Page 89 of Courting the Country Miss

He painted on a lazy grin in case she looked at him. She didn’t. He opted for a drawl, “Perhaps all along you’ve been wishing I’d carry you off and ruin you. Then you’d have to marry me.”

She did look at him then. Her accusing stare wiped away his smile.

“You mean, you’d have to marry me.” Her huff of breath carried the weight of a sob. “That would make us both miserable.”

She considered marriage to him miserable? “Why would you say that?”

“Because a man ought to be attracted to his wife as you have never been attracted to me. Most of all, it would break my heart if my husband were a rake.”

He sagged. He would never prove himself to her. “Can’t you see that I am not a rake anymore? I have changed.” He tightened his grip on the umbrella’s handle and steadied it over them.

Frowning, she shook her head. “Temporarily, I am sure—a natural reaction to your accident.”

“No, Tish. I had already changed. I admit that the accident did cause me to look deeper within myself to find what really matters—to seek out more worthwhile pursuits such as helping Richard with estate business, and considering Parliament. However, I began to change long ago. I haven’t done anything that would justly condemn me as a rake in a very long time.”

She gave him a patently disbelieving stare. “You have completely given up gambling and drinking and—the most difficult to believe of all—loose women?”

Defensive, he said, “Yes. All. I haven’t gone near a woman in nearly a year.” Not since Richard accused him of seducing his wife and threw him out of the house. “I haven’t been intoxicated in several months—I told you this—I have grown to dislike the sensation of being out of control. Since the accident, I haven’t had a drop of alcohol except for a glass of wine at dinner. It’s been longer than that since I placed a single wager—not that I gambled much anyway even in my former life.” With the umbrella behind her like a backdrop, her eyes danced between his, searching. He’d never in his life wanted so badly for her to believe him.

“Why?” she asked, her voice hushed.

“It lost its appeal. I want to do something that matters. Be worthy of the love of a good woman. A lady.”

Still she gave him that searching gaze.

He pulled off one of his gloves and wiped moisture from her cheeks, more rain than tears, he hoped. “Come now, you’ve known me all our life. Have I ever lied to you?”

A small, sad smile came in reply. She shook her head.

“You are lovely. Desirable.” He traced her lips with the pad of his thumb.

She studied him, a smile of wistful disbelief. If they were alone, he’d kiss her until she stopped doubting his sincerity.

The carriage pulled up to a stop in front of her aunt’s house. Still holding the umbrella over her head, he helped her down.

“Perhaps you’d best come in,” she said. “You can wait until the rain stops.”

Tristan called to the driver. “Go on to the mews at the end of the street. We can wait until the storm passes to return home.”

“If it’s all the same, sir, I’d best get back to the earl. He will need me tonight.”

Waving him off, Tristan nodded. “I can take a hackney home. Thank you.”

“Sir.” The coachman touched his cap and drove off.

Holding the umbrella over them both, Tristan trotted up the stairs next to Leticia. Inside, they stopped in the foyer. Leticia’s bonnet drooped, water dripping off the brim, and her clothes stuck to her body in a way that should not have been so provocative. She gave Tristan a sideways glance, her mouth quivering and her eyes crinkling. He probably looked as drowned as she.

Her mouth compressed and then a bark of laughter erupted. He stared. Tears a moment ago, and now laughter? When did Leticia become so driven by her sensibilities?

“Oh, Tristan, you should see yourself. You look like a drowned cat.”

He affected a lordly air. “Madam, I believe the words you seek are devilishly handsome.”

“Oh, right. A devilishly handsome drowned cat.” Her peals of laughter undid him, and he joined in.

“You, my dear, look like a…” He couldn’t think of an appropriate insult with her wet clothes clinging to her delicious curves.

The butler arrived and cleared his throat. “A towel, miss?”