“Mrs. St. Maur, I don’t think I’m doing this right, but you need to know I’m developing feelings for you.”
“How? How is that even possible?”
He blinked at me.
In his confusion, I drew my hand away, looking at my shiny band. “You’re rushing things.”
He had my hand again. “I’m overcome with your beauty. You must marry me.”
“Why? I mean, you don’t know me.”
“I know enough. The Duke of Repington brags about how smart you are. His dear friend the Lord Gantry says so too.”
“I’m pleased that these men you’ve spent a minute of time with have talked about me and think well of me. That is no reason to marry.”
Looking up into his flustered face, I knew I had to get rid of him once and for all. He didn’t have the patience to allow me time to love him or even to consider him as my future. “No marriage. Not now.”
“I’m sorry.” His head hung, his face souring. “But every young woman should marry. Every widow should wed again.”
The outer door to the town house rattled open. Oh, please let that be anyone who might need the parlor.
“Mr. Willingham, you should be going.”
The parlor door opened.
Silver livery gleaming over his military boots, a footman entered. He had to be one of the duke’s former soldiers. “Lord Ashbrook to see you, ma’am. Shall you receive him?”
Thank Jah. Jove delivered. My head bobbed. Dapper in his well-fitted tailcoat and holding a delightful bouquet of ransoms and lilies of the valley in his arms, Ashbrook crossed the threshold.
My pulse raced. It doubled when I heard Mr. Willingham groan. It tripled when I caught the earl’s half grin and the pomegranate under his arm.
CHAPTER 14
JEMINA—USEFUL, TERRIBLEBARRISTER
Ashbrook had finally come. He stood in the parlor with gifts, looking like the perfect suitor, the perfect pomegranate picker. Yes, perfect to dissuade Mr. Willingham.
I rushed to the earl. “My—my lord, the bouquet is lovely. The duchess will enjoy them. Oh, and is this for me?”
“Both are for you, Mrs. St. Maur.” His voice lowered as his head dipped to my ear. “To make amends.”
The pique I had at Ashbrook lessened, maybe evaporated entirely.
A little stunned, a little touched, I stroked a petal and palmed the pomegranate. “Thank you, my lord.”
The partial smile, the beginnings of that rare one disappeared as Mr. Willingham loomed closer.
“I didn’t know you’d have company,” Ashbrook said, his gaze burned on me. “I thought it would be the two of us.”
“Mr. Willingham just stopped by, but he’s leaving.”
The Adonis stuck out his hand to the earl. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met.”
Ashbrook didn’t shift the flowers to engage. He merely dipped his chin. “No. Not directly.”
The earl gave me the flowers but kept my hands. His fingers lingered on mine, strong and warm.
“Lilies of the valley and ransoms are such special beauties, resilient and fragrant, a little like you, Mrs. St. Maur.”
