A Man Above Reproach (28 page)

“I have no taste for fiction at the moment.”

“Then you would have been pleased with their veracity, had you deigned to read them. I was honest about the fact that I have been most unfair to you.”

His face shifted, but only for a blink. It reassembled itself right back into a mask of displeasure.

“Oh?”

“Would you like me to enumerate the ways in which I have wronged you?”

“I would like nothing more.”

“I treated you unkindly when all of your actions marked you as an honorable man. I let you go to insane lengths to prove your devotion, even though it was clear as day. I kept secrets. I distrusted you at every turn. I fought you when you were not waging war. Shall I go on?”

“I do not believe you are finished.”

“I used your station as an excuse to hold you at arm’s length and your gender as a tool to doubt your character. It is exactly what you did not do to me.”

“I had not thought of it that way,” he said, bemused. “But yes. Yes, you did.”

He drifted nearer to her. Nothing had changed about the magnetism between them. When they were alone together, they gravitated toward one another. Her heart jumped. He touched her face and she tilted toward him. There was no reservation in her manner.

“I assumed you wanted to be my savior, not my partner,” she confessed, “and I was wrong.”

“Ana, I—”

The door flew open.

“Mama is coming back downstairs,” Alessandra hissed.

“Were you eavesdropping?” Elias asked.

“Irrelevant,” she clipped. She turned and called down the hallway with a burst of youthful exuberance.

“Mama! Eli will attend dinner after all!”

Somehow his attempt to push Ana further away from him ended with her beside him at the expansive dinner table. The guest of honor at any function was always seated next to him. It was a special torture to escort her into the room, seat her, and pretend all the while that they were only acquaintances.

His mind was spinning on what she had just said. He had apologies of his own to make and hope began to bloom again. If they were both willing to admit the folly of the past months, perhaps they could make an honest go of it. Neither of them had given the other an especially fair shake.

The members of the Ladies’ Literary Salon assaulted Ana with questions throughout the meal.
Isn’t it all too shocking? Do you think these ideas will be welcome in polite society? Whyever did you begin thinking this way?
When there was a lull, Elias could not help but chide her.

“Miss Quail, I wonder if you worry what men will think of your book?”

“I do not worry what rational men will think, Your Grace. I worry what artless louts will think.”

The whole table laughed.

“Too bold by half,” the duchess said with sudden austerity. The table went quiet for a moment; no one wanted to disagree with a duchess.

“But I quite agree with Miss Quail on most counts,” she added.

There was a visible loosening of the crowd and Alessandra let out the breath she had been holding.

“I am flattered, Your Grace,” Analise said. “I was most eager when I received the invitation to speak with Lady Alessandra’s salon.”

The duchess began chattering on a new subject, some very urgent sounding list of reasons why the Countess of Spencer’s garden party was sure to be fairly seething with debauched fripperies. Elias took the opportunity to murmur to Ana while the rest of the table was focused on Sophia’s outrage.

“Your dress is very becoming,” Elias said.

“I thank you, Your Grace,” she lowered her voice to match his and turned her eyes away discreetly. “I am glad you like it—you bought it.”

It took a physical effort to stifle the smile that tugged at his face.

“Do you play the piano, Miss Quail?” he inquired with exaggerated politesse. Half of the table had become interested in what a duke could possibly have to say to a female writer.

“All accomplished ladies do,” she answered, “though I am out of practice. This past month has been… somewhat of a whirlwind for me.”

Elias’s foot found hers under the table. Ana made a delightful sound of surprise that she covered by clearing her throat.

“Intriguing!” the second daughter of a viscount across the way exclaimed. “Have you been having an adventure since writing the book?”

“An adventure would be an understatement, Miss Everly.” Elias was impressed that Ana was remembering everyone’s name, as the
introductions had been short and chaotic. “The past few months have been utterly life-changing,” Ana said.

He could not help it; he grasped her thigh lightly under the table. She smirked.

Alessandra was pontificating about something, which took attention away from the pair. Elias returned to the side conversation.

“Tell me again how wrong you have been,” he said.

“Must I?” She smiled, closing her hand over his under the table. “It was difficult enough the first time.”

“I do not know if I can forgive you,” he said, trailing a finger along her upper thigh, smooth against the silk of her dress. “I may have to punish you. I have a few ideas for suitable—”

“Lennox!” Sophia barked from across the table. “What
can
you and Miss Quail be talking about?”

“I beg your pardon, ladies.” He cleared his throat and attempted to regain control of the conversation. “I was merely telling Miss Quail how much I liked her book. I was remiss to not share it with the whole table.”

His mother narrowed her eyes. She was unconvinced.

“In fact,” Elias continued, standing with his wine glass. Perhaps a toast was a better way to divert attention. “If you would allow me a moment to toast our guest and thank her for coming to speak to the salon.” He raised his glass. “To Miss Quail, that her bravery may be a lesson to us all.”

“Here, here,” Alessandra smiled.

Her sentiment was echoed. While glasses clinked, he caught Ana’s eyes, smoldering at him under long lashes. She must have liked the toast, for she was looking at him as if he were something delicious. He could not help but return her gaze. A hot place opened in his chest and he felt how much he had missed her physically. It was something he had been trying his damnedest to forget.

The table around them returned to normal conversation, so he thought it was safe to murmur to her. He leaned and spoke as low as he could, out of the side of his mouth.

“We need to finish talking. There will be twenty minutes before you speak, will you meet me in the sitting room? Take a sip of your drink if your answer is yes.”

She picked up her glass and smiled at him over the lip, a promise that he felt in secret places. When he looked away, still smiling, he saw his mother looking at him with suspicion. Nothing ever slipped by her.

“Shall we go through?” the duchess asked rhetorically, standing and throwing down her napkin. Chairs scraped all around as the guests followed suit. “Lennox, do you not think you should retire now? The ladies can hardly feel comfortable listening to such perplexing new ideas with a duke in their presence.”

He rose, not averse to be rid of the group.

“Indeed, ladies,” Elias bowed. He took the opportunity to kiss Ana’s hand, since it would be acceptable in parting. “It was a pleasure to dine with you, Miss Quail.”

She flashed that sly smile again.

“Good evening, Your Grace. Your hospitality is unmatched.”

“If you would excuse me for a few moments,” Ana said, as smooth as she could manage after the impious looks Elias had been giving her. “I must collect my thoughts before I speak. Is there a quiet room I may use?”

“There is a sitting room near the entrance, m’lady,” Dryden said, scooping her out of the copse of ladies. It was obvious to Ana that he had been given orders from Elias. “I will take you there.”

“No longer than twenty minutes!” the duchess called after them.

“Do not be unwise, Miss Quail,” Dryden whispered once they were outside of the room. “It does not befit the future mistress of Ashworth Hall.”

“Shush,” she said as he closed the door behind her.

Elias was so close that she could not even draw a breath before his lips were on hers. She returned his passion with eagerness, no longer with the doubt that had been in her kisses every time before. Something had shifted, unmoored in her. She could not deny that she wanted him with all her heart, in wanton ways and practical ways, day and night. Almost losing him was far scarier than the life-threatening situations she had faced on her own.

“This is perhaps a foolish risk,” she said against his ear.

“What will they do if they catch us?” He gave her a look of mock horror. “Make me marry you?”

“That would be the respectful thing to do.”

“I respect you,” he said darkly, grazing his teeth and tongue over the lace that framed her bosom. “Shall I take you upstairs and respect you over and over again?”

He pulled her into one of the cushy chairs and they sank together easily. She wound her arms around his neck, sideways in his lap.

“Are you still packed for Scotland?” he asked, dotting kisses up her neck.

“The trunks can go elsewhere,” she said, bringing his face to hers again. She looked him square in the eyes, something that she had often been afraid to do. She had no fear of them any longer, and she was rewarded with his mesmerizing, shadowy gaze. “Here, perhaps? After we marry, if you will still have me?”

“I am considering it,” he said, his mouth quirked sideways. “I may find it in my heart, my generous and noble heart, to forgive you.”

Ana’s heart sang with the jest—if he was bantering with her, he had forgiven her. She raked a hand through his hair. She must stay presentable, but there was no reason she should not take advantage of him. Even more so since he was being incorrigible.

“Do take your time and consider it.”

“I have already taken too much time. I should have dragged you to the altar the night we met and sorted it all out later.”

The retort she began was lost to his embrace.

“It has been a long two weeks,” she groaned against him.

Perhaps it was the relief of having him back, or the extra wine she had at dinner, but she was emboldened. She had missed him in every sense. She had already told him how sorry she was, but he deserved… more. Something unthinkably indecent, right before she had to give a lecture. Even the thought of that did not deter her. It excited her.

She ran a hand down his breeches, gradual and wicked, the strain in the front jumping at her touch.

“Ana,” he growled, “we cannot… actually. Not now—”

“Is the door locked?”

Ana slid off the chair, running her hands down his thighs as she knelt beside him. She savored his sharp intake of breath and the fact that he could not keep his eyes off of her. She took her time exploring his powerful legs, the taut energy of his muscles. She parted them at the knee and knelt down. He did not stop her, but his voice came out strangled and intense. His head lolled back in the chair.

“Yes, it is locked, but—you cannot do this—”

She tugged at the band of his breeches, just enough to reveal his hip bones, which she traced with her fingernails. He closed his eyes and his head sank back fully.