiery gaze stared into mine, lips parted. She was exasperated, and it was all my fault.
“Things between us”—I motioned with my hand—“are different than they were. We—”
“Miss Wood?” Maggie called.
Her eyes did not stray from mine. “We, what?”
“We ...” I felt it. I had since we’d met, and it’d only grown stronger the more time we spent together. The space between us breathed like a living thing connecting us. Unexplainable. Indescribable.
