Chapter Twelve #3
I rolled my eyes. My own trick played against me, and fairly done.
Though I doubted he actually cared about my feelings.
Sitting before me was a man bored, in his cups, needing a distraction.
I’d met such men before in many of Peter’s friends.
Doubtful he’d remember half our conversation by morning. I sighed and closed my book.
“I fear I am too changed since last year to incite true interest from suitors. Perhaps I might secure a proposal, but if I do, is it really mine? When all pretenses are dropped, Your Grace, I am still and will always be the girl on the hay reading books with her barn cat.”
His chest started to shake, then his shoulders. And he coughed out a laugh.
He was laughing at me.
“I beg your pardon?” I asked, cross.
“Forgive me.” He chuckled. “I am imagining you in a hay barn with a stray cat, and I—well, I can see it perfectly.”
“And that is humorous to you? My loneliness?” My tone sobered him.
He frowned like a child chided, though his eyes were still alight. “On the contrary, I find it rather endearing.”
My cheeks grew warm. I looked down at my book. Whyever would he say something so ridiculous? He must feel sorry for me. He, the naturally harsh-natured, unfeeling duke.
“He is not a stray. He is a mouser named Mercutio to whom I tell all of my secrets.”
Marlow sat up straighter, lips turning upward again. Eyes more alert. “My apologies to Mercutio. I am unacquainted with the social hierarchy of cats, but I assure you I meant nothing by it.” He dipped his chin.
Heavens, he was handsome. He did not often smile, but he’d given me several tonight, and they lit up his face. I hadn’t noticed the dimple in his left cheek until this moment. It begged my attention.
“He is the only good thing I’ve had these past many months.”
A clock on the mantel chimed. The house was otherwise completely still. Painfully quiet. I looked toward the empty doorway. I should leave him. What if someone found us here? Duke or not, the last thing I needed was more rumors and more reasons for his mother to be upset with me.
“Tell me the story,” he said, quiet.
I blinked and turned my book over in my hands, tracing the golden lettering on the leather binding. “Udolpho?”
His brows furrowed, half covered by a wave of thick, rowdy curls. “No. Tell me what happened that night. What you did to lose the ton’s favor, in your own words. I want to hear it.”
That night . . . with Ronald? “You want to know why I . . .” Kissed him?
“Yes.” He turned in his seat, angling his body toward mine. He rested the left side of his face against the back of his seat, his long legs loosely crossing. He waited with measured confidence, like a man who needed only ask, and I’d respond exactly to his desire.
Mine wasn’t a story I wanted to continually repeat. And it certainly wasn’t mandatory to our contract.
“Why?” Why did he care now?
He looked around, shaking his head, then shrugged. “I am curious.”
I didn’t like that answer. And in truth, I did not want him to hear the whole of it.
I wanted to keep some measure of control between us, and if he knew everything—how foolish I’d been, how I’d thought myself in love only to be rejected in the most public and humiliating way—he’d think less of me. I found I did not like that either.
“No.”
“No?” He started to laugh, then grasped his empty glass from the table, looking down at the last few drops of amber liquid swirling at the base. I wondered if the duke had any real friends. He did not seem to know how to treat one, pretend or otherwise. “You won’t tell me.”
I stared hard at him. “I do not think you truly care. I think you wish to belittle me.”
He set down the glass firmly, meeting my gaze just as unyieldingly. “Did you try to ensnare him? Sir Ronald.”
Hearing that name aloud didn’t hurt like it used to. I felt regret, but not affection. Not since I’d seen him with his new wife and how different he was with her. Perhaps how he’d been all along, but I’d been too blinded by my own false hopes to see it.
In truth, it was embarrassment that kept me from revealing myself to the duke.
And I had already embarrassed myself enough tonight.
Sitting in his chair in stockinged feet, spouting off about lying in the hay with a barn cat.
I could not abide him laughing at me again.
I had enough regrets. I wondered if he felt any at all after what he’d done.
His admission was far worse than mine would be.
He had admitted to it, hadn’t he? More, he’d faced Mrs. Winston and her husband head-on. I supposed, like it or not, I owed him the truth. Then we’d be square.
I huffed out a little breath and looked down at my hands as I spoke. “Sir Ronald is my brother’s closest friend. When I debuted in London, I was certain he’d court me. He needed money, and we had enough to share. My brother said to be patient. But that is a virtue I have had to learn the hard way.”
I felt the duke’s unrelenting gaze, saw his hand grasping the armrest of his chair. He said nothing, only listened.
“I should have seen sense much earlier . . . the way he looked at her, the way he attended her, even the way he spoke to her was different than with anyone else. But I was so blinded by this future I’d planned in my head, so certain that he’d see it too, if only he’d give it a chance.
“We were dancing that night, and I stopped in the middle of the room. He thought something was wrong and cradled my arms to keep me upright. And I made the decision in an instant—I’d force his hand. I’d make him see the future I saw. So, I kissed him.”
The duke’s brows raised. “Bold.”
“Foolish,” I disagreed. “I shall never forget the look on his face when he pulled back. It was utter betrayal. I had shocked and disgusted him. And he hated me instantly. I never want to see that look on someone’s face, not ever again.”
The most painful part of recalling the truth was admitting rejection. That I hadn’t been good enough. That something had been wrong with me. Something that invited people to take a critical look.
I supposed Marlow could understand that feeling too, having been rejected by Miss Newbury.
Worse, really, because he was a duke and what sort of woman rejected a duke as wealthy and secure and, dare I say, handsome, as he?
We both had made grand mistakes. We both had tried to force the other’s hand.
“Perhaps a conversation would have been the better choice,” he said, standing with glass in hand. He strode back over to the cabinet and pulled out the bottle.
I watched his careful movements. “You don’t say,” I muttered.
The duke glanced over his shoulder with a half smile on his lips as he poured. “Leveled by the ton for it.” He started to laugh as he turned round, lifting the glass to his lips. “I hope it was a deuced good kiss.”
I tucked my feet closer and crossed my arms around my middle. I ought to be scandalized by his loose tongue, and yet, being around Peter and his friends I’d heard one too many slips over the years to care. Besides, with the duke, I needn’t pretend to be all sweetness and innocence.
“It was my first,” I admitted miserably. “And it was terrible.”
He laughed harder, slowly returning to his seat and settling back in. “Gads, I actually feel sorry for you.”
I started to smile despite myself, surprised at how much lighter I felt admitting the truth.
Marlow did not seem to care. Did not seem to look at me any differently.
I felt relief. Like life could carry on.
Like I could have friends to jest with. Like, perhaps, one day, all my sorrow and mistakes would be but a distant memory.
“I wish I could make everyone forget. Myself included.”
The duke reached for a sandwich. “I shall see about getting a bill passed in Parliament.”
I rather liked this side of him. Rough, still, but playful. “What a good friend you are.”
He took a bite, then said, “A shame, though. To never be decently kissed.”
Warmth spread up my neck. I had wondered since the attempt if I’d done it wrong. Despite Ronald’s reaction, kissing hadn’t felt as earth-shattering as others made it sound. Marlow’s eyes flicked to mine, and the force of his gaze was too much. I felt exposed, my every thought laid bare.
“Did you kiss Miss Newbury?” I regretted the words as soon as they’d tumbled out of me, seeking something, anything, to redirect his attention. Perhaps a challenge to prove that I was not the only one who felt this way about kissing.
“No.” He sat up again, stretched out his legs to get more comfortable, like he wanted to stay a while. Perhaps it was the hour. Or the drink. “But I did have this one unforgettable kiss. Nothing else has quite measured up.”
The drink to be sure. I shouldn’t ask him to elaborate, but he seemed so confident. It was maddening. I wanted to be proven wrong. It couldn’t have been that thrilling.
“And what made that kiss so memorable?”
He rolled his eyes but humored me between bites. “If you must know, we were in the sitting room. Alone.” He caught my gaze, seeming pleased by my surprise and by the way I surveyed the empty room. “And she was teaching me French.”
“She was your tutor?” I leaned over my armrest toward him, book folding into my lap. This was the best story I’d heard in an age.
He reached over and grabbed a sweet bun.
“Brilliant Frenchwoman. Not much older than my seventeen years, which was a mistake on my mother’s part.
She treated me like I was normal, talked to me like I was just any other pupil.
That afternoon, she made me read this passage about forbidden love, and something in me just .
. . snapped.” He bit into the bun and smiled.
“I took her hand first; it was very romantic. Poor thing was stunned silent, but I drew her in, and she was . . . enthusiastic, to say the least.”
I gasped and covered my mouth. Something fluttered wildly in my stomach, burning up into my chest.
My eyes dropped to his lips.
He took another bite of his sweet bun. That dimple reappeared. “Haven’t felt anything like it since. And not for want of trying.”
Good heavens, how my face burned with embarrassment. “You, sir, are a cad.”
“Heartsick, to hear my mother tell it.” His eyes had changed. They were lighter, brighter. “Don’t act all blushing and proper, Georgiana. Not after the story you just told. You are no better than I am.”
Perhaps not. Though I’d like to think I had better moral standards since defaming myself. “I may have kissed a friend without permission, but I have learned my lesson. Have you?”
He eyed me sideways. Again, with that haughtiness that seemed to say he was above mere mortals’ rules. “What are you reading?”
I turned my book over in my hand. I’d almost forgotten it. “The Mysteries of Udolpho.”
He nodded once, then said, simply, “Tell me.”
“If you ask nicely,” I said, reaching for a cheesecake and taking a bite.
He watched the motion. “I am the Duke of Marlow. I do not have to ask nicely.”
Who had taught him such a falsehood? I scrunched my face. “For me, you do.”
He drew a long pull from his glass. We stared each other down our respective noses.
Then he clinked his empty glass down on the side table. “Please, Georgiana.”
I grinned.
I told him about Udolpho’s heroine, Emily St. Aubert, and how she meets the heroic and handsome Valancourt and quickly falls in love.
How her father dies, and she is sent to live with her terrible aunt, who marries a horrible husband, and then forces Emily to his castle Udolpho, where she is nearly forced to marry a man—who is not our beloved Valancourt!
—she does not love. Mysteries abound. Hearts pound and quake, and Emily is out of her mind with worry and fear and uncertainty.
Thank heavens for her servant girl Annette!
She risks her life to venture where Emily cannot, answering Emily’s curiosity about Udolpho and its surroundings.
Marlow settled back in his chair while I told him the whole of Annette’s findings. His attention jolted when I told him about Emily’s aunt dying at the hands of Signor Montoni, how Emily gives him his ransom but he still keeps her locked away at Udolpho.
He sat at the edge of his seat while I explained how Ludovico led them to the dungeon to discover . . .
“Who was down there?” he whisper-yelled, and I laughed. I wondered what would happen next. How it would all conclude.
And I could tell Marlow wondered too.
Between the two of us, we’d eaten everything on the tray. We slouched in our seats, both too comfortable by the fire than we ought to be.
Reluctantly, he stood. “I should leave you to your book, then. For both our sakes.”
He wanted me to tell him how it ended? As though we might continue this easy comradery tomorrow. Not likely.
“Thank you for letting me stay.”
He waved me off as though he disliked my saying that. Then he lifted a little square box from the side table and shook it. It sounded like bells.
A moment later the cat reappeared.
I grinned. “I’ve stolen your night, too, haven’t I?” I reached out my hand, but she went straight to the duke. He crouched beside her, giving her exactly the affection she wanted. Then he nudged her toward me.
She trotted over dutifully. I patted my seat, and she jumped up, looking again over my person for the creamer.
The duke . . . well, he smiled. “Her name is Cleopatra, but Cleo for short.” Affection softened the usual roughness in his voice.
“Good evening, Cleo.” I rubbed her back as she lapped up the milk.
“She stalks the halls at night,” he explained. “Takes her rests in here with me. I saw her here when I found you . . . I assumed—that is, I imagined perhaps you might like her company now.”
Cleo looked up at me and licked her lips. “Mercutio is not nearly as elegant and well-bred as Cleo, but I miss him all the same. Sharing her is very thoughtful. And appreciated.”
He nodded once. Watched us for a moment. Then, he said, “What are friends for, if not sharing their beloved cats?”
He was acting too kind. Too gentle. His offering prodded my hardened heart, as though looking for a weak spot to wriggle into. I couldn’t let him in. I could not afford to entangle myself with a handsome friend again. Heavens, we were hardly friends at all.
“Good night, Duke Marlow.”
“Just Marlow,” he corrected me. “Good night, Georgiana.”