Chapter 17
Men can be such idiots.
—Venus’s Love Notes
Ellie frowned at her reflection in the bedroom mirror. Why in the world had Jack pushed her? He hadn’t been angry; no, he’d obviously thought he was helping her in some way, making her fall against Ned and land spread out over him like a blanket.
Her face turned redder than her silk drawers, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She was going to spontaneously combust from embarrassment.
She should have been embarrassed out there in the snow, but she hadn’t been. Oh, no, embarrassment had been the farthest emotion from her thoughts. She’d been far too overcome by the feel of Ned under her.
He’d felt wonderful, even better than when she’d fallen against him in his room that first day. He was so solid, so hard and broad and male. She’d wanted to burrow into his coat—into him—and stay there forever. She’d completely forgotten they were surrounded by the other members of the house party.
Thank God Lady Heldon and Percy hadn’t been there to observe her. If they had, the story would be all over the neighborhood already. Of course, it might still spread ...
She bit her lip and tried to swallow her sudden panic. Surely no one could tell she’d wanted to stay draped across Ned? Yes, she should have scrambled up immediately, but ... but ...
She forced herself to take a deep breath.
Everyone must have concluded she’d had the wind knocked out of her. That was it. Or perhaps they’d thought she’d been frozen in shock by it all. Yes, she liked that. The elderly spinster paralyzed by such close contact with a male body.
Or perhaps the moment hadn’t lasted as long as she’d thought. Perhaps it had been drawn out only in her mind, like the time between the moment you realize you’re going to take a nasty fall and the time you crash into the ground. It seems like forever, but it actually happens very quickly.
She forced herself to smile. She would act as if nothing unusual had occurred. If she behaved as she always did, anyone who did have a suspicion would decide they were imagining things. They would—
Her smile froze. Damn it, had Ned been able to tell what she’d been feeling? And when she’d slipped coming inside just a little while ago and grabbed him, had he noticed how tightly she’d clung to him?
Maybe that’s what he wanted to talk about in the library.
Oh, dear God.
She’d stay in her room. He couldn’t force her to come down. She would merely tell him when she saw him in the drawing room later that she’d been too cold or too overcome by—
No. She wasn’t going to hide any longer. If he had noticed, she’d admit it. Hadn’t she decided to be strong and decisive and persuade Ned he should consider marrying her? Perhaps she’d even try to flirt with him again.
Hmm, flirting was probably a bad idea. After her feeble attempt outside, she had to conclude she’d no skills in that area. She’d likely do such a poor job of it, Ned would decide she’d taken ill and send for a doctor. She would just have to find the courage to come right out and tell him how she felt.
Gaa! Her stomach threatened to revolt at the thought.
She glared at her middle in the mirror. Her stomach would have to behave. She would take her nerves firmly in hand. She could do this.
Maybe.
No, there was no “maybe” about it. She would do it.
She surveyed herself one more time—and grimaced. Her courage would benefit from a more enticing covering. Her dress was a muddy brown that she’d thought would compliment her eyes and hair, but which just made her look like a mound of dirt. And she’d never really noticed how much this frock resembled a burlap sack. Well, at least it was warm.
She couldn’t even wear her red drawers to make her feel daring. They were far too wet, so she’d draped them over the desk chair by the fire to dry. They should be safe. She’d had Thomas and another footman shove the wardrobe as close to the wall as possible, so Reggie would have to lose some weight to squeeze through the hole into her room. Once she got back, she’d stuff the drawers securely under the mattress.
She made her way down the stairs to the library, took a sustaining breath, and knocked.
“Come in,” Ned called.
She stepped inside and shut the door behind her. It was rather scandalous for an unmarried man and woman to be alone in a room with the door closed, but she was certain no one here would blink an eye. It was just Ned and Ellie, nothing to be concerned about.
She took another deep breath. She must make it something to be concerned about. She must be scandalous, or at least alluring.
Or maybe just direct. Yes. Just tell him what she wanted. This was her golden opportunity.
Ned was standing by the fire next to two leather wing-chairs. He smiled at her. “Oh, good, I was going to ask you to shut the door. I have a proposition to put before you that I don’t care anyone overhearing. Come, have a seat.”
“Ah.” An odd sort of despairing, slightly maniacal laughter bubbled up in her throat, but she swallowed it. Another man—another woman—and a proposition might involve talk of secret trysts and stolen kisses; unfortunately, she couldn’t fool herself for even an instant into thinking those notions had crossed Ned’s mind. No, likely he only wanted to see if she’d be interested in looking over his plans for his spring plantings.
She joined him by the fire and perched on the edge of one of the chairs. He took the other, crossed his legs, and jiggled his foot.
Hmm. He was nervous, too.
“I had Dalton bring in some tea,” he said, gesturing to the tea cart. “Would you care for some?”
Ned wasn’t drinking tea. She cleared her throat, gripping her hands together. “I see you have the decanter there. Might I have a glass of brandy, instead?”
He frowned at her. “Have you ever had brandy?”
Drinking brandy was far too daring an activity for a boring old spinster like Ellie Bowman. “There’s always a first time.”
“Actually, no, there’s not always a first time. I’m quite certain many ladies go to their grave never having tasted the stuff.”
She was not going to give in. “But I’m chilled.” Whether it was from the cold or nerves, her stomach was certainly shivering. “I’ve always heard brandy is warming.”
“Tea is warming, too.”
“But brandy is more warming, isn’t it?”
Ned was still frowning at her, damn it. She forced herself to look calmly and determinedly back at him. If he refused to pour her a glass, she’d snatch the blasted decanter from him and get her own drink—even if she had to use a teacup. She needed some liquid courage to get through this interview.
“Very well, I don’t suppose one glass will hurt you.” He smiled. “And it might help relax you a bit. You seem a little tense.”
“I suppose I am.” Ha! A little tense? That was like saying they’d just had a little snow.
He filled a small glass halfway with the amber liquid and handed it to her. “Just be careful. A little goes a long way.”
“I’m sure.” Did he think she was a ninny? She might not have had brandy before, but she’d had ratafia and Madeira. She took a sip.
And thought she was going to die. The brandy burned her tongue and her mouth before tracing a line of fire down her throat. “Ah.” She swallowed again. “Ah, ah.”
Ned reached for her glass. “I thought tea would be a better choice.”
She leaned away from him, putting one hand up to hold him off while clutching her glass to her chest. “No, I’m fine. I was just a bit, er, surprised.”
He sat back, worry creasing his brow. “You don’t have to drink it, you know.”
“I know. I like it.”
One of Ned’s damn eyebrows flew up.
“No, I do.” Now that the brandy had finally arrived at her stomach, it was making her feel warm and almost happy. Her nerves began to unknot. She took another, more cautious sip and was relieved to find the liquid went down much mor
e easily this time. “See? It just takes some getting used to.”
“Well, don’t get too used to it. I don’t want to have to carry you upstairs because you’re too tipsy to manage on your own.”
She quite liked the idea of Ned carrying her upstairs. “What was this proposition you wished to discuss?”
“Ah, yes.” Ned took a swallow of brandy himself. “I had an interesting conversation with Miss Wharton during our sleigh ride.”
Damn, perhaps she didn’t want to hear this. She took another sip of brandy. “Oh?”
“Yes. It seems her parents have given her to the end of the Season to find a husband; if she doesn’t, they will marry her off to an elderly neighbor.”
“Oh, dear.” Her heart sank, and she swallowed some more brandy. Ned didn’t feel he needed to save Miss Wharton from that fate, did he?
“It is shocking to me that parents can be so unfeeling.” He studied her face. “Your parents aren’t pressuring you to wed, are they, Ellie?”
“N-no.” She took another sip of brandy. “Though I can sympathize with Miss Wharton. I don’t believe Papa cares if I ever marry, but Mama has been reminding me more and more often how, if I insist on remaining a spinster, I’ll have to rely on my sisters’ charity once she and Papa are gone. It’s very depressing.”
The brandy had taken away all the shivering and tightness in her stomach. It was even taking the edge off her worry about Ned and Miss Wharton. She felt quite detached, almost as if she was floating.
“So you’ve changed your mind about remaining single?”
She blinked at Ned. For such a handsome man, he was a bit slow in his understanding. “I never chose to be single. It just happened.” She drank some more brandy. “Or, rather, marriage didn’t happen. We females don’t have a lot of choice in the matter, when all is said and done.”
She wasn’t being completely truthful, but she wasn’t quite ready to tell the entire truth—that he’d been married to Cicely, and there’d been no one else she’d wanted to wed.
Maybe she’d never tell him that—there might be such a thing as too much truthfulness. She should just say that she wanted to dispense with spinsterhood now by marrying him.
She hadn’t yet had enough brandy to manage that speech.
Ned nodded. “I suppose you are right, but I confess I’d never considered the matter until I spoke with Miss Wharton. I now understand why the poor girl has been chasing Jack so assiduously.”
“Yes.” Damn it, he was going to offer for Miss Wharton. She couldn’t let that happen without at least trying to state her case. It wasn’t as if he loved the girl, and her impetuosity would drive him mad in short order. He needed a friend— he needed Ellie—to point out what a mistake he’d be making if he offered for her.
“But you ... I ...” Just say it, you numskull! “I-I want ...”
“Yes, Ellie?” Ned leaned forward, looking solicitous, but clearly without the faintest inkling of what she felt for him. “What do you want?”
You. But she couldn’t make her lips form that word. She held out her glass instead. “More brandy.”
His face wrinkled up as if she were holding out a used chamber pot. “That’s not a good idea.”
He was likely correct, but she was desperate. One more glass—perhaps one more sip—and she’d be able to find the courage to tell him what she felt. This was no time to be cautious. “Please?”
His frown deepened. “You’ll be sick.”
“No, I won’t.” And even if she were, it would be worth it. She eyed the decanter. “Just a little more?”
“Oh, very well, but Mama will be exceedingly annoyed with me if I get you foxed.” He filled her glass barely halfway. “And slow down. You are drinking far too quickly.”
“Um.” She took a sip. “So the, er, proposition you mentioned?” Perhaps she could approach the problem from a different, less obvious angle. “I’m still not clear on what it might be. Does it involve Miss Wharton?” She took a sustaining breath. “And if it does, shouldn’t you be speaking to her rather than me?”
“No. Or, rather, not yet.” Ned poured himself more brandy as well. “If you decide to accept my proposal, then I’ve no need to talk to Miss Wharton.”
“Er, proposal?” The brandy had definitely gone to her head. Her ears were buzzing. Her heart had lurched into slow, hard thuds, and her lungs were stubbornly refusing to take in air. Breathe, ninny. He doesn’t mean a marriage proposal. “What proposal?”
Ned dropped his eyes to his glass. His shoulders tensed, hunching up closer to his ears, and his foot jiggled faster. He was very nervous.
“We are old friends, are we not, Ellie?”
“Y-yes.” She took a gulp of brandy. Where was this conversation going?
He smiled at her fleetingly. “I don’t know that I ever said it, but I very much appreciated your support after Cicely and the baby died.”
“I was happy to give it.” She leaned toward him and touched his knee. “Their deaths were a terrible tragedy.”
He nodded. His hand covered hers and her pulse jumped. She loved his touch.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s taken me a long time to get over it, but I think ... well, I suppose I’ll never be over it completely, but I’ve decided it’s time to remarry.”
Her heart leapt up into her throat, and her head began to throb so hard she was afraid it might explode.
Ned was saying something, but she couldn’t hear him. She shook her head to clear it.
“No?” He looked surprised and somewhat crestfallen.
“No, I mean I didn’t comprehend what you said. I’m sorry.” She withdrew her hand and glanced down at her brandy glass, but decided she’d better try to marshal her wits instead of drinking any more. “Was it something about”—she swallowed—“remarrying?”
“Yes.” He looked her in the eyes now, so intent and sincere. “I want children, Ellie. An heir and others as well.”
“Ah.” She wanted children, too, so badly she ached with the desire.
“And I thought—” He glanced down briefly before meeting her eyes again. “Forgive me if I’ve misconstrued the situation, but I thought this year you might be open to the idea of marriage.”
“Ah.” She was such a brilliant conversationalist, but it took all her effort to keep her heart and lungs and ears working. Perhaps Ned had meant a marriage proposal.
Would he profess his undying devotion? Would he perhaps kiss her?
“This year you haven’t stayed by Ash’s side as you have in the past, and you’ve shown at least a little interest in the men Mama invited for you.” He frowned. “Though you must have noticed Humphrey and Cox both seem to have found other matches.”
Ellie nodded. “It would be hard not to notice.” But who cared? She wasn’t interested in them; she was interested in Ned, and she’d swear he was on the verge of declaring himself. All her dreams were about to come true.
He smiled. “So I thought since I want a wife, and you appear willing to take a husband, it would be sensible and practical for us to marry.”
“S-sensible?” Where were the words of love, the bended knee, the “make me the happiest of men” bit? “P-practical?”
“Yes. I did think to ask Miss Wharton, since she seems to be in desperate need of a mate, but I suspect Mama will make her one of her matchmaking projects this Season. I’m not too worried she’ll actually be forced to wed her elderly neighbor.”
“Y-you are p-probably right.” Surely he’d mention love in a moment. She took a quick swallow of brandy.
“Yes, I think I am.” He smiled at her. “And there are so many advantages to marrying you instead. You’ll be happier at Linden Hall than I think Miss Wharton would be, even though she did say she likes the country. But still, Linden Hall is far from her home; it’s close to yours. You’ll be able to visit your family regularly. And Mama loves you like a daughter already.”
“Ah.” He was talking about the vicarage and his mama. This coul
dn’t be happening. Her dream was turning into a nightmare.
Be reasonable, a small voice in the back of her mind said. This is your chance to finally marry Ned.
Ned was still smiling. “You and I have known each other forever; I think we could rub along fairly well. And as for your marital duties”—Good God, was he blushing?—“I hope you won’t find them too onerous. Once you are with child, I promise to leave you alone until it’s time to try again.”
Yes, a nightmare. This was definitely a nightmare. In a moment she’d wake up.
“So what do you say, Ellie?”
Yes, the little voice shouted. Say yes. Marry Ned. Live happily ever after. This is what you’ve always wanted.
But he doesn’t love me.
He’ll come to love you, the voice said. And then a little nastily, It’s not as if you have anyone else asking. You want children, don’t you? This could be your last—your only—chance.
“Ellie? Will you have me?”
Something elemental and completely irrational surged in her then. The little voice screamed in horror but couldn’t stop her. She jumped to her feet. “I wouldn’t have you if you were the last man on earth.”
And in case he missed her meaning, she tossed the rest of her brandy in his face.
Ned was mopping up when Ash and Jack came into the library.
“What did you do to Ellie?” Jack sounded angry. “We just passed her in the corridor.”
“She had her head down and looked to be on the verge of tears.” Ash’s voice was also harsh. Both his brothers were glaring at him, damn it. “When we tried to stop her to see what the problem was, she dodged us. In fact, she just about ran away. That’s not like Ellie.”
Zeus, did they think he’d beaten her? “I don’t know what’s the matter with her. All I did was suggest she marry me.” He tried to blot some of the brandy from his cravat, but it was a hopeless endeavor. Likely nothing would get the stain out; he’d have to throw the neckcloth away. “And she threw her brandy in my face in answer.”
Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “Perhaps she was drunk.”
Bedding Lord Ned (Duchess of Love 1) Page 24