Chapter Nine
Marlow
“What? No!” Miss Wood cried. “You heard your mother. You cannot leave.” Her little elbow dug into my side, nudging me toward the hall. Luckily, she was barely half my size. “You must go out there and face her like a man. Like a duke.”
A duke? No, a duke would have gotten his way.
A duke would have forced his intended into marriage for better or worse and would be halfway to an heir by now.
I had failed on that account, and Miss Newbury’s presence was too sharp a reminder.
I could not play nice with her in front of all these people.
“Not like this. I am not . . . feeling myself.”
“Then let us resolve your feelings at once, for you promised me an outing, and this is the outing I have been dreaming of.” Her eyes were round and serious. I could read the desperation all over her face.
I had expected Miss Wood to seem entitled, as though she deserved her place here even without my name attached. An annoyance. A light hand on my arm, a lilting laugh, and fluttering of her lashes. Someone I would throw out of the carriage by the end of the night.
She was none of those things.
She was gentle and generous in her interactions with our hosts, thanking them for receiving her on such short notice, and complimenting their décor with polite thoughtfulness.
Confident, yes. Graceful too. More transparent and easier to understand than I’d expected.
Annoying . . . ? She’d struck an annoying deal, but so far she had asked for nothing more from me.
She stood in front of me and crossed her arms with a furrowed brow that made me want to stop fretting and study her. “I can help you.”
My lips twitched. “You? Help me? I do not think so.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’d rather run away instead? Defeated? Because that is exactly what they’ll think.” She pointed toward the ballroom. “The Duke of Marlow feeling sorry for himself.”
The embers of my temper flared. “You have no idea of what you speak. You do not know me at all.”
“You do not know me either.” She threw up her hands, seemingly as put out with me as I was her. “How do you wish to feel? Strong? Then I shall faint, and you can lift me to safety and all the women will swoon.”
I scoffed. I did not need help encouraging the women of the ton, though I had no doubt she’d follow through. The more she spoke, the more she revealed how intelligent and clever she truly was. How well she understood Society.
“Or perhaps you want to feel dangerous? I can stage a brawl, and you can save the day. All the women will still swoon.”
I had half a mind to start a brawl myself with one particular gentleman—if he qualified for the word—already in the ballroom. Though that man was a proper pugilist.
Tempting, to land him a facer. I had wanted to for months now.
Doing so would embarrass my mother and taint the family name, so I oughtn’t.
Then again . . .
“No.”
She waited for a single moment, before launching into her next grand idea. “Smart? I am more than happy to—”
“Enough,” I stopped her, frustrated. Would she never relent? I could simply walk away and abandon her here. I ought to call the carriage in earnest and leave this place before anyone else saw me upended like this. I dug a hand threw my manicured hair.
Her stare burned into my profile. “Whatever you’re feeling, it is uncomfortable,” she started, slow.
“And no, we are not well-enough acquainted to be in each other’s confidences.
But I am well-acquainted with embarrassment, humiliation, anger, betrayal .
. . I could help you get through the evening.
As a friend. A conspirator, perhaps? If you’ll trust me. ”
“How in the devil could I trust you?” The words slipped out before I’d softened them.
She didn’t seem offended. “A fair question. The most obvious answer is the reason I am here. At this present moment in time, no one trusts me. My word is as valuable as a paste diamond. You truly have nothing to lose confiding in me.” She shrugged.
“My aim is not to dig into your deepest secrets, Your Grace. I have no doubt that in a fortnight or so we will part ways and never think of one another again. Tonight, my help would only be a means to an end. Your good mood ensures I have a proper evening, as planned, in a home I would not have been invited into otherwise.”
She would be a ringer in Parliament. Persuasive, and with a bridled conviction I envied. I almost felt complimented, though I couldn’t pin why or when she’d done it.
“Just for tonight,” I found myself relenting.
She nodded, her eyes gleaming, and tilted her head back. “Tell me, then. How do you want to feel when you walk into that ballroom in a moment?”
How did I want to feel?
Not like this.
To start, I wished I could erase any memory of Miss Newbury and that whole event last summer.
I wanted to go back to before. When Father was still alive.
When the future had limitless possibilities.
I’d made all the right choices because he’d been there behind me, ensuring I chose the best path for myself and for the dukedom.
I’d never worried things would fall apart because he was there to fix them if they did.
Dash it all, I did want to feel strong, as weak as that sounded. And unaffected by anyone and anything. My father walked every path like he held the world in his hands. Everyone had loved him. Respected him. I wanted that.
“Admired.” I released the word, and the grief that followed it. “I want to feel admired.”
Miss Wood’s brows lifted. “Admired.”
Gads, the way she said the word made it feel so childish. “Never mind.”
“No—” She reached out. Almost touched my arm. “You want to be admired in front of the woman you almost married. I understand completely.”
That was exactly what I wanted. I wanted to feel strong in front of someone who had made me feel incredibly weak.
Miss Wood turned thoughtful. She crossed her arms with resolve. “You want her to regret rejecting you.”
I snapped my fingers. “Yes! That, exactly.” Not because I’d loved her.
I’d hardly known her. But because I was someone.
Someone she’d tossed aside without knowing.
Her rejection hadn’t hurt. It had angered me.
But later . . . later, when I sat alone in my bedchamber, the wondering filled my thoughts. Had there been something wrong with me?
Miss Newbury had agreed to our marriage for my title. The marriage was a great advantage to her. And, yet, it hadn’t been enough. And I could not come to terms with the fact that the very best part of me—the dukedom—had not been enough.
Miss Wood tilted her head from side to side, seeming to consider a moment. “This is beyond the scope of our agreement, Your Grace.”
“Beyond the scope?” I repeated. I had just revealed the most intimate details—a man’s feelings! How the devil had she pulled it out of me? She was a siren, for she had helped me to come to a desperate conclusion and positioned herself in yet another perfect situation for bartering.
Brilliant, clever woman. I had fully underestimated her. I should be ignited with fury for how she played me, and yet . . . she’d played me so well. I wanted to replay this little match to see how she’d done it.
“I think we can both agree I have been more than generous with you, you little minx. What more could you possibly want?”
Her eyes brightened with a little smile. “In exchange for my help, I’ll want formal introductions to every titled woman in the room, whether or not they approach us this evening.”
That was all? “Done.”
Her brows jumped up. “Very well. I will play the part of gushing friend. You will have never in your life felt more admired.”
I snorted. “I must say I am impressed how easily you can turn someone’s misfortune in your own favor.”
She grinned. “I learn quickly. If you want to really grate on her, you may call me Georgiana. Like we are truly friends. I shall call you . . . Well, what did she call you?”
A country deviant, a beautiful woman, and now a cunning friend. Miss Wood had many interesting sides to her. I found the task of unriddling her alarmingly distracting. “Miss Newbury called me Duke. Or Marlow.”
She bit a finger of her glove, thinking. “Marlow. What is your given name?”
“I do not allow anyone that intimacy.”
“If she called you Marlow, it will shock her to hear me call you by your given name. But that is entirely your decision.”
Is that what I wanted? To shock Miss Newbury? What I really wanted was to make her see me as someone she never should have rejected. Someone strong. I supposed it couldn’t hurt anything.
“Lucas. But only for tonight. And only in front of Miss Newbury. Otherwise, call me Marlow.”
Miss Wood—Georgiana—nodded her understanding. Then, slowly, she laced her arm through mine. I tensed, relaxing into the feeling of the soft pressure of her hand and the warmth of her on my side as she leaned in close.
“I only just noticed how dashing you look in green, Marlow.”
Her smile held me captive for the briefest moment, and I added another piece of her to the puzzle: alluring flirt.
But, deuces, if I did not mind this one bit.
There was no pressure to look at her as a potential partner, for we both knew her judgment was not befitting of a duchess.
I could simply . . . enjoy her companionship.
And tonight, her partnership. For the first time in a long time, I did not suppress my smirk. “Go on.”
She pinched my underarm and rolled her eyes. Then she tugged me into motion.
I was fast learning that Georgiana Wood was not one to be trifled with.