Page 61 of To Pleasure a Prince
He blinked. Great God, was she flirting with him? He couldn’t remember the last timethathad happened, if ever. “I should think a Purdey rifle would be more useful for keeping Boney in check than any Englishman’s brawny arm,” he said gruffly, uncomfortable with such flattery.
“Do you shoot, Draker?” asked another voice, this one male.
He eyed the fellow warily. “Occasionally. I have to keep the quail population in check at Castlemaine, or they’ll eat the fleece right off my sheep.”
To his astonishment, they laughed at his puny joke. Genuinely laughed. And he wasn’t even trying to be witty.
“So what sort of firearm do you use?” asked another lordling, one closer to his age. “James Purdey does make a good flintlock, I’ll grant you, but I prefer Manton. His rifles fire truer.”
“Have you seen Purdey’s newest design?” Marcus retorted, at ease with his subject. “I hear it’s superior to the one the army is using now.”
They continued talking about firearms until one of the ladies asked, “Is that how you got your scar, Lord Draker? From a flintlock?”
He tensed, but before he could say a word, Regina answered from beside him. “It was a riding accident, nothing unusual for an active man like his lordship.”
And as easily as that, she turned the thing he’d spent a lifetime cringing over into a badge of honor. Regina swiftly changed the subject to a discussion of the opera they’d attended, and to his amazement, no one seemed to mind.
He shot her a bemused look. She hadn’t voiced her own opinion about how he’d received his scar, one that was surprisingly close to the truth. Why hadn’t she? To protect him from more rude questions?
The conversation floated on, and her eyes met his, her tender look making his breath catch. This is what it would be like if he married her. She would defend him, even when he didn’t need defending. She would attend every function on his arm, dance with him whenever he pleased, dine with him nightly…
Share his bed. And everything else, too.
A strange flood of yearning rose to choke him. What if he could actually be part of the world,thisworld? What if he could have a real future, a wife and children and friends? What if he took his rightful place in society—
Damn her for putting such thoughts in his head. It was bound to lead to trouble; it always did. Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about it. To have a life beyond Castlemaine, a life like anyone else…all his plans to use Regina to separate Louisa and Simon paled in comparison to that dangerously tempting idea.
Steady now,he warned himself. Such thoughts were highly premature. La Belle Dame had refused eleven men; why should she accept the twelfth?
Whyshouldn’tshe? He was eligible enough—his title, wealth, and birth would have made him sought after in society if not for his outcast status. Now that his status was improving, things might be different.
Perhaps he could make it possible. Regina did enjoy his kisses; that much he knew. And he could provide her with every physical comfort, if she could be content to live away from town for part of the year. Surely he could make it so she didn’twantto leave his side. Give her a child or two, and she would be tied irrevocably to him and Castlemaine.
That never worked for your mother.
No, but his mother had been tempted into sin by the devil himself. If Regina became his, he would keep her well away from such devils.
He forced his attention back to the conversation swirling around him, about one gentlemen’s refurbishments to his estate. Regina’s comments were surprisingly astute. He’d never guessed that she knew what an oriel was or had any opinion whatsoever about projecting eaves. Perhaps her interests were broader than he’d thought.
“I hear that your father did extensive renovation to Castlemaine some years ago,” one gentleman said to Marcus, forcibly dragging him into the discussion. “Was he able to keep the work to a reasonable length of time?”
“It took a few years, actually,” Marcus answered. “As a boy, I thought scaffolding in the dining room was normal.”
The Spanish girl, who’d edged over to stand next to Regina, gazed at him with rampant curiosity. “Castlemaine is your home, Lord Draker?”
He nodded.
“It is a castle, no?”
“No, Silvia,” her female cousin, Lady Amanda, said in a superior tone. “I’m sure it is not really a castle. You haven’t been in England long enough to understand how things are, but plenty of things have ‘castle’ in their name that have nothing to do with castles.”
When the girl blushed crimson, a snide retort sprang to Marcus’s lips. But before he could put Lady Amanda in her place, Regina smiled down at the mortified foreigner. “Actually, itisa castle, dating back to…what?” She turned to Marcus. “The early fifteenth century?”
“Or thereabouts.” He relaxed, touched not only by her handling of the girl but her interest in his home. That was a good sign, a very good sign indeed.
Eyes twinkling, Regina told Silvia, “It even has a dungeon.”
“Truly?” the girl said, her gaze swinging to Marcus’s. “A real dungeon?”
