Page 49 of Any Rogue Will Do
With a tight smile, she let go of his hand. “Good night, Ethan.”
Her book lay abandoned on the chair. Plucking the book from the seat cushion, Ethan glanced at the title.Fanny Hill. Of course his curious lass would find an erotic novel.
The fire crackled, the only sound besides his breathing in the library. The room had felt cozy and comfortable. Now it just felt lonely. Over the years, the books, with their smell of ink and leather, had been friends enough. He had to wonder if he could return to being content without her sitting in the chair beside his.
Chapter Nineteen
Seeing Ethan again sent a thrill through her. She and Agatha had returned from Woodrest a week before, but Ethan had returned to Town only this morning. There’d been work to do, as Ethan had explained in one of the letters he’d sent this week. Connor had put pressure on him to stay at Woodrest, citing the myriad obligations of the estate. She hated to think his duties were falling to the wayside, but seeing him again felt like a physical relief to an ache she’d been only half-aware of carrying.
The open carriage meant she didn’t need to bring Darling on this outing, but it also limited the kind of greeting she could offer. They’d been gloriously free at Woodrest, and by comparison, London felt like a cage. It felt like he hadn’t touched her in years instead of days. His eyes were admiring when he helped her into the carriage, and she was grateful she’d chosen a new dress for the outing. Vivid green, trimmed with embroidered leaves and birds, the design had arrived the day before from Madame Bouvier. “You’re beautiful, lass. ’Tis good tae see you.”
She bit her bottom lip and stared at his mouth. What she would give for a few moments of privacy, instead of a greeting on the public street. “It’s good to see you too. If we were alone…”
“Aye,” he said, his voice husky. He cleared his throat. “Gunther’s for an ice?”
“I may be a lunatic to want ices when it’s so cold, but yes.”
As they headed toward the fashionable tea shop, she stared at Ethan’s profile, drinking in his features. Goodness, she’d missed him. Their last conversation in the library had played over and over in her head since she’d returned. They’d left things with a feeling of hopelessness for the future, and it didn’t sit well.
The drive was short, not nearly enough time for the jumble of words that wanted to fall off her tongue. Yes, she craved the taste of him, but more than anything, she’d longed for her friend—hearing his voice, making him laugh, seeing him interacting with his tenants. It seemed simplest to say, “I missed you. Thank you for writing.”
“I missed you as well. The whole week, I didn’ stop thinking about you. Do you mind if we take a few wrong turns? I’d like tae talk privately.”
At her nod, they made two turns and headed back toward the parks.
Ethan’s side pressed against hers, hip to hip. Their arms brushed every time he signaled to the horses, but neither moved away. “Our month is nearly up. If you want tae continue with the original plan, I will honor my word, step aside, and wish you happy.” He drew the horses to a stop on a stretch of gravel path in Green Park and faced her with a serious expression. “But Lottie, if you want a life with me, I’ll write your father and beg. I’ll make an arse of myself and grovel. I can’t make him agree, but I can try tae convince him that I’ll make you happy.”
A war arose within her, and she didn’t know which side should win. It felt like no matter what, she’d lose a part of herself.
On one hand, she wanted to let this proud Scotsman beg her father, then spend the rest of her days living how they had during their time at Woodrest—taking care of the estate, then coming together with that combustive passion they’d discovered. But would that be fair to him? Whether by choice or chance, he’d not mentioned love, but she knew Ethan wanted something that resembled it. When he spoke of his parents, it was clear they were a love match, though his experience differed greatly from hers. Sure, she cared about him. Desired him. But love? How did someone determine that emotion without good examples?
Setting aside the scary concept of love, he deserved partnership at the very least. A marriage built on friendship and lust could be a happy medium between their two visions for a future.
On the other hand, that house by the sea, with its siren song of freedom, called to her. She wasn’t convinced that kisses—no matter how toe curling—were worth losing that independence.
Her silence stretched for too long, because Ethan set the horses in motion again, heading back toward Gunther’s. Helping him understand what was in her head would be a challenge when the thoughts weren’t clear even to her. But opening himself to her like that had taken courage, and he deserved an answer. She only wished she had one that felt definitive.
“I want you, but I want the future I’ve worked for too. If there’s a compromise, let’s try to find it. After all, if our passion burns out, we might share enough common interests to live peaceably. Or I can retreat to my estate, and you to yours, then we can coexist miles apart without rancor. We might even manage an heir before the attraction fades.”
“Your inner romantic needs work, lass,” he said, but his tone wasn’t teasing. Had she hurt him with her honesty?
“Please understand, I’m trying to be pragmatic about this, Ethan. Have you considered that Father is someone you’ll have to deal with forever? He isn’t a dragon we slay once, then never have to see again. That assumes we get him to agree to the match—which we both know is against reasonable odds.”
They arrived at numbers 7 and 8 Berkeley Square with its signature pineapple décor visible through the window. Resting the reins on his knees, he stared down at his boots, avoiding her gaze. “It’s a gamble. Any relationship is. But I think you’re worth the risk. Or you can end it. Our month is up the day after the ball.”
She squeezed his fingers. “I don’t want to hurt you. If we married, what if you came to resent our agreement in a few years? Can I think about what you’ve said for a bit?”
“Aye. Take all the time you need, lass.” Their fingers interlaced for a moment before he released her and stepped down from the seat to tie off the horses.
When she stepped down from the carriage, a leaflet blew onto her boot, then stuck. Lottie kicked, trying to dislodge the newsprint. Grasping Ethan’s arm for balance, she peeled the paper off her shoe, along with a wet autumn leaf acting as glue between boot and leaflet. The edge caught on her glove and wouldn’t budge. Flicking her hand only made it worse.
“Ethan, would you mind? This paper seems far more enamored of me than I am of it.”
It was only when he’d removed the soggy mess from her hand that she registered the blurred picture on the newssheet. Caricatures of Lottie and Ethan stood at the altar, while another man, who was clearly meant to be Montague, knelt behind her, clutching her hand desperately, looking forlorn. Another sketch starring her private life.
A cold lump of resignation settled in her belly. The scandal continued, and there seemed to be nothing she could do about it. Would her time in London always be plagued by these kinds of mocking sketches? Sending up a quick prayer that the gossip hadn’t reached her father in Westmorland, she attempted a joking demeanor. The newspapers would not ruin their day.
“Well, that’s just rude. Is my bum really that huge? Please tell me there’s been creative license taken by a particularly vile artist.” Ethan’s solid presence reminded her that she wasn’t the only target of the gossips. Having an ally helped alleviate some of the frustration.
