Page 51 of Marry in Secret
“I shall inquire whether His Grace is at home.” The man clearly knew who she was, even though she’d never actually visited the duke at his home. And though he was perfectly polite, he managed to convey, in that subtle way that only the best butlers could, that he did not approve of her visiting his master, respectable companion or not. Nor, his glacial expression conveyed, was Rose forgiven for effectively jilting his master the previous day.
He stood back to allow Rose and George to enter. George gave him a friendly nod and handed him Finn’s lead.
The butler looked at it as if she’d handed him a live snake.
“It’s all right, he doesn’t bite,” George assured him. “Not unless I tell him to.”
Holding the lead between thumb and finger, the butler pulled a bell cord, and a liveried footman appeared. “Take care of this... creature,” the butler told him, and handed him the lead.
Finn happily went with the footman, his tail wagging slightly, his claws clicking on the marble floor, his muzzle high as he snuffed the air for potential treats.
The butler turned back to Rose and George. It was clear that Finn’s presence had sunk their credit with him even lower, if that was possible. “Would you care to wait in here, ladies?” He ushered them into the drawing room, a large, elegant salon papered in cream silk with a discreet gold pattern. Despite the lateness of the season, a fire burned merrily in the grate, and a big bay window overlooked the street.
Rose sat on an elegant straw-colored settee and lookedcuriously around. Everything was of the first elegance. Strange to think this might have been her home, her butler. But she had no regrets.
George stood in front of the fire and hitched the back of her skirt up, the better to warm her legs. Emm had mostly managed to break her of the habit of wearing breeches under her dresses—unless she was riding—but George, who’d spent most of her early years dressed as a boy, still complained that dresses were drafty, cold and illogical, and only good for summer wear. If that.
George glanced around and grimaced. “All this white and gold. A bit bland, don’t you think? And no books anywhere to be seen.”
“I keep my books in my library,” a cold voice said from the doorway. They turned and Rose could see from the direction of his gaze that even though she’d been quick to drop her skirt, the duke had noticed George’s unladylike pose.
“Shall I have a footman stoke the fire for you?” he asked sardonically.
George’s grin was entirely unrepentant. “No thanks, I’m nicely warmed up now.”
If Rose hadn’t been so nervous she might have laughed. Instead she clutched her reticule to her chest with cold fingers and waited.
The duke eyed George with a steely expression, then turned to Rose, who had risen at his entrance. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Lady Rose—or do you prefer Mrs. Beresford now?” The words were silkily polite, but there was an acid undercurrent to their delivery. He knew perfectly well she was still Lady Rose; only her surname had changed.
Like his butler, he had not forgiven her.
Rose stiffened her spine. She’d come here to apologize, but she was not expecting forgiveness.
She glanced at George. They’d discussed how to handle it on the way over. George obediently wandered to the far corner of the room, picked up an ugly, though probablypriceless statuette and proceeded to demonstrate fascination and obliviousness. Not particularly successfully, but it would do.
“I came to apologize for what happened,” Rose told him baldly. “I’m sorry you were embarrassed.”
He gestured for her to be seated. “I was not embarrassed.”
He was going to be difficult; she told herself he was entitled to be. “Disconcerted, then.”
“Not at all.”
“Upset?” she said edgily.
“Hardly.” And before she could go on, he said, “We made an agreement to marry. It was at that point you should have told me you’d already been married. You knew perfectly well that given my position, I expect to marry a virgin. Given that you weren’t, I must consider I had a lucky escape.”
Rose gasped. “But I have only ever lain with my husband, and that was for just two weeks. And since then I’ve been celibate for four years!”
“Nevertheless, not a virgin.” He rubbed his long fingers together as if ridding himself of dust.
“Why shouldshebe a virgin? You’re not!” George burst from her corner.
He barely turned his head, but his heavy-lidded glance was icy. “You cultivate an interest in my sexual exploits, do you, Lady Georgiana?”
George glared at him. She clutched the statuette in her fist, almost as if she might throw it at the duke. Rose prayed she wouldn’t.
The duke shrugged with an ineffable air of cynical ennui and continued. “Virginity is a requirement for any bride of mine. There must be no question of the paternity of my heir.”
