Chapter Six #3
The idea should not have made her want to smile. Despite the warnings from Julian and Portia that their friend had no redeeming qualities, some moonstruck part of her brain was flattered by his interest. Did she really think herself so alluring that he had any feelings for her than lust?
It was far more likely that he planned to blackmail her with last year’s impropriety. Or perhaps he had not really forgiven Julian and meant to hurt her brother, through her. Now he was grinning at her, waiting to see how she responded to his intrusion.
‘Well, you have found me. What do you mean to do about it?’ She said and glanced around her at the people on the street. ‘And before you answer, know that, if I call for help, there are dozens of gentlemen around us who will come to my aid.’
He blinked at her, surprised. ‘Why should you need any help? What must you think of me that you would say such a thing?’
‘I only know of you by what I have heard from others,’ she said. ‘And that has all been bad.’
‘Your brother, no doubt. I was speaking to him just this morning and he warned me of dire consequences should I keep pestering you.’ He looked endearingly innocent. It was probably why he could get away with the things he did.
‘Do you ignore everyone who tells you to go away?’ she said.
‘Most of them,’ he admitted. ‘It does not happen as often as you think.’
‘And if I tell you to go away?’ She held her breath, waiting for the answer.
‘You have not actually done so,’ he said, staring back at her.
It was a challenge. She should do as everyone suggested and send him away.
But what if he obeyed?
When she’d come to London, she’d assured her parents that she would not do anything foolish.
To crave just a little more time with a man like the Duke of Westbridge was so unwise it bordered on stupidity.
But she could not bring herself to say the words that might make him leave her.
Instead, she sighed and turned away from the shop window to walk down the street in the direction she had been going.
He followed, falling into step at her side, and Bessie trailed behind them.
‘You still have not answered my question,’ she said without looking at him. ‘Why did you come looking for me?’
‘I wanted to continue our discussion of last night. Before our dance ended, I asked you what you did for pleasure. You did not have time to answer me.’
She hadn’t. It had been such a novelty to find a man who wished her to talk about herself instead of just listening to him that she’d been too shocked to say a thing.
It was even more shocking to find that he had remembered what he’d said and was still waiting for an answer. He was acting as if he really cared.
‘I like to read,’ she said. ‘I paint and play the pianoforte.’
He was still staring at her expectantly.
‘I am also skilled at needlework.’
He stopped.
So did she.
Bessie, who had not been paying attention, bumped into her, then took a step back.
Westbridge raised a doubtful eyebrow. ‘I have come to suspect that, when girls make their come-out, their mothers empty their heads and replace their brains with a card file of appropriate conversation. You have used cards one through three on me now.’
‘I am an ordinary girl, with an ordinary set of accomplishments,’ she said, trying not to sound defensive.
He shook his head. ‘Yesterday, you were telling me of birthing lambs. I expected to be similarly surprised when I asked your interests.’
‘If I were to tell you how I passed the time in the country, you would think me boring at best, and simple at worst.’ Even a consummate liar such as he would not be able to feign interest in the real her.
She turned away from him and began walking again at a somewhat quicker pace.
He hurried to catch up. ‘Does it matter what I think of you? I did not think you had the need to impress me in any way.’
He was right. It shouldn’t matter. Maybe, if he thought her dull, he would leave her alone. The thought made her sad in a way she did not fully understand.
‘When the weather is fair and I have nothing more useful to do, I like to sit outside, under a tree,’ she said.
‘Sometimes I read. And sometimes, when the book is not interesting enough, I steal a bit of sugar from the kitchen and sprinkle it around an ant hill. Then, I watch the insects discover it and carry it inside to present to their queen.’ She walked on, afraid to look in his direction.
When he did not say anything, she added.
‘Sometimes, I take my sketchbook and draw pictures of them. Other insects, as well. My mother has declared my watercolours entirely inappropriate for display and requested I limit myself to flowers. But I refused.’ When she glanced in his direction, he was grinning.
‘A naturalist,’ he exclaimed. ‘That is much more the sort of thing I wanted to hear. Is it just ants that you fancy, or will any insect do?’
‘I have a preference for ants. But bees are very interesting, as well. If none are to be found? Dragonflies, beetles…’ She shrugged, embarrassed.
‘You must tell me everything,’ he said in an awed tone.
She shook her head. ‘If you wish to learn about insects, I should think there are several clubs and societies here in London that could teach you far more than I.’
He skipped ahead of her for a moment and walked backwards in front of her. ‘Certainly not, Miss Fisk. I do not want a dry scientific lecture on the subject. I wish to hear your views. We must go somewhere quiet where you can tell me everything.’
‘I do not think…’
‘I know just the place,’ he said, ignoring her protest. ‘How do you fancy Scotland?’
She stopped dead again, sure that she could not have heard what she thought he’d said. ‘What?’
‘A pledge over the anvil,’ he said, standing in front of her and patting his coat pockets. ‘I have my mother’s ring with me, and a pair of fast horses harnessed to a post-chaise. We could be out of London before you are missed and in Gretna Green in three days.’
It was the sort of wild, impetuous suggestion that she had dreamed of, but never expected to hear, especially not from the lips of the Duke of Westbridge.
But dreams were all they were. Real proposals, the sort one got as a result of a London Season, were carefully orchestrated and all parties involved had agreed to the wisdom of the match.
And there was no wisdom to be found here. Her heart might be hammering out a yes, but that had more to do with the desire to run away from responsibility than it did with an urge to marry. In any case, the man in front of her was not to be taken seriously.
She responded the only way she could. She forced herself to laugh, surprised that it sounded almost natural.
There was a moment of silence. Then, he said, ‘Have I said something amusing?’ and looked at her with a raised eyebrow and a sardonic smile.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, with an expression that was equally cynical. ‘I assumed you had to be joking.’
His smile softened. ‘What if I was not?’
Her heart was now beating so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
She chose her words carefully, so he would not see how his suggestion had affected her.
‘Then, I would assume that what you were offering was an attempt to get me away from my chaperones with the promise of marriage, only to abandon me after you got what you wanted.’
‘What I wanted?’ His words were low and seductive.
She sighed to steady her pulse and refused to succumb to them. ‘Three days on the road is a long time for any girl to resist a practiced seducer.’
He smiled. ‘Practiced seducer. I rather like the sound of that. And I have put quite a bit of time into honing my skills on that front.’ He gave her another speculative look that made her insides flutter.
She took another steadying breath. ‘It was not meant as a compliment.’
‘I will take it as I see it,’ he said, unbothered. ‘You are not interested in testing your assessment of me at an inn somewhere on the road?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Not even if I promise to let you lock the bedroom door.’
‘You have not said which side of it you would be on,’ she reminded him.
Now he laughed. ‘Point to you. Very well. I cannot persuade you to travel to Gretna Green.’
To emphasize her refusal, she stepped around him and began walking again.
He turned and hurried to catch up. ‘Would a more conventional marriage interest you? I could get a special license. We might be wed in a few days’ time with your friends and family in attendance.’
She resisted the urge to put her hands over her ears, afraid that it would be even more scandalous than the scene they probably presented. ‘The world would likely think you had dishonoured me and were forced at sword’s point to make the offer.’
‘Not the whole world,’ he replied. ‘I do not flatter myself to think I am that well-known.’
‘I am sure there are a few tribes in the who would not remark on our sudden vows. But anyone in London would gossip.’
He hurried in front of her and stopped, blocking her way. ‘Very well, then. A formal proposal. Banns read from the pulpit in St George’s and the most elaborate ceremony possible, with an archbishop presiding.’
He meant to abandon her at the altar. Or humiliate her by cheating, once they were married. Either would hurt Julian as much as it did her.
He glanced down at the pavement between them. ‘I will kneel here if you wish me to.’
‘Have you gone mad?’ she whispered, turning away to look in the nearest window.
‘You would prefer that I wait until we are somewhere less public?’ he whispered back, his head dipped close to hers so she could feel his breath against her ear.
She stepped away and stared up at him. ‘I would prefer that you refrain from talking nonsense.’
‘You find an offer of marriage from a peer nonsensical.’ He stepped back as well, and for a moment, she wondered if she had actually offended him. The playfulness had gone from his tone and his posture was rigid.
What could she say that would make him stop teasing her?
She knew every word was a lie. And yet, this bantering was utter and delicious madness.
It made her want to run to the carriage he had suggested and let him sweep her off to Scotland, casting her honour away like a bridal bouquet, to land where it would, somewhere on the way to the life of happiness she’d imagined.
But it was not real, and she should not treat it as such.
She would not be a fool for him, no matter how much she wanted to be.
She gave him a direct look, and said, ‘I have no illusions about my past or my future. I am a natural child—a bastard,’ she said with blunt finality.
‘Even with my brother’s acknowledgement, it will count against me when an offer is made. ’
‘From some, perhaps,’ he said.
‘But not from you?’ she said. ‘We have barely met.’
‘So you keep saying,’ he said, his eyes narrowing slightly.
She ignored the challenge and went on. ‘I do not take you seriously because, given who I am and who you are, it is far more likely you would offer me a slip on the shoulder than a church wedding.’
‘And have your brother call me out for dishonouring his sister?’ he said.
‘Some would see your current actions as a long-delayed revenge.’
The idea seemed to shock him, as if he had seriously never considered what seemed obvious to her.
When he spoke, there was a strange quality to the words, as if he had thrown away all the glib good humour to reveal a different speaker hiding underneath.
‘Is there nothing I can say to you that will make you believe me?’
‘That you are seriously offering marriage?’ She stared back at him, equally pensive. ‘I cannot think of anything.’
They stood together in silence for a moment, and she could not help wishing that she had not spoken.
But it had been necessary to be direct, to make him understand the way things were.
Perhaps her nursing had given him the wrong impression.
She did not want to be part of some game he was playing with Julian, nor was she the sort who could deny all expectations placed upon her and refuse the future her family wanted for her.
She was beginning to worry that she would have to refuse him another time, when his manner changed.
Like a man donning a coat to protect against chilly weather, the seriousness she had seen was covered over with suave smiles and the relaxed posture of a man who did not care what anyone thought of him, much less some country girl he’d met on the street.
‘Well then,’ he said on an exhaled breath.
‘If that is the way it is to be, I shall not bother you further.’ He turned away, and then back.
‘Not today, at least. Au revoir, Miss Fisk.’
‘Goodbye, Your Grace,’ she said, as he walked away down the street.