Page 46 of The Forger and the Duke
No wonder she’d declined to marry him.
“It’s said that medieval scribes intentionally introduced at least one error into their manuscripts as a gesture of humility, because only God is perfect.” She hesitated as he held out his arm, then took it. The warmth of her small hand around his elbow filled him with a strange triumph.
“I wish I’d known that. I could have used it in defense of my examinations at university.”
She laughed, and the warm, low sound filled his chest with delight. He held her arm securely as they stepped from George Court and dodged traffic across bustling Whitcomb Street. He relished the way her body fit beside his, the way their stridesmatched as they ducked through an alley to come out into the broad expanse of Leicester Square.
Unlike the nearby avenues of commerce, coaches and chairs moved leisurely along the iron fence surrounding the park, overlooked by rows of grand houses. They walked companionably along the fence enclosing the green. Mal felt none of the self-consciousness that he usually felt around women, none of that groping for things to say. Amaranthe was calm and at ease in her demeanor, though he felt alert and full of anticipation, alive to the warmth of her arm entwined with his, the suggestive brush of her skirts against his legs.
She glanced at the neat Palladian expanse of Leicester House, once home to princes and queens. “Have you brought the children to see Sir Ashton Lever’s collection?” she asked. “I hear he converted the entire first floor of Leicester House to a gallery, and he has a great many curiosities on display there, including items Captain Cook brought back from his voyages.”
“I regret that I haven’t had time to take the children to any of the places I should,” Mal said. “They deserve a treat, considering they’ve been mewed up in Hunsdon House since their father died.” Was she offering him an opportunity? “Have you been? You can come with and show us your favorite exhibits.”
“The entrance fee is five shillings, so I have not yet been inside,” she said. “And as for visiting together—I could not presume—that is, I ought not be telling you how to go on with the children. I have no right.”
“You’d have the right did you marry me,” he blurted, not nearly as casual as he wanted to be.
She paused. “Grey,” she said, and the informal address pleased him, though her tone was chiding.
“That isn’t what I came to talk to you about.” He hadn’t meant to show his hand so soon. Why was he so headlongaround her? He was known among his fellows for his cool head. His bad luck, and his cool head.
He guided her through the open gate into the enclosed park. The neat green square, quartered by groomed gravel walks, sprouted small shrubs planted with geometric precision. In the center a statue of George I looked down his royal marble nose at them. Mal was surprised that Amaranthe didn’t stop to buy something from every flower girl and fruit seller.
“Rather, that is only partially what I came to talk to you about,” he said.
He tightened his hold on her as they neared a gentleman who clearly belonged to the Macaroni Club. This marvelous personage shone all over with buttons, and his tricorner cap teetered above a white wig at least two feet high. He raised a glass to his eye to peer at Amaranthe, and Mal glared back.
She paid the man no regard as he pranced by. She didn’t care for macaronis, then. Did she think Mal himself too much concerned with dress? It was true he paid attention to his appearance, mostly because in the world of London gentlemen, a man rose or fell by his wit and style. Talent, hard work, and skill had little to do with achievement in that realm, as he’d learned the hard way.
“What did you wish to talk to me about?”
She sounded apprehensive, and he shook off the sense of failure that dogged him. He had to appear relaxed. Inviting. Someone she would confide in.
“Your brother says you have decided to visit your cousin.”
She tensed, her brows drawing together. A series of expressions played across her face, and he wondered at the thoughts beneath. He wondered if a time would ever come when she would share them with him.
“I have told Favella I will visit. She sent another letter shortly after the first. She appears greatly worried about childbed, and, since she has no other family, she particularly wants me there.”
“I thought I might take you.”
She stopped to stare into his face with surprise, and Mal drew them to the side of the gravel walk and the other fashionable strollers on promenade. He hadn’t considered chaperones or attendants or the like, and she’d made no mention, either. If anyone recognized her, it was likely they already knew Miss Amaranthe Illingworth was too intelligent to let herself be wooed by a rake to do something completely against common sense and virtue.
Like allow a man who was nearly a stranger accompany her on a journey across southern England.
She sighed. “Are you still clinging to this ridiculous notion that it will solve your problems to marry me?”
“It’s not ridiculous,” he protested. “You are an excellent candidate for a barrister’s wife. Oliver saw you are clever. The children adore you. I’d prove a steady husband, and I won’t interfere with your doings.”
As long as he could discern her doings were all aboveboard. If he could lay to rest Thorkelson’s suspicions that she engaged in forgery, Amaranthe Illingworth offered him a clear path to the future he’d been working for. One better than he’d dreamed, with her in it.
“I think you’d find your life would go on much as before, did you marry me,” he said, trying not to sound desperate.
Her laughter this time was a throaty gurgle. “Mr. Grey, no woman in the history of the world has married and found her life going on the same as before.”
“But I’m convinced we could find a way to—now where are you going?” He set out after her as she walked briskly towardthe gate and the road surrounding the square. Her hat started to slide down her thick curls, and she clapped a hand over it.
“Returning home,” she said. “I haven’t time to stroll about and be wooed. I’ve a manuscript to finish.”
