Page 40 of A Match Made On Duchess Square

“The man is titled after a poisonous tree.”

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes. “You are not marrying a tree.”

“No, but you know what they say.”

“I have no idea what they say,” she grumbled, for his comments were making her head pound even worse than before.

“The acorn does not fall far from the tree.”

“Then it is a good thing Jane is not an acorn.” She sighed and leaned her head against his chest because the Madeira was sloshing about in her brain.

Milbury scooped her up in his arms. “It’s been a long day, Gwen. Time to put you to bed.”

“I can manage on my own.”

“Hardly,” he said with a chuckle. “You are not used to drinking, are you?”

“Only a glass or two of wine with supper at most,” she admitted, closing her eyes because it hurt to keep them open—plus she still had the hiccups.

“Let’s see if there is a back way to our rooms. You should not be seen in this condition.”

“Are you suggesting I am not fit?”

“My dear, you are pissed as a newt,” he intoned.

“I may be a little inebriated,” she admitted, wrapping her arms around a neck that smelled male and quite divine.

She told him so while accidently nuzzling it.

“More than a little inebriated, Gwen. I’m sorry that I drove you to it.”

“You can be quite stubborn and infuriating.”

“Yes, it is a fault of mine.”

Milbury found a back way out of their private dining room that avoided the common room, since it remained crowded and overflowing with diners. It was a good thing he had found the private hallway, because it would have been quite scandalous were she found in his arms.

“You have the nicest arms,” she said. “Strong and protective. Don’t let go of me, Milbury. I don’t think I can walk on my own.”

“I won’t. I have you.”

His voice was soft and deep, coating her in a velvet rumble.

“I have never in all my life been tipsy like this before. My stomach is churning.”

He gave a light laugh. “I’ll bet it is.”

“But you are quite wonderful,” she remarked, because she did not want to admonish him when he was being so patient and kind to her. He was an excellent man and a prime catch for any young lady, and she was in no condition to hold herself above anyone at the moment. “Quite exceptional and wonderful.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, but I fear I have fallen off my pedestal. No longer the paragon you believed me to be.”

“No, Gwen, that you are obviously pickled and cannot stand on your own two feet has not changed my mind at all.”

“Oh, but that is not good. I cannot be your paragon, especially now that I am hiccuping and cannot walk a straight line.”

“You cannot walk at all. I am carrying you.”