Chapter Seven
Marlow
I opened the carriage window, but the cabin still smelled of Gabriel’s musk and amber cologne. He was dripping with it. And I could hardly breathe.
Maggie, on the other hand, would not speak to nor even look at me. She hadn’t since Mother asked her to befriend Miss Wood as a valiant act of charity. Even I had been surprised by how generous my mother had been about the arrangement. Then again, I hadn’t exactly told any of them the truth.
“Shall I go in with you to retrieve her?” Gabriel asked as the carriage rolled to a stop outside her door. “Your little darling friend.”
“You will not so much as speak to her, or you will regret it.” I scowled and reached for the door handle. Gabriel’s amusement with Miss Wood could not prove a distraction tonight. I had a handful of ladies I needed to consider, all while keeping track of her.
“If we are to present a ‘united front’ as your mother says, then I do not see how your request is possible.” Maggie leaned back in her seat, careful not to disturb her hair.
Her words were as biting as frost, her innocent smile just as cold.
“If Miss Wood can tolerate you, she can certainly tolerate Gabriel’s flirting. ”
Gabriel grinned. “I wouldn’t mind befriending a country girl with a little fire in her.”
I did not dignify that with a response. Instead, I opened and closed the carriage door firmly behind me, and I took the few steps up to Mr. Wood’s Mayfair apartment.
Clean gray stone with a mahogany wooden door and planters of green bushes on either side.
Respectable, to be sure. I almost felt sorry for the man, having such an intolerable sister.
His life otherwise seemed quite perfect.
Wealth, good standing, and a lovely, pregnant wife at home. No title to force him into Parliament.
I knocked thrice upon the door and heard a distinctive shuffling inside. Voices. Then, the door opened wide.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” a servant said, and I stepped inside.
Marble floors met the same mahogany in tables, purple velvet-backed chairs, and the staircase. Oil paintings framed in gold hung on every wall. Flowers in Asian-style vases. Very respectable, indeed.
Mr. Wood walked out of a room to the right, straightening his coat. He did not look happy to see me, despite the fact that I was about to change his sister’s trajectory for the better, whether I liked it or not.
“Good evening, Your Grace.” He bowed. “Thank you for coming.”
My lips twitched. His tone was not at all thankful. “I trust you received my letter.”
“We did, indeed.” He looked over his shoulder to the room he’d just abandoned. “And I trust my sister will be in good hands tonight.”
I narrowed my gaze at the question in his voice—Would I hurt her?
Would I abandon her? He couldn’t say with certainty; he hardly knew me.
He could only hope I was an honorable man, bound by duty and contract to keep his sister from harm.
In truth, she was perhaps the safest woman in London tonight simply by standing in my shadow.
I did not dignify his words with a response beyond a look of impatient confidence.
He nodded once and cleared his throat. “She’s putting her music away.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement over the man’s shoulder.
And there she was.
Dressed in a rich blue, she walked toward me.
This was the same girl from the country?
She looked different. Clean, for one thing.
Golden ringlets were arranged atop her head with little white flowers pinned among them.
And that dress . . . I didn’t know much about dressmaking, but I didn’t think I’d ever seen a dress worn quite like .
. . that. The way it moved with her in waves as she walked. I swallowed hard.
Then her light, clear eyes met mine, and I felt a jolt in my stomach, as though she were some sort of rare treasure I’d just unearthed.
Ridiculous. I tugged at my jacket.
She was attractive. I could admit that much. A natural reaction to someone so confident and . . . handsome.
She stopped beside her brother and raised her confident little chin as though to say she was here to collect what she was owed.
Another beautiful woman here only to gain what they all wanted from me—influence, money, luxury.
I blinked away. “Miss Wood,” I managed without meeting her eyes. Firm and sharp. “Shall we?”
She curtseyed, the air between us fragrant with sweet flowers. Apple blossoms? I allowed myself a single glance.
Shouldn’t have.
She said, softly, “Good evening, Your Grace.”
Gads, even her voice sounded ethereal. My neck grew hot. I was suddenly overwarm in my coat. Time to go. “Do you have everything you need?”
She lifted a small, beaded reticule I’d missed entirely. With a forced smile, she tilted her head. “Not feeling particularly complimentary for your friend this evening, Your Grace?”
I flicked my gaze to her brother. The awkward thing about interacting with females was that there was almost always someone in between you.
Someone listening and watching and making it impossible to say what you really wanted to say.
In this case, That dress fits you like a glove.
Your figure is perfect. Despite my better judgment, I would very much like to touch you.
Mr. Wood’s brow furrowed as he looked between us.
“The carriage is waiting,” I muttered instead. Now was not the time to indulge in my weaker side. Especially not with this woman who would certainly leech onto me and bleed me dry.
She’d proved herself intelligent with her little bargaining stunt. And, now, she would play the part to perfection. That dress proved it.
I turned, and the servant quickly opened the door for my exit. I did not wait for Miss Wood, but I heard her footsteps following behind, out the door, and down the steps.
Their gentle pitter-patter stirred my nerves, tightened my shoulders.
She wasn’t even that close, and yet, I knew exactly where she was.
Perhaps all this running about had worn me down, and I was catching ill.
In truth, I was decidedly out of practice dealing with women, especially after .
. . well, they were all untrustworthy, the lot of them, and Miss Wood was unnerving to say the least. Unnerving because I should not care about her at all.
She’d dug her own grave, so to speak, after cavorting with that man in public.
I should not give a second’s worth of worry to her comfort.
Indeed, I should keep her a few paces behind all night.
The carriage door swung open ahead.
Gabriel poked his head around with a stupid grin that quickly vanished at what I could only assume was seeing Miss Wood trailing behind me.
The fact that she was a stranger hit with full force. A beautiful, very distracting stranger I was supposed to be dear friends with. On pretense, I was supposed to know her rather intimately, at the very least enough to invite her out with my family.
Even more reason to keep my distance from her. She’d already proven herself dangerous to the good, honorable men of the ton. For the first time I fully understood why. Who knew what she was truly capable of looking as she did tonight?
Not that she could harm my reputation. The thought was laughable. If anything, I could further harm hers if I wanted to.
Did I want to?
I started to consider . . .
No! No, of course not. No. I was not the sort of man to take liberties, and certainly not where this woman was concerned.
I was after a wife, and Miss Wood was the last woman fit for the dukedom.
A country girl with terrible standing. All she had was a respectable brother and likely a decent dowry that was of little consequence to me.
No, I needed an equal. Someone who knew what it was to bear responsibility, who’d been trained to run several households at once.
Someone who could navigate Society, offer relevant advice, keep our family at the top.
“You didn’t say she was beauty personified,” Gabriel whisper-seethed from within as I approached. “Gads, man, I would have put on more scent!”
“More scent?” Maggie snorted. “Gabriel, you have single-handedly solved the Thames’s stench with the level of scent on your person.”
Lips decidedly pursed, I stopped at the steps laid by the carriage door.
Drat, now what do I do? Turn round and help her up?
I could let the groom do it—should let the groom do it—and wait outside until she situated herself.
Otherwise, she might think me amiable. And that, I most certainly refused to be.
I stood as still as a statue, unyielding. Waiting.
Perhaps she’d let herself up.
I should most assuredly offer my hand. I would for anyone else. Why not now?
Because I am the Duke of Marlow, I reminded myself. And I would not be cowed. Not by anyone.
Miss Wood stopped beside me, and the groom looked to me for direction.
If I gave her my hand, she’d take it, and we’d be on our way. If I didn’t, we might be standing out here all night.
I fisted both hands. Dash it all.
“Smile,” Miss Wood said in a voice that was somehow both soft and sharp at the same time. “And help me up, won’t you, my friend?”
My jaw tensed. Who did this little woman think she was, ordering me about?
I glanced down at her, and our eyes met.
Hers, the clearest, golden-green. That had been a mistake.
Then she smiled up at me, and it didn’t feel like one of Maggie’s forced smiles.
It was full and genuine. Filled with excitement and a vulnerability so rarely seen in London.
It was a compelling smile. Alluring. So much so that my gloved hand raised of its own accord for hers.
The light pressure of her fingers on mine seared through me, though it lasted less than a second as she took one, then two steps up and into her seat on the bench beside Maggie.