Chapter Fourteen #2
I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. I imagined something skittering up my spine and tried to shrug the feeling away. “I am not going back through there.”
He chuckled, stopping beside me at the end of the row. “We can return through a side door of the house. I have a key.”
“Thank heavens,” I breathed. I leaned against the door to the stall of a beautiful white mare.
“Her name is Flora.” Marlow leaned opposite me, his body angled toward me, but his gaze on his horse.
“She’s lovely.”
His eyes met mine, thoughtful. “Would you like to take her out tomorrow?”
I hadn’t ridden a horse in ages. Not since last summer with Peter before both our lives changed. “I would love that. If I am able.”
Marlow lowered his chin. “I told you, Georgiana. You can do whatever you please here.”
Not that again. As though I was untethered and free from all responsibility. “Your mother might have plans for—”
“She can wait.”
Make the Duchess of Marlow wait? What world was he living in? “Don’t say that.”
“What?”
“‘Do whatever you please.’ Like I can. Like I should. I cannot walk around your estate like I have free rein. Especially now, with your mother angry with me after Mrs. Waymont’s party. I must be reasonable and responsible.”
He looked utterly baffled. His lips parted as though to speak, and then he promptly shut them. Then he raised his hand to the back of his neck and stretched out his fingers. His forehead scrunched. “Tell me, then, in what way could I have made the offer more reasonable for you to accept?”
He seemed truly interested in my answer. An earnest question that felt rare from him.
I thought for a moment. “Perhaps phrasing the offer more like, ‘If you have the time, you’re welcome to take Flora on a ride.’”
Marlow nodded his head slowly. “Is not that exactly what I said?”
I sighed dramatically. “You said it with such demand, though. Like I am a piece for you to move around in a game of chess. Do this, do that, whatever you want because ultimately I am in control.”
Again, the quiet contemplation. “But I am in control.”
I turned round and lifted my candle toward the sleeping Flora in her stall.
“You are never in control of another person, Marlow. No matter how much you wish it. No matter if you are a duke or even a king. Our minds and our hearts are our own. And beyond that, a person’s choices define them.
It is unwise to insist I do whatever I want, without either of us giving thought to the consequences. ”
Flora’s foot jerked in her sleep. We watched her together in a moment of shared, quiet contemplation. Just when I thought he would not speak, he shifted toward me.
“How old are you?”
I could not decide if he was in earnest or somehow teasing me. And for some reason I felt defensive. “Twenty. How old are you?”
“Thirty. And yet I feel you are markedly older than I. Wiser, certainly.”
Why was he being so kind to me this evening? Wise? Me? “Funny, because I gauged your years at least forty for how cantankerous you are.”
“Forty, deuces.” He laughed, and I marveled at the way it brightened his otherwise serious expression. “You need spectacles. I am not so aged.”
I smirked, admitting, “No, you are not.”
He lifted his aristocratic chin. “In fact, I am told I’m rather handsome.”
His gaze searched mine. For what? A reaction?
A compliment? Ronald and I had never spoken like this.
If anyone else had tried, I’d never paid attention.
Oh, I could bat my lashes, smile coyly, offer hollow compliments.
But this sort of back and forth, this searching each other’s mind, teasing out truths to get to the heart of someone else’s opinion—that was foreign to me.
And dangerous ground, coming from the Duke of Marlow who had Lady Diana to think of.
Perhaps all he wanted was a little confidence. A stroke of his ego for Drury Lane tomorrow. He knew the truth, anyway; he just wanted to hear me say it. So, I leaned in as though sharing a secret. “You are very handsome, Your Grace . . .”
His eyes widened as though in pleased surprise, and he leaned in closer too.
Close enough for me to see the freckle under his bottom lip.
And even though we had ample space around us now, I felt the same as I had in the passageway.
Like it was just us, the duke and me, enclosed together in a narrow space. I worried he might touch me again.
I worried that I wanted him to.
His gaze dropped to my mouth, weakening my knees.
My lips parted with a breath. “. . . In an evil villain sort of way.”
A grin split his face. He bit his bottom lip. “Ah, yes. I’d almost forgotten my titular role this evening. Shall I draw you out into a dark graveyard and let the ghosts whisk you away?”
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing, and the motion drew back his gaze. “I don’t think you could stomach it. Your conscience would eat away at you.”
His eyes moved around my face. “On the contrary, I am not yet forty. I have no conscience for another decade yet.”
“Ridiculous man,” I teased, giving my attention back to Flora.
I felt him tug gently on the fabric of my robe as though to draw me closer, but when I looked up, he was watching Flora, playing mindlessly with my strings.
He was no villain. Not really. Just an endearing man with a hidden heart and hopes for his future.
A good man who deserved the very best for his future.
I pushed off the stall door and nudged him playfully with my shoulder as I passed.
Perhaps I’d see Flora tomorrow. Likely not, with Her Grace insisting I be present for morning calls and Drury Lane later in the afternoon and evening.
With how scheduled she kept our time, there was a very real chance I’d never see Flora again.
I opened the stable house door and stepped down onto a dirt pathway and into cool, clarifying air. Overhead, glinting stars scattered around the full moon. It was beautiful. As good a view as London could provide. The great house was to our right.
Marlow, with candle in hand, followed me out. “You were not impressed with my passageway nor my stables.” He drew up to my side.
I was, I just could not admit to it. Especially not with him looking at me with such earnestness, such boyish hope. “Udolpho’s ghosts are better. And there are no rats.”
He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Udolpho, Udolpho. How can a man ever measure up?”
“No man can measure up to a good book.” I covered a yawn.
Marlow watched me with a curious look on his face, our feet pattering together on the dirt path. “I’ve kept you up far too late. I apologize.”
I glanced sideways at him. “There he goes again. As though I couldn’t have left earlier if I’d wanted to.”
Marlow huffed. “He is trying to be kind. But perhaps he is out of practice and could use a little grace.”
I smiled. He was right. Clearly, I was tired. And irritable. And completely overwhelmed with this man. A little grace—couldn’t we all use a little grace?
“Forgive me. Perhaps I am being too critical.”
He bowed his head, thoughtful. “I know I can seem a little . . . forceful at times. But I only mean to make you feel comfortable, to say that you are welcome here, and free to do as you please, whenever you please, however you wish. Because I want you to be happy here.” His eyes watched mine.
His hand touched the lightest pressure on my arm.
“I do not aim to control you, Georgiana. I only aim to please you.”
I swallowed hard, my body still, save for the drumming in my chest. No man had ever spoken so generously to me before. Never cared so much for my happiness.
His hand trailed down my arm, brushing against my little finger before dropping.
I wasn’t sure what to do or say. Should I continue on to the house? Would he follow me? A chill in the air seeped through my robe and dress. “Th-thank you.”
“You’re cold.” He started to shrug out of his robe. Underneath, he wore only a thin shirt and waistcoat with trousers. He’d surely freeze. Not to mention the picture I’d make in his robe.
“No, no.” I stepped back. I couldn’t take the Duke of Marlow’s robe. “We are almost returned. If we just—”
“Georgiana. Take my robe. You are cold.”
Reason warred with comfort in my mind. I wanted it—though I most certainly should not—but not because of the cold. “It’s too intimate a gesture, even for a friend.”
“Any gentlemen would offer his coat,” he argued. “How is this any different?”
“Sir Ronald never did.”
“Well, that”—he started to laugh, but it quickly turned frustrated—“just confirms to me that the man is an utter dolt. On this subject, I will not hear your arguments. It is taking all my patience to hear them this evening as it is.”
“I cannot.” I stepped back again. Perhaps I could make it to the door before he did. Then again, I had this wretched candle in my hand.
Marlow lifted one brow. “Don’t you dare run.”
I smirked.
Then I bolted.
I made it all of three bounds before he had me with one arm, both our candles held high. Mine flew with the force, extinguished, and broke in two.
“Drat it all,” I murmured under my breath as a line of smoke dissolved in the air.
“Language, Miss Wood,” he teased at my ear. “Gads, you are freezing.”
Gently, he wrapped his thick robe around my shoulders. Oranges and musk and leather.
Instant warmth.
“Better?” His gaze softened as I pulled the robe close.
I felt more than better, but I would never admit it. “Without a flame, I am dependent on you now. Happy?”
“Yes.” He grinned. Then he held out his arm.
I groaned. I shouldn’t. How silly could a girl be in one night?
I had already grown too close with the duke since staying with him, and tonight had made everything worse.
For I did not dislike him anymore. I did not think him a horrible beast of a man.
Yes, he was rude. Yes, he could be callous and unfeeling and forceful.
But he was also so much more than that.
He was generous and kind. Witty and thoughtful and spirited.