Page 61 of The Danger of Desire
He glanced out the window at the countryside whizzing past. What a choice. He could go back to being a bachelor, to drinking and gambling and whoring at all hours to keep the night at bay.
Or he could attempt to live a normal life with a wife and children... or as much of a normal life as was possible, given his night terrors.
The second choice could prove disastrous. He simply had no way of being sure that his rebel of a fiancée could be the sort of wife he needed, let alone the sort of wife he wanted.
Yet the first choice—of returning to endless nights in the stews alone—seemed horribly bleak. Not to mention monotonous. And frankly, he was getting a bit old for that life.
Besides, given the chance—and good odds—he had always preferred taking risks. Even when it meant marrying a chit who was liable to run him a merry dance.
He shifted to meet Lady Pensworth’s gaze. “Very well. Assuming you’re right and we could manage to keep what happened quiet, I still don’t wish to halt this. And God help me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think that’s what she wants, either.”
Lady Pensworth’s sharply released breath told him she hadn’t been entirely sure of him. Good. He’d never liked being predictable.
A calculating glint appeared in her eyes. “Then we might as well begin discussing the settlement. No point in waiting until we get the lawyers involved.”
With a rueful laugh, he nodded.
Delia was definitely cut from the same cloth as her aunt. And for some reason, that reassured him that his decision was sound. Because any woman who would grow into being a Lady Pensworth might suit him quite well.
Now he just had to make sure he brought Delia around to feeling the same way about having him for a husband.
Fifteen
“It really depends on whether you choose the lavender or the Clarence blue for your wedding gown,” Clarissa said.
Delia blinked. Once more, she’d been woolgathering. That was all she’d been doing since Warren and Aunt Agatha had left yesterday. “What does?”
Clarissa shook her head. “The flowers, silly. I have all sorts in my gardens. It’s a pity you don’t have a white gown that would work—or that one of mine wouldn’t fit you—but it can’t be helped. My Lavandula will go nicely with the lavender gown, and my blue hydrangeas are almost exactly the shade of the other. So which do you want in your bouquet with the white roses?”
“She’ll have the hydrangeas,” Brilliana answered, then smiled at Delia. “You look best in the blue, dearest. The lavender gown is lovely, but the blue gown is stunning. And you want to be stunning for your wedding day.”
A sad smile crossed Delia’s lips. “I doubt any gown could make me stunning.”
“Nonsense,” Clarissa said. “Every woman can be stunning if she just believes she can. It’s all in the way you present yourself. Behave as if youarestunning and voilà, you will be. There’s more to beauty than looks, my dear.”
At Brilliana’s nod, Delia stifled a sigh. Easy for them to say. They were both real beauties, with curvaceous bodies and attractive faces. Whereas her only real asset was her eyes. And her hair, when she could manage to tame it. Which wasn’t often.
Yet Warren was dreaming ofyouwhen he pulled you onto his lap. When he fondled you and asked you to stay.
It was the only thing that had kept her going through this mad rush to wed. The only thing that made her eager for her wedding night.
Oh, Lord, she mustn’t think of that, or she would blush.
“Well?” Clarissa asked. “The blue, then?”
Delia nodded. “If Brilliana says I look my best in it, then I do. Fashion isn’t my purview, I’m afraid.” Although at least she no longer had to dress garishly. She might not be the best with clothes, but with Brilliana helping her—
Suddenly it hit her that Brilliana would no longer be helping her with anything. The only females in Delia’s new abode would be servants she barely knew, for Clarissa had already told her that Warren’s mother was dead and he had no sisters, and only one sister-in-law, who lived in America.
So Delia would be virtually alone in some cavernous manor house with aman.
Unexpected tears stung her eyes, and she dashed them away. Lord, why was she becoming such a watering pot?
“Dearest!” Brilliana cried. “What’s wrong? Are you that unhappy to be marrying Lord Knightford?”
Instantly, Brilliana embraced her, attempting to soothe her, which, of course, only made the tears actually fall. “I’m not... crying overthat,” she managed to get out. “I’m crying over... leaving you and Silas!”
With a murmur of sympathy, Clarissa and Brilliana hugged her between them. “You aren’t leaving us,” Brilliana said stoutly. “You’re merely setting up your own household. We’ll visit each other often, I promise.”
