Page 57 of Ne'er Duke Well
Oh God, she wanted to shake him. “Peter, I cannot tell you how much it means to me to hear you say that. But you must think of your own position. You need a wife who makes youlessscandalous, not more. This would destroy your guardianship petition if the truth were to come out before the hearing. And if it comes out after, your political career would be in shambles. Your reputation will be destroyed. And, Peter—I could go to prison for this. John Cleland did, after he wroteFanny Hill.” She winced. “Do youknowhow many copies we have ofFanny Hill?”
“Selina,” he said. “You will be a duchess. I don’t even think theycanthrow you in jail. And if they did, I would tear the thing down brick by brick if necessary to get you out.”
Her eyes burned. “What about the children? If I raise them—and then my reputation is destroyed—Lu could never be brought out in society—”
He laughed. “You’ve met Lu. Do you think shewantsto be brought out in society?”
“You’re not thinking this through,” she said, and one wayward tear slipped free and ran down her cheek. Another. “I don’t want to ruin your life, Peter.”
“Selina,” he said, and then he tugged on her hands, pulled a little harder until she half tumbled out of her chair and into his lap. “Sweet. My reputation is already in shambles. If you are discovered—”
“When,” she corrected into his coat.
“Fine,whenyou are discovered, we’ll simply be a matched set. England’s most scandalous duke and duchess. We’ll thumb our noses at thetonand get invited to everything anyway. And if we discover that we can’t stand it, we’ll move back to Louisiana.”
“But your—your political goals—”
“Can be accomplished just as well in America. Perhaps better, in some ways. Come to think of it, sweet,shallwe move to New Orleans? In my experience, there’s a real dearth of erotic books for ladies there.”
It was so Peter—so ridiculous and easy and so bloody perfect—that she buried her face in his chest and wept.
Part of her wanted to choke back the tears that stung her eyes and clogged her throat. The same part of her that wanted to say,I’m sorry—I don’t know what’s come over me—I never cry.
But she knew precisely why she was crying. It had been two and a half years now with no one to talk to about Belvoir’s—no one who knew except Jean Laventille and Will, who was gone. She hadn’t told Nicholas or Thomasin or Lydia, all the peopleshe trusted most in the world to love her no matter what errors in judgment she’d made.
Now she’d told Peter, forcing back any part of her that had hoped he might see Belvoir’s the same way she saw it: as something with value. Something that was worth the cost.
But hehad. He’d taken in her words and looked at her with that single-minded focus and seen…
Something worth it.
She let herself cry for at least sixty long seconds before she pulled back from his now-damp chest and wiped at her eyes.
“Well,” he said, “I had a feeling this night would end with weeping.”
She choked out a laugh. “Did you?”
“Oh yes. Just wasn’t sure which of us it would be.”
“Peter.”
“Yes?”
She lifted a hand and stroked back one of his dark curls. Just because she could. “Are you absolutely certain?”
He lifted a hand to cover hers, cradling it against his cheek. “Yes.” He turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm. Just once. “I’m absolutely certain.” Twice. “Are you? Because if you don’t want to do this, we can find another way out.”
His gaze was on her—that encompassing gaze, that saw all of her and shut out the rest of the world.
She looked down at her lap, the soft press of his hand on hers suddenly all she could think about.
She wanted him. She wanted him so much she wasn’t sure if she was thinking clearly. Would she ruin him, if she said yes? If she gave in to his easy assurance, would that make her unforgivably selfish?
But—Eldon had seen them together. There was no simple way out.
“I am certain,” she said, her voice barely audible.
She wasn’t. She wasn’t certain at all. She felt terrified that by accepting, she would lead Peter headlong into disaster.
