Duke of Dalliance (Revenge of the Wallflowers #53)

Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

A rlington suspected something more than the tabloids had upset Truly. They hardly spoke for the rest of the evening. The coach ride back to her address was silent as a tomb. Every time he glanced across the expanse of the coach seats, he caught the eye of Mrs. Spencer, who watched him as if pleading for an answer. Finally, he shrugged at the woman and turned his focus to the street.

When they reached Truly’s home, he helped the ladies alight, squeezing Truly’s hand for attention.

“You don’t need to walk me to the door,” Truly said, sparing him an uneasy glance.

“Invite me in for a drink.”

She stopped as her left foot met the cement walkway. She paused, taking in a deep breath. “It’s not wise.”

“I don’t care.”

Her gaze snapped to his. Her brow knit.

“Please, Truly. Offer me a drink. We’ll walk in with your companion. No one will think a thing.”

“Not when you enter the premises, but they will when you leave.” He could see the moment she gave in, the telltale sign of her defeated exhalation, the droop of her shoulders, and the drop of her gaze. In the short time he’d known her, he’d seen her do this three times.

He stood as she stepped away without a word. He watched her until she reached the steps, then she turned and tilted her head adorably chagrined at her own weakness to comply. She gave a short nod, then rolled her eyes to the sky when his face bloomed into a smile.

Handing his coat to the butler as he passed him in the foyer, he followed Truly up the stairs to the parlor. She closed the doors. This was her house. The servants were loyal to her without a fault.

“Brandy?”

“I’ll pour,” he said. As he sought out the cut crystal decanter, she sat on the sofa. He handed her a glass and asked, “What happened between the first and second acts?”

“Genevieve Rutledge.” Truly took a hearty sip. “She’s a viper, and you’re right; she’s not my friend.”

“I’m sorry.” He sat next to her, bending his knee on the cushion beside her bum, giving her his full attention. “What did she say?”

“She made reference to the gossip sheets, of course.”

“Do you think she knows who wrote it?”

Truly looked at him. “Does it matter? I’ve little doubt she had something to do with it. I’ve known her to sell a few well-timed secrets.”

“You are not a secret. It’s no more than people already know if they choose to look. This cannot hurt you.”

“But it does.” She swallowed. “My whole life, I’ve shied away from girls who might call me names, shame me, or speak ill of my mother. I had tutors at home, and when I was older, my mother spent good money to see me properly turned out so I could hold my head high.”

“What would your dear mother say to you now?”

He was drawn to the well of tears in the corners of her beautiful, smoky gray eyes. “She would say the best revenge is success.” She smiled weakly, sniffling back the tears before they fell. “She would also say that success is not measured by a person’s faulty perception. It is measured in the heart. Then she would say no one knows your heart better than you do.” She put her glass on the table before them. “I suppose it’s all stuff and nonsense because my heart isn’t searching for a man who will love me. At least my mother had that much. No, I’m seeking a man of means.”

“You’re seeking a future, and no one can blame you for that.”

“Except me.” She sat back, tilting her head like she dared him to challenge her thinking.

He set his glass aside. “Why did you take my hand tonight, Truly?”

“Because I needed a friend. I’ve had very few. People like Geneieve and her gathered geese leave me exhausted and empty. I’m discovering I don’t want a husband from this crowd, but I don’t know what else to do.”

He reached for her hand and massaged her gloveless fingers, distracting her from the brevity of her truth. “Why don’t you speak to your brother? I’m sure he’ll take an audience with you.”

“And what?” She pulled back. “Beg him for money? Ask him to continue paying the deceased mistress of his late father? It’s absurd. And here I am without talent or training of any sort. At least Lady Davies knows art.”

“She was a widow without means who took innocent refuge from a kind older gentleman. The father of her husband’s friend.”

“I know the story, and I know what you’re trying to say, but she knew the man.”

“She was married to his son’s friend. That’s all she knew. There are some people in the world whose hearts are bigger than propriety or reputation. Perhaps Justamere’s is as well.”

She licked her lips, and he watched the action. Against his better judgment, he wanted to kiss her. Sitting in the parlor where she’d surprised him with a kiss just made him wish for it more. And he wanted more. The thought disturbed him. After so many years of dealing with conniving women, he was drawn to Truly’s unpracticed sense of self.

She broke him, shattered his ability to carry a persona he had not created, but neither had he dissuaded popular opinion. It had served his rakishly adolescent brain and that of his friends as well. Those male friends close enough to call him friend benefited from his company and, therefore, the company of women who were more than gracious with their charms.

They’d all been lovely, but none held a candle to her.

She looked at her now folded hands in her lap. He hated that look. One of defeat. He wanted her to fight, to teach them all a lesson, because she was stronger than she thought she was. He, however, was not strong enough to stop the attraction he knew they both felt. He reached for her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips. Their gazes locked. The desire clear. But she was hurting, and he couldn’t press it until she pressed into him.

* * *

Truly sat in the parlor with the man she’d stolen a kiss from a week ago, glad she’d invited him in and about to do something reckless.

With his warm breath on the tips of her fingers, Truly scooted closer. She nestled her head into the crook of his neck and shoulder, breathing him in, musk and sandalwood as spicy as his personality. “Stay with me, Arlington.” Her words were slightly muffled by her position, but she didn’t have to see him to know he had heard her. She could feel his heart pick up tempo as he pressed her hand to his chest.

“Why?”

She gazed up at him, still leaning into his side. “Because you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“And that’s enough?” He was giving her an out, denying his own attraction. She could feel it under her palm.

“It is today.” She could see him battling with his conscience. She reached up and drew her thumb over his lips.

It didn’t take much to glean his compliance when she moved to kiss him, and he answered with an involuntary moan just before he crushed her mouth with his. It was an erotic explosion filled with whirling feelings of something more profound. She loosened his cravat. Everything she did, everything she said, was a yes and more.

“You’re sure?”

She nodded.

He lifted her with ease like she was a feather. How he carried her in his arms, nuzzling her neck with his nose, whispering in her ear how beautiful she was, made her feel alive and safe. She felt steady, relaxed, and a little giddy as she directed him to her room. He pampered her with kisses. Her skin tingled wherever he touched her.

It was a sweet encounter, and he made it easy to find her pleasure, to share his, and falling asleep next to him felt like home. It may have been that she was in such need of companionship, but come morning, she had no regrets, and neither did he, it seemed. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her.

“Does this complicate things for you?” she asked.

He watched her for a moment, studying her face, his gaze soft. “Perhaps, but nothing I can’t handle. Are you all right?”

“I have no regrets. Would you like me to go back to calling you Dalliance?”

“No,” he said quickly, pinning her to the pillow with his hands on her wrists. She laughed outright. “Your Grace would be more appropriate.” He teased her and then kissed her soundly.

“One thing must be clear,” she said as he laid back on the pillow beside her. “I am not anyone’s mistress.”

“But your own, you mean.” He pressed his elbow into his pillow, his fist holding up his head as he turned to look at her. “I don’t need a mistress, Truly. I don’t need this to be anything but what it is.”

She mirrored his position. “What do you think it is?”

“The beginning of something wonderful?”

“Don’t get sappy.”

He sucked a deep breath through his nose. “Two very close friends who like to greet one another with a wanton kiss?”

She nodded once. “Exactly.” But she knew he was right. There was something wonderful between them, though she wasn’t ready for the truth. Not yet.