How to Marry a Duke Without Really Trying Page 13
She peered over his shoulder then swayed ever so slightly. The danger of this meeting struck him. They were alone in a corridor, his door open, and there was no denying their attraction for each other. Even if they were not in accord at present. “Eglantine, you should go home.”
“Why have you been avoiding me?” she asked suddenly.
He blinked. “Avoiding you?” he echoed.
She gave a firm nod. “Yes, Your Grace. Avoiding.”
Well, she wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t feel up to admitting his closest friends had advised he dangle his appeal before her nose. “I see you almost every day.”
Frowning, she pointed out, “But we hardly converse.”
“You know why,” he said gently, barely able to ignore the way her body angled towards him or the way her pale pink gown skimmed her body.
He could smell lilac wafting softly from her hair.
“Bloody propriety,” she sighed.
Pausing, he considered his next choice of words, but then decided that the situation was already incredibly odd. How much worse could he make it? “Do you wish me to pay you more attention?”
She blinked. “Why would you say that?”
He smiled. “Well, you’ve accused me of avoiding you.”
Instead of her usual easy reply, she stiffened and stepped back. “If my company does not give you pleasure—”
“Eglantine,” he groaned. “Your reasoning has gone rather spongy under the influence of claret.”
“Indeed, it has not,” she protested. “You are most confusing, Your Grace. I can no longer tell if you tolerate me. . . or—”
“You do realize we could be caught in this corridor at any moment,” he cut in swiftly before she might mention his feelings for her which right now were centered on his wish to slip her gown from her shoulders and discover every inch of her body. “Alone?”
Her lips pursed. “How terrible. We must avoid that, mustn’t we?”
And before he could stop her, she strode into his room. From the pan to the fire, one might argue and it was all he could do not to pick her up and put her back out.
“Do you wish to be forced into marriage?” he all but yelped, following her in.
“Of course not,” she drawled. “Shut the door.”
“Eglantine!” he managed not to bellow.
“Look, George,” she said abruptly, her demeanor growing serious. “We have so little chance of being alone and I wish it.”
He stopped, surprised. “You do?”
“Yes.”
Much to his shock, he did exactly as she asked. He closed his door with a soft snick. “May I be so bold as to ask why?”
She huffed out a breath. “You leave me very confused.”
He groaned and drove a hand through his hair. “I could say the same about you.”
“Then why do we not simply converse?” she asked, her gaze earnest.
“You mean be logical?” he questioned, unable to truly believe she was in his room asking for conversation.
She nodded.
His heart did the strangest of dances. How many ladies did he know that would demand they share candor? None. Eglantine. “You are singular.”
“Life is already too difficult and the veiled niceties of our society make it impossible to understand each other.”
“I thought we did understand each other. We are but friends.”
She rolled her eyes and she poked him in the chest. “You kissed me, George.”
He fought a slow smile as he recalled that exchange. He’d known nothing sweeter. “You kissed me back.”
Folding her arms beneath her breasts, she admitted, “I most certainly did.”
It took a great deal of willpower not to let his gaze linger on her now plumped breasts. “It was wonderful,” he replied simply.
“You act as though it did not happen at all,” she rushed.
“How should I act?” he queried, wondering where this could be going. “We aren’t to marry, Eglantine. If I were to act as I wish, I’d be the worst sort of cad.”
She looked away, clearly understanding. But then she nibbled her lower lip. “George, you make me feel things I never knew could be.”
“As you do me,” he whispered. “But I will not ruin you.”
Her violet orbs rounded and she blurted, “Are you to marry soon?”
“What kind of a question is that?” he asked, feeling as if he was leaping about hot coals. The wine had made her mind and mouth bold. He wasn’t certain if he was terrified by it or exceedingly grateful.
“I only wished to know if you have or are about to give your hand.”
“Eglantine,” he said gently, needing to remind her of how it was between them at present. “It really isn’t your business.”
She blanched. “You’re quite right. How foolish of me. I did give up the right to know.”
She whipped around and started for the door but he reached out and seized her hand.
“I have not, Eglantine,” he confessed. “Because every other lady seems pale as dross when compared to you.”
Her breath hitched in her throat.
“And you,” he asked. “Have you found the love of your life?”
“Haven?” she snorted. “I do not think so.”
Despite his best intentions, he could not ignore the deep relief that flowed through him at her easy dismissal of the Byronic lord. “He’s quite good looking.”
She nodded.
“And educated,” George added.
“You’re jealous,” she gasped.
“I suppose I am.” He twined his fingers about hers, pulling her back, realizing that reason was slipping away from him with every moment they spent alone. “Just because you rejected me, doesn’t mean that I have stopped desiring you. . . or wishing you were mine.”
A spark flared in her eyes. “Oh, George. . . I want. . .”
“You want?” he searched her face, willing her to give the answer he so longed to hear. To hear her say, she wished him to ask her again. To choose a practical marriage to him rooted in friendship over chancing a relationship with someone else.
“I want you to kiss me again.”
“Damn it, Eglantine,” he hissed, wishing she could say she would marry him. That love would surely grow. Wishing she could say she’d rather be with him than anyone else in the whole world even if he wasn’t the fantasy she had made.
If she wanted his kiss, he did not think he could stop her. Not at this moment. She did something to him that couldn’t be explained.
But then, just as he was about to do as she requested, it hit him with brutal strength. Had he not been infuriated with Rob?
Had he not outraged?
Eglantine was not the sister of a friend, but if he continued in this. . .
“George,” she whispered, “you do not need to be perfect all the time. What does your heart tell you to do?”
Those words echoed through him and he stilled.
In the wake of her request, he took her in. Her dark hair was falling slightly from its loose knot upon her head. Her eyes were dancing with wine, her cheeks rosy.
She swayed towards him, her pale pink gown swirling about her body like a caress.
His heart? He swallowed. She was asking him to do as his heart said? If so, there was only one choice.
He slid his hand away from hers. “You need to leave, Eglantine.”
For one moment, her fingers remained aloft. “W-what?”
“You ask what my heart is telling me,” he echoed, forcing himself to distance himself from the desire causing his heart to pound. “It’s telling me you have to go.”
She took a step back. “George—”
“Please,” he nearly begged. “I have only so much patience. Only so much control. And I do want you. I want you with every fiber, every sinew of my being. But my heart knows you must go. . . I will not take advantage of you.”
Her eyes searched desperately over his face. “But George, I thou
ght—”
“Go,” he said roughly.
Tears stung her eyes and she nodded. “Of course. It was my mistake.”
“No, Eglantine, it was mine.”
He crossed to the door and opened it a crack. Peering out, he waited to see if anyone was coming then opened it wide.
Eglantine gave him one last pained look but then she drew herself up and strode from the room without another word.
As he closed the door behind her, he cursed his heart. Cursed it for commanding him to do the right thing. For Eglantine was not his. She did not seem to wish to be his, not in the way that would make their intimacy appropriate. And he could not hurt her. That was a mistake he would never be able to forgive himself.
And certainly one his father would never have understood.
Chapter 19
Eglantine had always been rather wary of weddings. So many were made not out of love but necessity. This was another one. And as much as she wished she could feel hope, her heart had plummeted and it did not seem as if it would soon lift again.
She stood on the edge of the immaculately kept gardens, watching Harriet and Rob make their rounds after their wedding, accepting congratulations from everyone.
For all that it was a forced affair, neither member of the party looked as if they were headed for the gallows. Well, not entirely.
Rob did look haunted, as if he was not by himself, but accompanied by ghosts.
But who wouldn’t with George breathing down their neck every two seconds?
She looked away and headed deeper into the garden, the part of it that was more wild and meant for seclusion. She could not quite bear to be around all those people. She had made a terrible error the other night and she had not been able to shake it.
Why had she done that? Why had she tortured herself? Asking for a kiss had been the height of foolishness. It had been the act of a wanton. Why did she keep hoping that George would eschew the mantle of his duty and choose passion? What had made her do it?
The wine no doubt.
“You look as if someone has torn up your copy of Byron.”
She jumped, surprised by her sudden company, then did her best to smile at Lord Haven. He really did have a way of trying to make her smile. It was most kind of him. And it was such a pity she felt nothing for him.
“I feel as if I am losing my friend,” she replied, unable to confess that she had thrown herself at a man and been utterly rejected. George had done the right thing, but the right thing did feel terrible just now.
Her present misery was her own fault. It was she who kept hoping that George would give her what he wasn’t able to give.
“Surely not,” Haven replied assuringly. “You will be but a few streets from each other.”
“True,” she agreed, trying to shake her despair. “But her concerns will be different than mine.”
“Your concerns have always been different than everyone else’s,” Haven replied, his deep voice low and full of admiration. “You’ve a taste for the wilder things, Lady Eglantine.”
Her heart thundered as she thought of how she’d so easily cast herself at sin. It seemed Lord Haven was right. She’d always assumed she would live in books. It seemed she’d tried for a bit of real adventure. Look where that had gotten her?
“Well, I have little opportunity to engage in that part of my nature.” She gave a wry smile. “Which is likely for the best.”
“Never say so,” he countered, his dark eyes sweeping over her. “I adore it about you. For you are not a boring person at all.”
A dry laugh escaped her. Did he truly see her thus? “I suppose I should thank you.”
He took a step forward, his dark gaze warming.
She tensed.
Daringly, he reached out and slipped his hand around hers. Inclining his head, he began,
“Away with your fictions of flimsy romance,
Those tissues of falsehood which Folly has wove;
Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance,
Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.”
He slid his hand to her waist then lowered his head towards hers.
Such was her shock that she did not immediately rebuff him. But then she jolted. “Lord Haven—”
“Lord Haven, I think it’s best you leave,” a voice cracked from the thick trees shading the path.
They both whipped to that voice.
Her heart immediately sank. Of all the people to catch them, of course it would be George.
He stood there, his blue-green eyes sparking, his face hard.
Worse, she really felt as if there was nothing to catch. She never would have let Haven kiss her. But it looked bad. Even she knew that.
Haven raised his hands and looked apologetic but surprisingly confident. “I do beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I believe the lady and I have an understanding.”
“Has he asked you to marry him?” George demanded quietly.
“No,” she said quickly.
George arched a brow. “Then there’s no understanding, Haven.”
Haven, unbowed, smiled. “Since you’re concerned for the lady’s reputation, you will keep silent about—”
“I’m a gentleman, sir,” George cut in. “I have no intention of airing your shameful behavior. Or is it you who plans to speak of it?”
“Of course not,” Haven scoffed. “I hold the lady in the highest esteem.”
“Then go.” George stepped aside, clearly urging Haven to depart. “If you have good intent, seek her father out.”
Lord Haven bowed then turned to her. “Forgive me, Lady Eglantine. But when a duke commands. . .”
And with that Lord Haven slipped into the bushes, leaving her with George.
He stared at her for a very long moment, his face unreadable but then he turned as if to leave her there.
“George,” she called. “Please wait.”
He stopped but did not turn back to her. “You owe me no explanations, Eglantine.”
“But I wasn’t going to kiss him.” she protested.
“You have every right to kiss him.” His shoulders sank almost unnoticeably. “But not in my shrubberies.”
“You don’t care?” she gasped.
“That if it had been someone else who caught you two, you’d be now marching down the aisle in a fortnight, without love? Of course, I care.” Then he turned back to her, and his gaze was a veritable storm. “Or do you love him?”
“No, George.”
“Then what the devil are you doing?” he demanded abruptly. “Are you so determined to ruin yourself?”
She blanched.
He winced. “Forgive me. That was unpardonable. But I seem to be trying to save you from yourself.”
Her insides twisted. He didn’t love her but he was clearly angered by her behavior. “Perhaps you should stop.”
“Perhaps I should,” he agreed flatly. “Did he follow you?”
“I don’t know. He must have.” Then she blinked. “Did you follow me?”
He looked away quickly.
“You did!”
A muscle tightened in his jaw. “I was concerned for you.”
“George, I still don’t understand you.” How she wished that their friendship had not descended to this. “You won’t kiss me but you’re afraid of another man kissing me.”
“I won’t see you ruined, damn it.”
“That’s what this is about?” she asked, that feeling of despair taking root in her heart again. “Reputation?”
“Reputation is important, Eglantine,” he growled. “It’s the only reason my sister has gotten married today.”
She swallowed. He was right. To some extent. She would not wish for the scandal of true ruination. “That’s not the only reason she married him.”
George blew out a breath. “Do pray tell what else?”
“She loves him,” Eglantine replied simply.
“She barely knows him now,” he scoffed.
“You’re not the only one being driven mad.”
“Then I suppose we should quit each other,” she bit out before she could think. And as soon as she’d said it, she wished she could take it back. But the pain growing between them was inescapable.
He paled but then gave a tight nod. “If that’s what you wish.”
Her throat tightened. It wasn’t what she wished at all. She wished he would say he loved her. For despite herself, she had come to care about him so very much. The way he lived his life and helped others. The way he listened to her and looked at her. Not at this moment, of course. But he was the very best of men in every way but that of the heart.
How she wished to be the one who would marry him, not for necessity, but out of passion.
“What I want, George, is for you to bloody well see that you don’t have to cling to this idea you’ve created of the perfect duke and duchess. I want you to see that you would love me, if you’d but let yourself. But you can’t do that. You won’t even admit to the possibility that you could.”
His face grew steely. “I’m not a liar, Eglantine. I never will be.”
She nodded, her heart breaking. Was she really so very naive and young to value love so much? Perhaps she was. But she could not escape her feelings any more than he seemed to be able to escape his.
“Then I suppose it is best we quit each other,” she whispered. “It hurts too much, George. Being close to you and not close at all. I see now that you are determined to stay upon your path. You are too afraid to deviate from it.”
His eyes flared. “Afraid?”
“Too afraid to risk it,” she said. “To risk loving anyone. How can one know if it will be perfect or not?”
“If that is what you think, then it is best we do not continue in this farce of ours.” He closed his eyes. “It seems we cannot be friends.”
Tears blurred her vision. He was right. They both wanted each other too much but not in the most important ways. Or at least, George didn’t.
And then there was really nothing left to say and she rushed away, cursing herself for a fool and, worse, silly. For insisting on love, she knew she’d lost George forever. And it was only now that she realized how very badly she wanted him. For herself and herself alone.