Page 69 of Madcap with a Marquess
He hastily folded the letter. “Yes,” he said, his voice an octave higher than usual. “It was merely about the foundling home again.”
She frowned. “He has offended you? About the foundling home?”
“Er, no. I meant it was concerning the foundling home again.”
“Well, have you reconsidered?” she prodded. “Ignoring what anyone else thinks, what would you want to do, Rupert?”
He blew out a breath, his heartbeat settling at the welcome distraction. “Frankly, I love the idea. While not all in the same manner, the three of us essentially grew up without fathers. Rafe and Derek without mothers as well. But we all had the privilege of noble birth and the security that came with that. I would very much like to provide that security for the parentless children who have none.”
Franny’s pinched brows relaxed, a soft smile spreading across her face. “I believe it merits a conversation with Lord Dunmore then. I am sure your mother will come around when she sees the great work you are doing.”
Rupert huffed, fiddling with the folded letter in his hands. “I highly doubt that. She’ll have a fit of the vapers if I tell her I will be partnering with Lord Dunmore and Ironcrest on anything. I can hear her now, waxing on about the damage it will do to my reputation and parliamentary ambitions.”
Franny stared at him for a long while, the only sound the soft ticking of the ornamental clock on the mantel.
“Do you not think,” she began slowly, “that your reputation could weather such an association…better than a child without a home on the streets of London?”
Rupert sat back and gazed into those earnest green eyes. At the brilliant, thoughtful—and yes, reckless—woman who sat across from him. And he had no words. Because when she reduced it to its simplest form, the choice was unmistakably clear. And the fact that he had not been able to come to that realization on his own… Well, it showed just how lost he truly was, just how misguided his beliefs were.
“Rupert?”
“I am ashamed, Franny,” he said quietly. “Of the fact that I hesitated at all in making this decision. But not only that…I believe I am ashamed of the man I have become.”
Her petal-soft palm settled over his hands, and she pulled one free, bringing it before her mouth. She pressed gentle kisses across his knuckles, and damn him if he didn’t find it erotic as hell.
He was hopeless when it came to her.
She smiled over his knuckles, and the look she sent him had his heart slamming into his chest.
He was hopelessly in love with her.
“I believe it may be a tad melodramatic to say such a thing at a mere one-and-twenty. What a sad life it would be to think you could not change in any capacity for the rest of your life.”
The corner of his mouth pulled up. Wasn’t that the truth?
“My lord. My lady,” Mr. McGill’s voice broke through the moment, and Rupert tugged his hand away from Franny, to safety—away from her tempting lips—to look at his steward. “The inventory for the St. John’s Eve feast is all accounted for. Would you like me to take care of having the goods delivered again this year?”
A pang pulled in Rupert’s chest, the strongest pull of his yearning to attend the festival he’d ever experienced.His mother’s words tried to surface, but he shoved them away. It seemed as though he actually succeeded in burying them more often lately.
“If you could arrange for the delivery, that would be quite helpful, Mr. McGill,” Franny said. “But I would like to coordinate with the delivery, as I would like to be there when it arrives.”
McGill nodded and backed out of the doorway.
Franny turned back to Rupert, her teeth worrying her bottom lip, shiny white teeth biting into pink plump flesh. It wasn’t fair her teeth got to dig into that flesh.
“Rupert…”
He blinked and lifted his gaze to hers, her green eyes glimmering with the same uncertainty that was etched all over her face.
“I know the last conversation we had in this very study regarding our tenants was not a pleasant one. You made your views—and your mother’s—quite clear. But I stand by what I said. They are our people. Fostering a sense of unity, showing appreciation, that you value their hard work, is not shameful.”
She paused. Hesitated. Shifted. She was so clearly nervous, and he hated that he’d made her so. That she worried this would create another riff between them.
“Speak your mind, Franny. I want to hear how you feel,” he said quietly. Her eyes met his, and he swore they smiled at him with how brightly they glowed. “Remember, this is the new thing we’re doing.” He winged a brow. “Discussingthings. Lord, what have we become?”
Her lips twitched. “Oh dear. How boring we’re becoming. Hurry, chastise me, my lord.”
They shared a small chuckle. Little did she know a bolt of desire shot through him at her words. How he’d love to chastise her. Punish her. The way his adrenaline spiked during their clashings, the way she drove him to distraction. He loved it, was addicted to that feeling. But he didn’t want that to be their relationship in truth—just a game they played, a delicious fantasy. Lord, he was deranged.
