Page 43 of Who Wants to Marry a Duke
“Well, ifyou’renot going to drink it . . .” He sipped the brandy, his eyes dark in the candlelight. “If I tell you, you must swear not to say a word to anyone about it. I haven’t even told my siblings. Mother would be terribly hurt if she ever got wind of it, and I don’t want that.”
“Nor do I.” Without thinking, she covered his hand with hers. “You must believe me.”
“I do.” When she started to withdraw her hand, he caught it in his. “You may not be aware of this, but just before Gwyn and I were born our father died in a carriage accident on his way to London from Rosethorn, our family seat. That was all we’d ever known about it until your stepmother claimed he’d been on his way to meet his mistress. She didn’t say how she knew, but she threatened to tell the world about it if I didn’t offer for you.”
The enormity of that sank in, and she stiffened. “You must have misunderstood. She wouldn’t . . . she couldn’t possibly have . . .”
“She did. Ask her.”
“I did! Well, I asked her what you meant when you said she’d threatened you. And she . . . she said she had threatened to ruin you in society.” Her gaze shot to him. “Though I wondered—”
“How she could manage that feat when I was a duke and the half brother of another duke? She couldn’t have. But if I’d allowed her to spread tales about Mother, it wouldn’t have hurt only me, but the whole family. At the time, my stepfather was an ambassador and considered above reproach. Hell, he used to lecture me about how I should behave. And Gwyn . . . well . . .”
He squeezed Olivia’s hand. “Mother had always told us that our father was the love of her life. Gwyn believed it.Ibelieved it. And I truly think Mother believed it. So if my father had kept a mistress, it meant their entire marriage was a lie. I couldn’t let my mother suffer such gossip when it might have been false. I certainly couldn’t letGwynsuffer it.”
“Of course not. But . . . but you were willing to marry a woman you barely knew just to prevent it?”
After setting his glass on the carved wooden stool, he twisted a bit to face her, so he could hold her hand in both of his. “I liked you well enough before your stepmother discovered us together. I thought I could learn to tolerate marriage to you, if only because you and I had a clear attraction to each other. At least we were honest aboutthat.”
“But then I refused your offer.” She caught her breath as his thumb began to trace circles on her hand. “You must have thought us all quite mad.”
Forcing a smile, he pulled his near hand free, only to stretch his arm out along the top of the sofa behind her. “Your stepmother said you just needed courting. And perhaps she was right.”
His fingers were now very close to her neck.
She tried not to notice. “I didn’t want to be courted; I wanted to be a chemist.” Something he’d said earlier sank in. “If you had ‘ruined’ me by refusing to propose, I would actually have been delighted. It would have enabled me to do nothing but chemistry for the rest of my life.”
He eyed her askance. “You wouldn’t have been the least bit insulted by my refusal to save you from ruin?”
“Perhaps for a day or two.” When he leaned closer, her breath quickened in spite of herself. “I—I would have forgotten about it once my first . . . significant article on chemistry was published.”
“Would you have? Truly?” When he ran his finger lightly over the nape of her neck, her heart thundered in her chest. As if he could tell, his voice dropped to a husky murmur. “Chemistry and courtship don’t have to be mutually exclusive, you know. Take your Mrs. Fulhame. Unless the ‘Mrs.’ is just for show, she clearly manages both chemistry and marriage.”
Olivia fought the thrill that his words—and his intimate gestures—were sending through her. “Her husband is a physician. In rank and situation, they’re equal.”And he doesn’t spend his nights with a mistress or at his club gambling. When Thorn brought his devilish finger around to tip up her chin and keep her from looking away, she added shakily, “It’s hardly . . . the same situation as you and I.”
“And yet, you aren’t slapping me. Or storming from the room. Or crying out for my sister-in-law.”
He was right, curse him. “Because you promised to behave,” she pointed out.
“I break my promises all the time,” he said with a thin smile. “I’m a whorehound, remember?”
“But I’m not a whore.” And she was no longer sure about his wicked persona either. What he’d said about Mama’s blackmailing him made Olivia question everything she’d thought she knew about him.
“No, you’re not,” he said. “More’s the pity.”
“Is that what you want? A whore?”
“Hardly.” One corner of his lips crooked up. “As usual, I want what I can’t have.”
The words heated her through and through. Indeed, if her blood ran any hotter, she would erupt into fire. “You’re not alone in that. Except thatIwant what isn’t good for me.”
“Is that so?” His eyes were the molten blue of copper chloride burning. “Then we’d be equally culpable if we should happen just to finish where we left off yesterday.”
At last he kissed her, in that slow, sensuous way he had of making a woman feel needed, wanted . . .desired. And even though she still feared it was an illusion created by a man used to getting what he wanted from women, she couldn’t help hoping she was wrong.
While he continued to kiss her, he laid her hand on the hard bulge in his trousers and then used his hand to start sliding her skirts up her legs.
She tore her mouth free to whisper, “The door is still open.”
