The Wicked Duke (16 page)

“They were too in love to listen or care, you mean.”

“They were both certainly in lust. If there was love, too, I would not recognize it.”

Eva, who sat to her left, leaned forward. “Are you gossiping about me, Aylesbury?”

“I was explaining to Miss Radley how you and Gareth were so enthralled by passion that neither one of you would hear the slightest negative about the other.” He pretended to whisper to Marianne. “They are still enthralled, by the way. It turns out, I was surprised to learn, that a woman being in the family way does not interfere with—”

“Aylesbury!” Eva glared at him. “Miss Radley is a
guest, not a male friend with whom you have gotten foxed. What will she think of us if you speak of such things at this dinner?”

“She will think I am rude as well as bad, I suppose. My apologies, Miss Radley. And apologies to you, too, Eva.” He poured more wine, took a sip, then looked over at Eva. “Didn't you say, upon meeting her tonight, that you saw Miss Radley in the park the other day?”

Eva frowned, perplexed. “No—”

“I am sure I heard you telling Padua that. You were in the park taking some air, and you noticed this attractive woman with a blond girl and a fair gentleman. An officer, I think you said.”

“Oh.
Yes
.” Eva gave a half smile. “That is right.”

Marianne had to give Eva credit. She was loyal enough to tell a lie if cornered into one by the duke.

“Who was he?” Aylesbury asked Marianne. “The officer.”

He obviously knew about that meeting with Vincent. If he did, and Eva had not seen it, that meant
he
had.

Had he followed her? For what purpose? As for his impertinent question—

“He is an old friend. He came up to town for a few days.”

“Is that why you came up to town? To see him?”

Eva had turned her attention and conversation to Ives, on her other side. Marianne kept her expression calm, but Aylesbury's inquisitiveness vexed her.

“I do not see how my friends are of any interest to you, sir, let alone cause for such persistent curiosity.”

“Your friends are not, but your lovers are. If I am going
to seduce a woman, I prefer she not be in love with another man. That is so complicated.”

“Do not trouble yourself about complications. There will be none, since there will be no seduction.”

A slow smile. A warm glance. “You know that is not true, pretty flower.”

With that he turned his attention to Gareth, across the table.

*   *   *

S
eeing Marianne banished the melancholy that Carlsworth's revelation had induced. However, as the night wore on, that dullness seeped back into Lance's spirit like a fog. Damp and gray, it muted his perceptions, and his attention on the others. Only sitting beside Marianne kept it from overtaking him completely.

After dinner, while he and his brothers shared some port before joining the ladies, Ives brought up the health of the monarch.

“The end is near, that is the word out of Windsor,” Ives said. “It is said he raved for fifty-eight hours nonstop in December, and then lapsed into his current illness.”

“He has been in misery a long time,” Gareth said. “Passing may be a blessing. I suppose Prinny will make a decent king.”

No one voiced an opinion on that. Lance assumed Ives would not want to, since he had the prince's favor. It is never wise to criticize such a patron, even within the privacy of your family.

“How long?” Lance asked. “After he passes, how long before the government and its actions return to normal?”

Ives shrugged. “It has been so long since a transition occurred, I doubt anyone knows. I would expect it to take at least a month before anything like normal is seen again, and probably a year before Prinny is crowned. The most important matters must be addressed, of course. I expect much will wait, so no one appears so busy it might appear he is not mourning.”

A month. Not long. Probably not long enough to find out the truth about Percy. He had made damned little progress so far.

His brothers rose and began the path to the drawing room. Lance followed. The port had only increased the fog. It wanted to settle low on all of him, much as it did on London's streets at night.

In the drawing room, Marianne sat with the other ladies. Their conversation sounded merry, and they all looked happy. His brothers joined them, and Ives and Gareth drew laughs and smiles from Marianne, along with the others.

Lance stood beside the group, watching. Mostly his gaze rested on Marianne. He envied her bright spirit and admired her self-possession. Even as the second son of a duke, women had fawned over him. She had not, even now that he held the title.

He respected that. He liked her. In his dull mood and facing possible humiliation or worse, Sir Horace's proposed bargain did not sound nearly so insolent.

He could do worse. She was not appropriate, but who was he to care about that? She was as poor as his brothers' wives, but that was the least of it. He was rich, after all.

His mother would probably haunt him for it, and even his father's rest might be disturbed. And Percy—well, he could hear what Percy would be snarling from within that ugly mausoleum. The chance to irritate Percy even in death made the idea more appealing.

He enjoyed her company. He wanted her and she might solve a very big problem. At the moment he could not find much to convince himself that the idea was imprudent.

“What do you think, Aylesbury?” It was Eva, trying to draw him into her conversation, and out of himself. She did that a lot. She sensed his moods sometimes. The way she looked at him said she did now.

“About the rumor that a certain countess has already commissioned her gown for the coronation,” she explained. “Is that practical, or morbid?”

“Practical. Ruthlessly so.” He walked to Marianne. “If the rest of you do not mind, I would like to speak with Miss Radley for a short while. With her mother's permission, of course.”

“I—that is—I suppose—” Mrs. Radley stammered out her astonishment. “If it pleases Your Grace, I do not mind, if it is a very short while.”

“Thank you.” He offered Marianne his hand and helped her stand. Pink spread on her cheeks, but she allowed him to guide her out of the drawing room.

*   *   *

E
veryone watched them go. Silence reigned. Marianne saw a lot of curiosity in the duke's family as he led her away.

As for her reaction to this display of his favor, confusion only named part of it. The last time she had been alone with him, it did not end well. The remnants of a bruise still showed on his face.

Furthermore, he had been reserved all night. Almost melancholic. He had not spoken much. He watched at best, and sometimes she thought his mind was not with them at all.

She should be afraid, perhaps, but she was not. Caution, trepidation, and excitement all mixed together instead. Anticipation teased her, too, affecting every beat of her rapid pulse. Would he kiss her again? Would she allow it? After his declaration about seduction at dinner, she must not. Yet—too much of her hoped he would at least try. Her body started reacting as if he already had.

They did not hide in a garden this time. He took her to the library, and sat down on a sofa, drawing her down beside him. He did kiss her then. She enjoyed a minute of the special vitality he evoked in her, and relished the sensations that increased with his embrace.

Then, with more regret than she should feel, she pushed against his chest, stood up, and sat in a chair that allowed room for only one person.

She had to suffer his silent attention for a long few
minutes. He gazed at her as if judging her ability to resist him for long.

He touched his cheek. Not the one with the scar. “You left me with a bad bruise.”

“Should I apologize? If you had not shocked me, I am sure I would have never done it.”

“Giving pleasure distresses you far more than taking it, from what I experienced.”

His bald statement of the facts surrounding that encounter mortified her. “You are being rude again.”

“I am being honest, and only because I am curious. Someday you will marry. Do you intend to only take pleasure then?”

The question left her speechless. However, she suddenly liked him more. He spoke as if he assumed she would marry one day. No one else did anymore. Not even herself.

“That is different.” She could only hope her face was not as red as it felt. What a conversation to be having with a duke, in the library of one of his brothers.

“Is he still here in London? Your good friend, I mean. The officer.”

“One bold question after another. Did you ask to speak with me privately because you knew such impertinence would pour out soon, and you did not want to impose on the others with it?”

“I only want to know if he is still in London.”

“That is all?”

“And if he is indeed only a good friend.”

She sighed, defeated by his tenacity on the subject.
What did she care if he knew? “He has left. His ship will be sailing out of Southampton soon. I doubt I will see him for many months.”

He nodded absently. Falling into thought, he sat there tapping the fingertips of one hand on his knee.

“This will never do.” He stood, came over to her, and pulled her up into an embrace.

She really shouldn't allow it. She needed to stop the way he toyed with her, and disabuse him of any idea of— She looked up into his eyes, and her thought broke off and disappeared.

It felt good being held in his arms. Wonderful. She warmed in all kinds of ways. Her breasts became sensitive to the pressure of his chest. She remembered his hand on her body. She closed her eyes for the kiss that was coming.

“Open your eyes, Marianne. I am not going to kiss you. Not yet.”

She opened them.

So serious, he appeared. So thoughtful. So . . . dark. His gaze pierced her, as if he searched for something.

“I have decided to propose,” he said.

“Propose what?”

“Marriage. I am asking you to marry me.”

What an astounding thing for him to say. “Why?”

“That is not how you are supposed to reply.”

“It is the only response I have. After all, you are a duke. You can marry anyone. And while we have a little friendship of sorts, neither one of us is in love with the other, so unless there is a good reason why, I have to wonder if you are toying with me in a different, crueler way.”

“I am not that bad, or that unkind. As for why—”

She waited. He did not seem to have an answer.

“You amuse me,” he said, proving he had at least one.

“I see.”

“We get on well enough too.”

“Your requirements are not very high if ‘well enough' satisfies you.”

“I also desire you. Since you do not mind my advances, I think we will get along well that way too.”

She leaned against his embracing arms, back a bit, so she could see his face clearly. “I do not want to sound ungrateful. Such a proposal is beyond the dreams of a woman such as I am. However, I hope you can understand that I find receiving it more than a little . . . strange.”

“Now I am strange?”

That had entered her mind. “Not you. This offer. Have you drunk more tonight than is apparent?”

“I am not foxed. I will not awake in the morning, cursing my impulses, if that is what you fear. I must say that your utter lack of enthusiasm is wounding, Marianne. You are supposed to be close to fainting with excitement, not quizzing me about my state of mind and demanding a list of reasons.”

“Forgive me. It is all just too—”

“Strange.”

“At least odd. Hard to comprehend.”

“A duke has just offered for your hand in marriage. You will live in luxury, and have precedence over almost every woman in society. Can you understand that much?”

“Oh, yes. I appreciated that part immediately.”

“I think you appreciate this part too.” He pulled her closer and kissed her.

She had no trouble understanding the passion he offered. It poured through her now, inciting the special hunger that he knew how to command. Her whole body surrendered to that kiss, and waited impatiently for the caresses that would increase her arousal to a fevered need.

He did not disappoint her. His hands moved over her body, her hips and back and even down to her thighs. His caresses made her feel naked, so completely did they follow her form. His hands' firm warmth penetrated the silk of her dress.

So sweet. So exhilarating. Her senses succumbed gladly, and her heart prayed for more.

Her mind, however, refused to cooperate. Pieces of thought ran through it, nuisances she could not ignore. All the rest of the whys—her lack of fortune—their brief knowledge of each other—Nora.

Gathering what sense and strength she could muster, she broke the kiss. “Stop. Please. The others—”

He complied. He tucked her close against him. With her ear on his chest, she groped for composure.

“So, we are agreed?” he asked.

She listened to his heart. It beat fast, but not as fast as hers. Even in passion he could probably do better.

“No, we are not agreed. I am sorry.” She straightened and looked up at him. “I need to think before I give an answer. You would not want me to be reckless, I am sure.”

“You should definitely think. Talk to your mother. Seek her advice. And your uncle, if you like. Or anyone
else. Your acceptance will make me a happy man, but only if you want me for a husband.”

How nice he said that. What a kind smile he gave, to reassure her he was not insulted by her dallying. But of course he probably was.

He turned her in his arm, and walked her to the door. There his embrace dropped away, and they returned to the drawing room.

For the rest of the night, the duke was a different man. He joked with his brothers. He responded with wit to things Eva and Padua said. He laughed.