They had reached a crossroads—literally. The path split. She could either keep to the lake—or, well, change course.
It was time to take action if she was ever going to.
“Shall we go up to the temple?” She pointed up to the circular building. “Pen says it has a nice view.”
She wouldn’t tell him what else Pen had said.
Well, no. She would mention part of their conversation. “I should tell you that I took the opportunity this morning to ask Pen to have a word with Lady Muddlegate and Mrs. Marsh, to tell them to mind what they say around Letitia’s daughters. Pen agreed they shouldn’t have been talking about us being lovers in front of the girls.”
She glanced up at him as she said that last bit.
Mistake.
“Ah,” he said, his voice low and full of... sin. “But are we going to be lovers?”
Well, at least the topic was now open for discussion.
* * *
Edward wasn’t entirely certain what was going on.
Hell, he hadn’t the faintest clue what was going on. Thomas had interrupted his conversation with Jo in the maze this morning before he’d been certain they’d had a meeting of the minds. And then he’d spent the rest of the day out riding with the men—and thinking about Jo. Remembering her scent, the feel of her hair sliding through his fingers, the press of her body against his. Light, tantalizing details that had whetted his appetite for more. For a deeper, longer encounter.
And then, before dinner, he’d watched the door to the drawing room, waiting for her. He’d tried to be discreet about it while carrying on a conversation with Oakland and Lady Oakland, but he’d been getting more and more concerned as the minutes ticked by and Jo hadn’t appeared. Had something happened to her? But then surely Lady Oakland would have said something.
He’d started to ask—and then, finally, Jo had stepped into the room.
Causing him to completely lose his train of thought.
“It is a very nice dress, isn’t it, Your Grace?” Lady Oakland had said—or perhaps giggled would be a more apt description.
He’d looked at the woman, and she’d waggled her brows at him, causing her husband to choke on his wine.
“Give a man some warning before you do that,” Oakland had told his wife as he’d used his handkerchief to mop up the spirits that had detoured through his nose.
Edward had heard this with only half an ear because Jo had been walking toward him.
It was indeed a very nice dress—red and lacy with a low-cut bodice—but his eyes and all his attention had been focused on the woman in the dress. She’d looked equal parts defiant and nervous, brave and vulnerable.
He’d wanted to take her in his arms in the middle of the Earl of Darrow’s drawing room in front of all his highly interested guests and hold her. Kiss her.
Instead, he’d just smiled. Widely. Like a love-struck fool.
Was this love? It was certainly strong, focused, and more than a little desperate.
And getting more so.
When the butler called them into dinner. Edward had played his assigned role, protecting Jo from Lady Muddlegate and Mrs. Marsh, escorting her down the table to sit next to Lady Darrow. And then, as he’d bent to pull out her chair for her, she’d whispered her message in his ear—meet her in the Long Gallery as soon as he could after dinner.
He’d all but collapsed into his chair next to her.
He was certain the meal had been delicious, but he couldn’t recall anything that he’d eaten. And the other men had been highly amused—and not fooled at all— when he’d downed his port in record time and had excused himself.
He hadn’t gone so far as to say he was retiring early. He’d not wanted to hear all those jokes.
And then he’d found Jo jumpy and nervous and wanting to argue political theory with him. Yet when he’d broached her favorite topic—women and children and their needs—she’d not taken the bait.
Now perhaps they were getting somewhere. She’d flushed quite violently when he’d asked if they were indeed going to be lovers, but she hadn’t looked away. More to the point, she hadn’t hauled off and slapped him. She—
“I don’t know,” she said.
Well, that was better than a no. And she did still have her hand on his arm.
Well, she’d had it on his arm. She’d just removed it and had stepped away. Hell. Was she going back to the house now?
No, apparently not.
“We need to talk,” she said. She looked up at the temple again. “But let’s wait until we get up there.”
“Very well.”
So, there was still hope. And she was right. They did need to talk. Thomas and Bear had interrupted their earlier discussion.
They weren’t free to frolic for a few days and then move on. They were connected through her charity, partners of a sort who would need to work together for years.
And, of course, there was Thomas’s welfare to consider.
And then there was the host of bystanders, all far too interested in what should be an extremely private matter.
They walked in silence, no longer touching, up the path through the woods. The only sounds were those of nature—a hawk’s cry, a rustling of dead leaves, a squirrel chattering—and the thud of their heels on the ground, the swish of Jo’s skirt.
“Oh! Look!” Jo stopped when they emerged from the woods and stared, not at the temple, but out over the lake. “Pen was right. The view’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Indeed, it is.” He was looking at her, but then turned his attention to the view she meant.
He hadn’t thought they’d gained much altitude—the hill they’d climbed hadn’t been particularly long or steep—but from this vantage point, they could see the entire lake.
And several other stone structures. “Some previous earls must have been very fond of follies.”
Jo nodded. “Puddledon Manor has a folly, too, but only one—a Gothic cottage.”
And then, for some mysterious reason, she flushed.
Hmm. I wonder if the cottage has a bed?
He’d admit that when Darrow had told him he was going to be a father again, he’d done the calculations. Perhaps everyone did that when a child arrived so close to a wedding day. And he’d concluded that young Pip might well have got his start in Little Puddledon, though he’d wondered at it. He couldn’t imagine Darrow braving a houseful of women to engage in such behavior, nor could he see Lady Darrow consenting to consort at the village inn where everyone must know her. And while frolicking out-of-doors was always a possibility in the summer, it seemed unlikely.
If he felt observed here, think how many more eyes had been avidly watching the earl and his not-yet countess.
Jo had now turned to examine the temple, so he turned to look at it, too. It clearly had classical aspirations with its dome, Corinthian columns, circular portico, and regularly spaced niches graced with statues.
Jo walked over to have a closer look, so he followed her. She climbed the steps—
“Oh!” She stopped so abruptly, he almost ran into her.
“Oh, what?” He looked—and saw a naked woman unsuccessfully—or half-heartedly?—trying to cover her private parts.
Oh, indeed.
“That looks like Aphrodite,” he said.
Jo emitted an annoyed-sounding huff. “I don’t know why Darrow’s ancestors chose to litter the landscape with naked people.”
He tried to swallow his laugh, but he wasn’t entirely successful. It emerged as a gulp and a snort. “It is rather a classical tradition.”
“I know that. It’s just . . .”
It’s just time to get to the point.
He didn’t want to hurry her, but he also didn’t want to launch into another academic discussion. They did not have all night.
Or, well, he hoped they were going to do something else all night—something besides talking. Something that, yes, involved naked people—them. In bed. Together.
“Jo, you didn’t bring me here to critique the statuary.”
She let out a long breath. “No. I didn’t.”
He waited. She frowned at Aphrodite. Then she frowned at him. Then she frowned back at Aphrodite.
“It’s not an easy subject to broach,” she told the statue.
He could just say it himself, but he was finding this oddly entertaining. And it was true she was an extremely independent woman. She might not appreciate him taking the, well, words out of her mouth.
“I promise to try not to have a fit of the vapors.” He bit the side of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Just say it, Jo, without any more roundaboutation.”
“Yes. Right.” She took a deep breath and told Aphrodite, “I’d like to, er, discuss the, ah, possibility of becoming lovers.”
She was now redder than her dress.
Chapter Eleven
Jo glanced over her shoulder. “Assuming you’re interested, of course.”
How awkward—and annoying. The man was just staring at her. “If you’re not interested—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “Oh, I’m interested. Very interested.” His voice was low, his eyes intent. His lips curved into . . .
Was that a predatory smile? Well, she was not some helpless little mouse to be snatched up by a hungry hawk.
“I said discuss the possibility. We may decide—I may decide—that the notion lacks merit.”
She thought he was biting his tongue, but whether it was to keep from speaking or from laughing, she couldn’t say.
“At this point I am suggesting only”—she closed her eyes briefly as she said the words, because some things, while sensible, were still mortifying—“sexual congress. As a first step. A trial, if you will. If I don’t like it”—she looked at him, well, glared would probably be a more accurate description—“and I would have to really like it if I’m going to consider changing the course of my life, a life I’ve worked very, very hard to build and which I find extremely satisfying.” She stopped and took a deep breath. She might have been letting her emotions get out of control.
Wasn’t this going to be just for fun? You weren’t going to consider marriage seriously, were you?
She hadn’t intended to, but she discovered she couldn’t completely separate the notion of marital relations from marriage in her mind.
“If I don’t like it, then that is where the matter must end,” she said rather forcefully, perhaps trying to firm her own resolve.
Edward looked calmly back at her and nodded.
She’d expected some argument.
Perhaps that would come later.
“I know you are looking for a wife—and a mother for Thomas. However, I am not at all certain I wish—” No, that was the wrong way to couch the matter. She needed to be sure he understood.
“I am almost certain I do not wish to marry again.”
He nodded, and that hot, sinful smile flickered over his lips. “Then I shall have to try my best to persuade you.”
Oh, lud, his voice when he said best. It made her shiver.
It made a very specific part of her shiver—and brought a storm of nervous butterflies back to her stomach.
She tried to give him a stern look, but she suspected she wasn’t very successful.
“I warn you, you will have a very difficult time of it. My first marriage was not especially pleasant, and now I have my charity to run. I cannot see how I can marry you and still manage it. How can I live at the Home in Little Puddledon and be your wife and Thomas’s mother? You certainly aren’t going to move to the village.”
Why are you throwing up all these objections? Didn’t you decide you wanted to explore bedroom matters with the man? You will lose this opportunity. Edward is going to wash his hands of you.
He didn’t. Instead, he nodded and said, quite calmly, “I see. Let’s discuss the matter, shall we?”
“Er . . .” This was not how she’d imagined her seduction would go.
Well, she’d not really been able to imagine a seduction at all, much as she had hoped something would happen when she put on this scandalous red dress. Had she thought Edward would overpower her, sweeping away all her doubts, reservations, and inhibitions?
I probably would have fought him tooth and nail.
The slightest hint that someone wanted to pressure her to do anything that wasn’t her own idea always put her back up.
“There’s a bench over there with a view of the lake,” he said. “We can sit and be comfortable.”
“Very well.” She strode over and sat at one end. This bench was larger than the one in the maze. There was room enough for her and Edward and for fat old Prinny to plop himself down between them.
Unfortunately.
No, not unfort—
It is unfortunate if you’re still hoping for some sort of seduction.
Perhaps Edward would sit—
No. He settled at the far end and turned toward her.
She turned to face the lake—and nerves launched her tongue into motion again.
It was finally time to talk about Freddie.
“When I said earlier that young men waiting to inherit often fritter away their lives, I was speaking from personal experience, as you likely surmised. Freddie gambled and drank and—”
And she couldn’t say it this time, either.
“Well, it’s a wonder I wasn’t tripping over his bastards, even in Town.”
Edward gave her a searching look, opened his mouth—
Is he going to tell me Freddie couldn’t father children? Lud! He must think me as much of a ninny as Lady Muddlegate and Letitia do.
“I know what you are going to say, but you’re wrong. I assure you, Freddie was capable. I am not a virgin.”
“Yes, I understand, but I’m not certain you do.”
Her back stiffened. And now he was going to insult her intelligence? If so—
He laid his hand on hers, his touch warm. Comforting.
Calming.
“Remember what I told you in the maze, Jo? I was married to Helen for five years before we got Thomas.” His fingers tightened on hers—and then he reclaimed his hand and sat back.
“You may be right that you can’t have children. But you may be wrong. Helen was certain she was barren, until she found she was carrying Thomas.”
Sorrow shadowed his face then, and he looked away, out over the lake.
Oh. Her heart ached for him. He must have—they must have been so happy to discover they were going to have a child, and then nine months later . . .
It was so wrong when birth brought death. Overwhelming joy and pain at the same time in the same heart.
She wanted to reach out to him as he had done to her, to offer comfort, but she was too late. He’d shaken off his melancholy and managed to smile.
“And Lady Muddlegate and Mrs. Marsh are correct about Havenridge, you know. I asked around once I discovered I was supporting your charity to find out what I could about you and your departed husband. Havenridge had a reputation with the Fashionable Impure—a girl never had to worry after he left her bed that she’d have a squalling reminder of his visit nine months later. I take it they thought it was his best quality.”
“Oh.” She frowned. Could it be true that Freddie—
No. Surely he would have known it if it were, and he had been quite clear on the matter—there was nothing wrong with him. The fault lay with her. He had told her so repeatedly.
“But what I had been going to say before we got off on, er, reproductive matters was, from what I could tell, Havenridge didn’t change his behavior when he succeeded to the title.”
She snorted. “Very true. I suppose habits learned early are hard to break.”
No, that wasn’t entirely fair, was it? She really had tried, over the years, to see the matter through Fredd
ie’s eyes. “I do sometimes wonder if he would have changed if he’d been able to have a son.”
This time it was Edward who snorted.
Her surprise—and skepticism—must have shown on her face, because he gave her a very direct look.
“As I said earlier, I spent years working with the nobility when I was a solicitor. There are many who take their responsibilities seriously, but there are just as many who don’t. Like your departed husband, they drink and gamble and”—he paused—“carouse. Their parental status has nothing to say to the matter.”
Well, yes, she did know that. Many of the women at the Home were there as the result of some irresponsible lordling’s carousing.
He frowned. “It is, frankly, one of the things that worries me about Thomas’s position. He is now the heir to the dukedom. He will, eventually, go to school with other sons of the nobility. They will become his friends, and, someday, will join him in the House of Lords, governing the country. I hope . . . I will try . . .”
He shook his head. “I am trying to see to it that Thomas does not become another silly noble fribble. That he grows up to be a responsible, thoughtful man.” His gaze held hers. “But I know I can use the help of a sensible, clear-eyed woman to achieve that end.”
She felt both flattered and flustered. She wanted to help—
No. Well, yes. She did want to, but she couldn’t. She had the Home. She had women and children—girls—depending on her.
Fortunately, Edward didn’t press her. He smiled and moved on.
“What does surprise me, however,” he said, “is how you came to marry a man such as Havenridge. By all accounts, he’d always been a self-centered, harum-scarum ne’er-do-well. You are . . .” He shook his head bemusedly. “None of those things. Really, you and he are as different as chalk and cheese.”
She sighed. She’d asked herself that exact question over the years.
“I’m not the same person I was then. Just as your years as a solicitor have formed you, my years running the Home have changed me. For one, I’m not so easily dazzled now.”
She would have said she was completely immune to dazzlement, but she was feeling more than a little bedazzled by her current companion.
Cheers to the Duke Page 14