Chapter Ten
CHAPTER TEN
WHEN ARTHFORD CAME to her house, Marjorie thought it was Champeraigne again and sent back word that she was not at home.
Then, watching from one of the upper windows, she realized her error when she recognized Arthford climbing back onto his horse. He hesitated there, looking up at the house.
Would he see her here in the window?
She hid from sight, debating on whether she wanted to go down there and talk to him again.
Well, whether she should .
She obviously wanted to. She was still in love with that stupid man, after all, not that he even remotely deserved her love. He was horrible.
She turned back to the window, and he was starting to ride off, and it made her heart squeeze painfully.
So, she didn’t decide, really. She simply found herself scrambling down the stairs as quickly as she could, flinging open the front door, and running after him, calling out, “Your Grace!” as loud as she could until he heard her, pulled his horse to a stop, and turned.
Then she felt like an idiot.
Oh, if only she could go back in time and not run after him like a mad and lovesick girl.
But it was done.
She grimaced, looking down at the ground, shaking her head.
He dismounted and led his horse closer. “I suppose you must have just gotten home, Miss Adams.” He sounded a little amused.
“I hate you,” she told him, turned on her heel, and stalked back for the house.
“All right,” he said. He raised his voice. “I suppose that’s warranted. You did just run after me, though.”
She kept walking.
“Do you wish me to go?”
She paused, not moving, not looking at him, just standing there, still shaking her head. “I don’t know!” she cried.
“All right,” he replied. “Let’s go for a ride.”
She turned to look at him. She gave him a sharp nod and then headed for the stables.
He led his horse over there and waited as she had a horse saddled and bridled. She had several horses who she liked to ride in regular rotation. This one was called Flint. He was best for responding to her wishes, which she thought might be useful if she was trying to keep pace with someone else, especially someone who might wish to ride slower than she did. She had another horse when she wished to ride very fast and another when she wished to ride for a very long time.
“Lead the way,” he said, when she was settled in her saddle, saying nothing of the fact she was riding astride or that she was wearing breeches or anything of that nature. Of course, he was aware of all of that already. “Is there somewhere we could go to talk?”
“It’s frightfully improper for us to go off without a chaperone, of course,” she said.
“Well, I suppose, but if there are concerns about what I might do to you, I think the damage is quite done, no?”
“Am I damaged, Your Grace?” she said.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Probably. I’m sorry.”
“I’m fine,” she said and nudged the horse to go.
“I guess you don’t wish to take a groom as a chaperone or something then?” he called, coming after her.
She didn’t answer.
They rode off into the woods until they came to a little clearing near a brook that danced over smooth stones. The stones around the brook were all covered in moss. It was green and soft and good here, she thought. She liked it.
She dismounted, walking over to the brook, staring down into it.
He joined her just a moment later. “I should have at least sent word that I was sorry,” he said.
She looked up at him. “For damaging me, you mean?”
“Well, I had a thought before we, erm… well, anyway, I meant to pay your servants to keep their damned mouths shut, but I failed in that. And it seems that my name wasn’t nearly as memorable as yours, and no one’s even saying anything about me, whilst your reputation is being even more… damaged.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, that’s my fault.”
She considered. “Perhaps. But I suppose I started it by riding all the way out to your house and asking for your help.”
“It seems you didn’t ask, though, not in so many words. I made offers. You refused them. And then you rode off. I don’t honestly understand why you came at all.”
“No?” she said. “Well, I should think that was obvious. You had turned my head, of course. I was a foolish and idiotic girl who had never fancied a man before. I think one is supposed to get these sorts of things out of the way when she is fourteen or so, but I never had. I simply didn’t know what it was. It will fade, you see. As I understand these little crushes always do. So, you needn’t worry about that.”
He furrowed his brow, giving her the strangest look. “What are you…?”
“Oh, God, if you make me repeat that, I shall refuse. I cannot. It’s too mortifying. I understand what men are like, of course. They often get confused about what they feel for women, thinking that a desire to bed them is love, but then—once they’ve taken the woman to bed, the love is all gone, completely disappeared. It fades very fast for men, I think. Maybe it’s really similar for women in some ways. Maybe it just fades more slowly, or maybe there’s some—”
“I don’t have any feelings of fading,” he said.
She blinked at him.
He shook his head. “Lord in heaven, this is what I get for listening to Dunrose, isn’t it?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m in love with you,” he said. “If you’re in love with me, too, then… let’s get married.”
She drew back, her lips parting.
He scratched the side of his neck. “All right, you’re not in love with me. You said you hated me, just now. I remember it.”
“None of this makes any sense,” she said in a very tiny voice. “You don’t wish to marry someone like me. I’m very thoroughly ruined, and a great deal lower than you socially—”
“I really don’t care about any of that.”
“And you have just bought this house out from under my brother for me, you said, but obviously you did wish it for yourself. You see me as some conquest—”
“Well, I don’t know about that. What do you mean by conquest, specifically?”
“And anyway, I don’t want to get married at all.”
“Right,” he said. “You did mention that, actually.” He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and peered into the brook.
It was quiet.
She was reeling. “Wait, wait a moment.”
“Mmm?”
“You’re not in love with me.”
“I… if you’d rather I wasn’t, I can keep that from you, I suppose, but I don’t know if I can rightly turn it off.”
She shook her head. “That’s not… but you just disappeared—”
“Well, because I thought that was what you wanted,” he said. “And then Dunrose, he went on this whole thing about how everything in life is a transaction, and I thought you wouldn’t want me to be… that you’d sort of paid for my help already and wouldn’t… well, I don’t know. I told him it was mad, and it certainly didn’t feel like some sort of transaction, and also—why did you let me think it was Dunrose who’d looked at you and not Champeraigne?”
She flinched.
“Apologies,” he said. “I suppose I understand that. You just… it must have been awful. And then I was awful. I think I said that thing about wanting to show you to other men, and you said—and because it was him . All along, it was him, and I…”
“How do you know that, then?” she said. “He told you? You speak to him often? Did you know he sent fake bandits to steal from me and then threatened to send them back unless I paid his horrible price to stop it?”
“That’s actually why I’m here.”
“Oh?” she said.
“Yes, I was just going to offer that the next time he arrives demanding payment, that I could be here, and you don’t pay him. Refuse. And then, if anyone shows up, I shall fight them all off and I’ll keep doing that until he gives up on it. Furthermore, we are likely getting him to go to Shropshire, so he may be a bit, um, distracted, we hope.”
“You’ll fight off all the men yourself?”
“I might ask for Dunrose’s help if he’s not busy, I suppose. If it’s very bad, Rutchester, but that becomes… messy. Either way, you shouldn’t worry. I can handle the men, I assure you.”
She eyed him. “Used to fighting people off like that?”
“Well, not exactly like that, but in some ways, yes. But I don’t know if I’m going to tell you all about that if you don’t wish to marry me.” He winced. “On the other hand, I suppose you should know before you decide to marry me. It might make you not want to do it, I suppose. But if you’re already certain you don’t wish to marry me, then I shall keep all that to myself.”
She shook her head at him. “You’re not serious .”
“I…” He looked back at the brook. “About which part?”
“About marrying me, obviously.”
“You think I’d come here and jest about that? What sort of blackguard do you take me for?”
Her eyes stung. She supposed she did expect him to be awful. But he was awful. Wasn’t he?
“Whatever the case, you will allow me to get you out of this agreement with Champeraigne. I would simply go to him and try to negotiate you out of it, but you must understand that he doesn’t like me, and that I am no real asset to you in terms of diplomacy. However, if it becomes more trouble than it’s worth to collect from you, he’ll eventually give up. I’ve seen him do these sorts of schemes before. Against widows, young men who inherited, that sort of thing. He always eventually backs off when some other man steps in to protect them. He will this time, too. Please allow me to help you, Miss Adams.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “And then I’m in your debt?”
“No, no,” he said. “I owe you this, for it’s my fault that he knew any of it. If I had paid off the servants—”
“If I had never had a stupid fanciful crush on you, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Well, that probably only happened because I killed your father,” he said. “So, there, see it’s my fault.”
“Why did you kill my father?” she said. “And why are you so all-fired sure that I thank you for it? Maybe I miss my father. Maybe I loved him. Maybe—”
“Certainly,” he said. “It’s very confusing that way, isn’t it? Maybe I miss my father. Maybe I loved him.”
She looked away. “I see what you mean, I suppose.”
“You get one set of parents, Miss Adams. They never stop being your parents, no matter how awful they are at filling the role.”
She nodded, miserable, knowing this was true as well. “I thought you were going to call me Marjorie.”
He laughed softly. “Seemed a wretched intimacy to force upon you when you hate me.”
“I didn’t mean it,” she said.
“Yes, you did.”
She laughed. “Oh, all right.”
“All right? All right, what? Are you saying you’ll marry me?”
She let out another laugh, this one a bark of disbelief. “I meant, all right, you can help me with the comte.”
“Oh,” he said with a nod. “Right, of course.”
“You really do want to marry me?”
He flushed, his face turning red.
“Apologies,” she said. “You have said you did, several times. I don’t know why I keep making you repeat it.”
He turned to look at her, smiling as his blush faded. “That’s all right. You don’t believe me is all. You think I’m making it up for some reason, and given all your interactions with men thus far, I understand. If you’ll allow me, I shall convince you I’m trustworthy.”
She raised her eyebrows, because there was nothing on earth that could convince her of that .
HE LIKELY COULD have left.
Marjorie had indicated to him that Champeraigne would not send anyone to collect his money until that weekend, which was three days away. So, there was no reason for him to stay, none at all. It wasn’t that far of a ride back to Bluebelle Grange, and he should have been on his way.
But she said he should stay for dinner, and he said he would, on the condition she wouldn’t feel pressured to put on a dress for him, because he liked her in trousers, and she had given him a look that made him want to kiss her.
He didn’t have clothing for dinner himself, so he didn’t dress for dinner either. They sat close, at the end of the her dining room table, and they talked of horses. He liked horses well enough, perhaps not as much as her, but he kept himself knowledgeable about his own beasts, unlike some men who left all the knowledge to their grooms and stable hands. He wanted to know about the decisions of which horses he would own and which he would sell and all of that sort of thing. He had opinions of the best breeds for pulling carriages versus the best for riding, and he’d owned a racehorse or two in his time, though he didn’t anymore. Frightful waste of money, really, unless one wished to bet on one’s horse and one could be quite accurate about betting on one’s horse, which one never was. One always though one’s own racehorse was a better racer that the horse actually was. It was a rule.
Anyway, she chattered on about how it would be better to have women riding racehorses because they were smaller than men, and how a horse could go faster with less weight on his back, and he had to agree that was likely true.
When they talked about horses, she was different. She was confident and bright eyed and eager to offer her thoughts and opinions. She didn’t seem worried or ashamed or bitter.
He found himself falling harder for her.
He was torn, wanting to change the topic of conversation to their impending nuptials, so that he could explain to her—in detail—why she should marry him, and then thinking that he didn’t wish to silence her or to bring back the other woman from before, far preferring the equine expert’s company.
He realized she wouldn’t be like anyone else’s duchess, not if they were married. Which wouldn’t bother him, but it wouldn’t be without its controversy. He’d be happy enough if they never went to town ever again. He could easily spend his time tucked away in the country. He didn’t need the crush or the speed of the city. She would never be happy at those high society balls or dinner parties, of course, but he didn’t mind that.
No, more than that. It wasn’t simply not minding it. He might really prefer it. He would be more attracted to her because of her eccentricities than if she were entirely bland and boring and like everyone else. No, a woman like her, a duchess like her… it would be the adventure of his lifetime. Hell’s bells, he wanted her.
So, he just kept asking her questions about horses, and she kept talking, and then the courses of dinner were all eaten, and he steered her off into a sitting room for an after-dinner glass of port, still asking more horse questions.
Eventually, he looked out the window and said, “Oh, it’s very late, isn’t it. I completely lost track of time.”
She let out a dismissive snort. “You did not. You are angling to be invited to sleep here, and I know exactly where you’d like to do it.”
“No, no,” he disagreed. “That wouldn’t be proper, not at all. If you think I’m here to take advantage of you, it’s not that way.” He wanted back into her bed more than he wanted air to breathe, in all honesty. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her, to hold her, to see her.
“It seems to me that we have left propriety behind some time ago, Your Grace,” she said.
“I thought you were going to call me Simon,” he said.
She gave him a small smile. “Is this why you’re saying that you wish to marry me? In order to get back into my bed? Because if so, you should know that I would be much more likely to grant you access to me there than I would to give up my freedom and the property you just signed over to me for your stupid hand in marriage.”
His mouth was dry. “Did you really just say that?”
“Obviously, I want to do it again, too,” she said. “Obviously, I lay awake thinking about you every night, missing you, wishing for you back in my arms. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” he echoed.
“Well?” she said. “Are we agreed, then? I can be your mistress or something, for as long as you wish it, and when you tire of me, you will leave me with some sort of consolation prize of property or money if you truly feel guilty for what you have taken from me, though buying me a house is really fairly standard if I’m a courtesan, isn’t it?”
He looked her over. “I don’t want you for a mistress, though, Marjorie. I want you to be my duchess.”
“I would be the worst duchess of all time,” she said.
“No, you wouldn’t,” he said. “Or… I don’t care about that.”
“You don’t really wish to marry me,” she said.
“Shall I repeat it again?” he said in a low, rich voice, smiling at her. “I don’t mind repeating it. I don’t mind saying it again and again. I want you, Marjorie. I want to marry you. I want you to be my duchess. I am in love with you.”
She gazed at him, breathless. “I want…”
He raised his eyebrows.
“You in my bed,” she said.
“Well,” he said with a careless smile, “there, at least, we are aligned.”