He enjoyed her company. He wanted her and she might solve a very big problem. At the moment he could not find much to convince himself that the idea was imprudent.
“What do you think, Aylesbury?” It was Eva, trying to draw him into her conversation, and out of himself. She did that a lot. She sensed his moods sometimes. The way she looked at him said she did now.
“About the rumor that a certain countess has already commissioned her gown for the coronation,” she explained. “Is that practical, or morbid?”
“Practical. Ruthlessly so.” He walked to Marianne. “If the rest of you do not mind, I would like to speak with Miss Radley for a short while. With her mother’s permission, of course.”
“I—that is—I suppose—” Mrs. Radley stammered out her astonishment. “If it pleases Your Grace, I do not mind, if it is a very short while.”
“Thank you.” He offered Marianne his hand and helped her stand. Pink spread on her cheeks, but she allowed him to guide her out of the drawing room.
* * *
Everyone watched them go. Silence reigned. Marianne saw a lot of curiosity in the duke’s family as he led her away.
As for her reaction to this display of his favor, confusion only named part of it. The last time she had been alone with him, it did not end well. The remnants of a bruise still showed on his face.
Furthermore, he had been reserved all night. Almost melancholic. He had not spoken much. He watched at best, and sometimes she thought his mind was not with them at all.
She should be afraid, perhaps, but she was not. Caution, trepidation, and excitement all mixed together instead. Anticipation teased her, too, affecting every beat of her rapid pulse. Would he kiss her again? Would she allow it? After his declaration about seduction at dinner, she must not. Yet—too much of her hoped he would at least try. Her body started reacting as if he already had.
They did not hide in a garden this time. He took her to the library, and sat down on a sofa, drawing her down beside him. He did kiss her then. She enjoyed a minute of the special vitality he evoked in her, and relished the sensations that increased with his embrace.
Then, with more regret than she should feel, she pushed against his chest, stood up, and sat in a chair that allowed room for only one person.
She had to suffer his silent attention for a long few minutes. He gazed at her as if judging her ability to resist him for long.
He touched his cheek. Not the one with the scar. “You left me with a bad bruise.”
“Should I apologize? If you had not shocked me, I am sure I would have never done it.”
“Giving pleasure distresses you far more than taking it, from what I experienced.”
His bald statement of the facts surrounding that encounter mortified her. “You are being rude again.”
“I am being honest, and only because I am curious. Someday you will marry. Do you intend to only take pleasure then?”
The question left her speechless. However, she suddenly liked him more. He spoke as if he assumed she would marry one day. No one else did anymore. Not even herself.
“That is different.” She could only hope her face was not as red as it felt. What a conversation to be having with a duke, in the library of one of his brothers.
“Is he still here in London? Your good friend, I mean. The officer.”
“One bold question after another. Did you ask to speak with me privately because you knew such impertinence would pour out soon, and you did not want to impose on the others with it?”
“I only want to know if he is still in London.”
“That is all?”
“And if he is indeed only a good friend.”
She sighed, defeated by his tenacity on the subject. What did she care if he knew? “He has left. His ship will be sailing out of Southampton soon. I doubt I will see him for many months.”
He nodded absently. Falling into thought, he sat there tapping the fingertips of one hand on his knee.
“This will never do.” He stood, came over to her, and pulled her up into an embrace.
She really shouldn’t allow it. She needed to stop the way he toyed with her, and disabuse him of any idea of— She looked up into his eyes, and her thought broke off and disappeared.
It felt good being held in his arms. Wonderful. She warmed in all kinds of ways. Her breasts became sensitive to the pressure of his chest. She remembered his hand on her body. She closed her eyes for the kiss that was coming.
“Open your eyes, Marianne. I am not going to kiss you. Not yet.”
She opened them.
So serious, he appeared. So thoughtful. So . . . dark. His gaze pierced her, as if he searched for something.
“I have decided to propose,” he said.
“Propose what?”
“Marriage. I am asking you to marry me.”
What an astounding thing for him to say. “Why?”
“That is not how you are supposed to reply.”
“It is the only response I have. After all, you are a duke. You can marry anyone. And while we have a little friendship of sorts, neither one of us is in love with the other, so unless there is a good reason why, I have to wonder if you are toying with me in a different, crueler way.”
“I am not that bad, or that unkind. As for why—”
She waited. He did not seem to have an answer.
“You amuse me,” he said, proving he had at least one.
“I see.”
“We get on well enough too.”
“Your requirements are not very high if ‘well enough’ satisfies you.”
“I also desire you. Since you do not mind my advances, I think we will get along well that way too.”
She leaned against his embracing arms, back a bit, so she could see his face clearly. “I do not want to sound ungrateful. Such a proposal is beyond the dreams of a woman such as I am. However, I hope you can understand that I find receiving it more than a little . . . strange.”
“Now I am strange?”
That had entered her mind. “Not you. This offer. Have you drunk more tonight than is apparent?”
“I am not foxed. I will not awake in the morning, cursing my impulses, if that is what you fear. I must say that your utter lack of enthusiasm is wounding, Marianne. You are supposed to be close to fainting with excitement, not quizzing me about my state of mind and demanding a list of reasons.”
“Forgive me. It is all just too—”
“Strange.”
“At least odd. Hard to comprehend.”
“A duke has just offered for your hand in marriage. You will live in luxury, and have precedence over almost every woman in society. Can you understand that much?”
“Oh, yes. I appreciated that part immediately.”
“I think you appreciate this part too.” He pulled her closer and kissed her.
She had no trouble understanding the passion he offered. It poured through her now, inciting the special hunger that he knew how to command. Her whole body surrendered to that kiss, and waited impatiently for the caresses that would increase her arousal to a fevered need.
He did not disappoint her. His hands moved over her body, her hips and back and even down to her thighs. His caresses made her feel naked, so completely did they follow her form. His hands’ firm warmth penetrated the silk of her dress.
So sweet. So exhilarating. Her senses succumbed gladly, and her heart prayed for more.
Her mind, however, refused to cooperate. Pieces of thought ran through it, nuisances she could not ignore. All the rest of the whys—her lack of fortune—their brief knowledge of each other—Nora.
Gathering what sense and strength she could muster, she broke the kiss. “Stop. Please. The others—”
He complied. He tucked her close against him. With her ear on his chest, she grope
d for composure.
“So, we are agreed?” he asked.
She listened to his heart. It beat fast, but not as fast as hers. Even in passion he could probably do better.
“No, we are not agreed. I am sorry.” She straightened and looked up at him. “I need to think before I give an answer. You would not want me to be reckless, I am sure.”
“You should definitely think. Talk to your mother. Seek her advice. And your uncle, if you like. Or anyone else. Your acceptance will make me a happy man, but only if you want me for a husband.”
How nice he said that. What a kind smile he gave, to reassure her he was not insulted by her dallying. But of course he probably was.
He turned her in his arm, and walked her to the door. There his embrace dropped away, and they returned to the drawing room.
For the rest of the night, the duke was a different man. He joked with his brothers. He responded with wit to things Eva and Padua said. He laughed.
He acted like a man who had successfully completed a duty that had weighed on him. Marianne had to admit that he had reason to be confident of how it would turn out in the end. She would seek Mama’s advice, but she knew, and Aylesbury knew, what any mother would say. He is a duke, Marianne. A duke.
CHAPTER 15
Mama threw up her hands and looked to heaven for patience. “Are you mad? Are you so conceited that you think you will do better? As if there even is better! So perverse that you prefer obscurity and poverty to being raised up and living in untold wealth?”
Marianne had finally told Mama about the proposal. Partly she did want Mama’s advice, but partly she only wanted to stop Mama from asking what had happened when Aylesbury had her alone.
To say her mother was aghast that she had put off the duke was putting a fine point to it. If Mama had her way, they would march to his house forthwith so she could accept, gratefully and contritely, and pray he did not hold her reluctance against her.
“I am not perverse, thank you. I just needed to think about a few things.”
“Are you done thinking yet? Two days now you have thought, daughter. A man like this does not take well any rejection, let alone one that drags out. Certainly not one from such as you, who should be dancing, not pondering whatever makes you frown like this.”
She could not explain the way this marriage would betray Nora, and leave her alone and vulnerable. Mama would never accept that as a reason.
Nor could she explain that she had doubts about Aylesbury’s character. Not only because of Uncle Horace’s story about Nora’s illness. There was that matter about his brother. It seemed everyone was talking about it here in London. Even the dressmakers had commented to each other on it. He had admitted not liking his brother at all, and resenting him for his scar and other things. Would it have taken much for him to do something violent, in a fit of anger?
Her heart rebelled at believing that, but she had debated it a lot the last two days. She had seen the best side of him, most likely. If they were married, would there be other sides she found far less appealing?
“Have you filled your head with dreams of a love match?” Mama asked. “If so, I must remind you that marriages among the best people are not decided that way.”
“We are not the best people. You had a love match. And if it is not a love match, it makes even less sense. Why would a duke, a duke, want to marry me, Mama? Do you not find it at all unbelievable?”
Mama looked at her with some sympathy. “Oh, dear. I have been remiss in your education. I am so sorry, my dear. Listen to me now, while I speak of indelicate things. Some men—not your father, my dear, but many others—do not marry for love so much as—how do I say this?—the desire to share a bed with a specific woman.”
Marianne wanted to laugh. She managed not to with effort. “Mama. Is there anything about Aylesbury that makes you think his experience regarding women and beds is not vast? I daresay he has had, and will continue to have, many women who are far more beautiful than I am. To suggest he proposed because he could not resist taking me to bed—”
“Really, daughter, you do not have to be crude.”
“I am sorry. However, that notion is as unbelievable as any of the other explanations.”
Just then a footman arrived to say that Sir Horace would like a word with the ladies in the study. Marianne and her mother climbed the stairs to find him.
Uncle Horace had not left town the day after the dinner as he had planned. Marianne assumed her mother had informed him about the duke’s unexpected, and inappropriate, request to speak to her alone. Uncle Horace had been waiting, to learn what had occurred, while Mama tried to wheedle it out.
As soon as they entered the study, Marianne knew that her uncle had decided to wait no longer.
“I have been patient.” He sat behind a desk, as if he conducted business or study here. Only the desk in this house he had let was bare and the shelves vacant. “I want you to now confide in me what the duke said to you while he had you alone. Normally such a request for privacy with an unmarried woman is only made for the most serious of reasons, Marianne.”
She told him. With each of her words a new spark of glee entered his eyes. He kept looking to Mama with a cunning, bemused expression, as if asking her, Can you believe this? The duke has probably gone mad, but with luck we will get the knot tied before that is obvious.
“I assume you accepted,” he said when she had finished. “I can see how he may have wanted to keep it a secret for a few days, while he arranges how to announce it, and informs the king’s people before it becomes common talk. Dukes do not marry willy-nilly, of course.”
Mama glanced askance at Marianne. Marianne looked out the window.
“You did accept, of course.” Uncle Horace said it as a certainty, but an unfortunate inflection made it almost a question. A question that hung in the study. Strong emotions began charging the air.
“Tell him,” Mama said.
“I did not accept, Uncle. I said I needed to think about it.”
His cheeks sunk. His eyes widened. His pale skin started getting red. “Think about it?” he boomed. “You told a duke you wanted to think about whether he is worth marrying?”
“Sir Horace,” Mama began in a soothing tone.
“Leave us,” he commanded her. “Leave. I will talk to my niece alone, and make sure she and I have a right understanding.”
Mama left. Uncle Horace stood. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. “See what you have done, you ungrateful wretch. I am halfway to death.” He breathed deeply again, deliberately. He seemed to calm.
He looked at her. “You will marry him. If he will still have you, that is. You will marry him, and bring renown to your family.”
“Nora—”
“If you do not marry him, she will be sent away, so do not sacrifice yourself for her. And if you do not marry him, you and your mother are dead to me. Expect nothing from me, not a shilling. If you will not be a duchess, you will be a beggar.”
He meant it. She could tell he did. In his cold fury he did not exaggerate.
She stood, so she would not feel so small in front of him.
“He took advantage of your own daughter,” she said desperately. “Ruined her, as you said yourself. How could you want to be tied to him so closely now?”
“Because it is all I will ever get. There are all kinds of ways to pay for one’s sins.”
“I am your niece. The daughter of your brother. Aylesbury may be a murderer. Would you have me marry him, if there is a chance of that?”
He thought about that, for about ten seconds. “It is not known what happened that night. I would not deprive you of this chance on the basis of open questions.”
“But I am not sure that I want this.”
His eyebrows met over his glare. “Then allow me to say that differently. I will not allow you to deprive
us of this chance. I speak for myself, your mother, my daughter, and all the generations to follow. Make yourself sure, soon. I am going to write and ask him to call this evening. You will give him your answer then.”
He turned his back on her. Close to tears, she ran from the study, and up to her chamber. Her mother was waiting for her there, and not to comfort her.
* * *
The sons of dukes do not expect to be put off when they propose marriage to a woman. Dukes themselves certainly do not. Therefore, a good deal of annoyance, justified to his mind, had accumulated by the time Lance received a note from Radley, asking him to call in the evening.
He went, not convinced that Marianne would accept his offer when he got there. Since he did not like being uncertain about much of anything, let alone this, his mood had not improved by the time he arrived.
The whole family, even Nora, waited for him in the drawing room. After greetings, Sir Horace smiled broadly. “My niece has something to say to you. Don’t you, Marianne?”
Lance had no intention of doing this with an audience. Since Marianne was not smiling, there was no guarantee how it would go. “Leave us. I will speak with her alone.”
Surprised by the summary dismissal, Sir Horace herded the others out of the drawing room. Lance closed the doors behind them. No doubt Sir Horace and Mrs. Radley would not go far from its other side.
He returned to Marianne. He sat and took her hand. “Did he beat you?”
She smiled then. Finally. “I am too old to beat. He would not dare anyway.”
“So he knows how hard you can punch, then?”
She even laughed a little at that. Then she looked down at her hand, nestled between his. “It was kind of you to make a little joke. That helped. Are you always kind?”
It was a fair question under the circumstances. “No. I will try to be, but I can make no promises.”
“My uncle plans to take advantage of you if we marry. Will you not find that a nuisance?”
“All of my life, people have done that. I am skilled at making sure I give no advantage unless I choose to.”
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