Page 84 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
She nodded. “I love owning the tavern, but I’d rather do it quietly. Mick is different about his hotel. It’s important to him that people see him as much as they see what he has accomplished. Perhaps it’s simply because he’s a man and feels he must come across as a conqueror.”
“You’re a much more subtle conqueror. People could underestimate you.”
“Which I can use to my advantage sometimes. Charlie certainly didn’t think I would jump him.”
“But he knew you weren’t to be trifled with. It’s the reason he ran off.”
“When will you run off, I wonder.”
He combed his fingers through her hair. “I won’t run off, Gillie.”
“But there will come a night when it will be our last night. When it comes, please tell me.”
He knew they would be the most difficult words he’d ever utter, but he cared for her too much, respected her too much to bed her while bedding a wife. “It won’t come for a while yet.”
If he didn’t need an heir, didn’t need a wife who understood the intricacies of Society, it might have never come. But it would, it would have to because he had responsibilities, because he’d made promises. Yet he would delay it as long as possible. “My mother is hosting a ball in two weeks. I’d like for you to come.”
Scoffing, she flopped over onto her back. “No bloody way.”
He rolled over until he was positioned as she had been, with his leg between hers, his thigh pressed up against the sweet haven he was going to visit once more before leaving. “The Season is over. There won’t be many people in attendance. Your brother Mick is to be invited, so I won’t be the only person you know.”
“Why would you want me there?”
“Because I want to introduce you to my mother, to people I know. You’re a fascinating woman, Gillie, and they will be intrigued.”
“You want to display me like an animal at the zoological gardens.”
“No.” He was appalled by the very idea, but how to make her understand? “You’re a successful businesswoman. Born to the streets, yet you’ve risen above them. You deserve to be recognized for your accomplishments, to move about in circles where you can influence people who have the means to address social injustice.”
“They’re a bunch of nobs.”
“You’re judging them harshly, when they won’t do the same of you.”
“Of course they will. They’ve been doing it my whole life.”
“Then prove them wrong. Your speech proves you’re educated, even if that education didn’t take place in private schools. You’re graceful and strong. To be admired.” He trailed his mouth along her throat. “Besides, I want to waltz with you. I don’t want you to be a secret.”
“But I am, and what we are doing here can’t be shared.”
Kissing the sensitive spot below her ear, he heard her soft sigh. “We’re not going to tell people what we’re doing here but I know your world now, Gillie, and it’s not at all what I thought it would be. You’re asking me about my world. I’m requesting you simply step into it for a night, share it with me. You might find it to your liking.”
If she did, perhaps he would no longer have to contemplate ever giving her up.
The following afternoon as Gillie strode into the Trewlove Hotel and marched up the stairs, flight after flight, to the top floor where her brother had his offices and his residence, she knew it wouldn’t make any difference at all if she found Thorne’s world to her liking, but she had to admit to being curious about it—not so much his world, as learning more about him. What did his residence look like? How did he treat his servants? And then there was the prospect of meeting his mother, his friends, which made her at once want to jump out of her skin while also having her curiosity racing forward with glee. What were they like, the people with whom he surrounded himself? She was anxious to meet them because one’s friends were often a reflection of oneself. And all she knew about him was narrow, were his interactions in her small section of London. His life was much broader than that, wider, encompassed a good deal she couldn’t even imagine.
She’d been a fool to accept the invitation, to tell him she’d come. He’d used nefarious means, asking her over and over until, during a moment of weakness when she’d been unable to remember her name, she’d agreed to attend. Before leaving her that morning, he had pulled the gilded invitation from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. She’d run her fingers over the embossed script, striving not to be intimidated by it.
She had a vague notion regarding how to go about preparing herself to attend her first ball. It might have been more concrete had she attended Mick’s wedding, but at the time she’d expected to feel rather out of place at the elaborate affair, pretending to be something she wasn’t. But now she had a strong urge to prove to herself, if to no one else, she was worthy of entry into the highest of social circles—without putting on false airs or acting in a manner that wasn’t true to herself. She had learned a good deal from the tavern owners for whom she’d first worked. Mrs. Smythson had insisted she join her for tea every afternoon and had taught her comportment. “The world is uncommonly unfair to women,” she’d once told Gillie, “but that will not change until women make it so. You do the cause no great service by hiding what you are. Embrace it and show the world you are a force to be reckoned with.”
The couple had no children, and Gillie often thought her presence in their lives filled a hole in their hearts. Mrs. Smythson had taken her shopping for her first frock. Gillie had never cared for the frilly, preferring the practicality of simple skirts and shirts. Nor did she have the patience for or the desire to spend time putting her hair up into elaborate coiffures, so she kept it short and tidy. Changing the manner in which one had lived for so long necessitated compromises, and in the end she was happy with Gillian Trewlove.
So while she was nervous about attending the ball, she believed that when it came down to it, she could hold her own. Still, a bit more polish wasn’t out of order. She’d caught the attention of a duke when she’d once thought she’d never catch the attention of any man. Perhaps she could do right by him in a larger world, perhaps there was a small part of her that thought maybe she had the wrong of it: that for them there would never be a final night.
Such a silly thought. Still it was there as, with merely a passing glance, she walked by the glass door withTrewloveetched in it proclaiming the rooms beyond as belonging to her brother—as though they could belong to anyone else—and continued on to a set of polished wooden doors that led into his flat. She’d visited on a couple of occasions, intrigued by the notion he required so much grandeur while she yearned for none at all. But then Mick had always known his father was a duke, had resented that his sire refused to acknowledge him, and had felt he had something to prove and that involved mimicking the world of the aristocracy as much as possible. He’d accomplished that with great success and shared all that he’d learned with her. But he viewed everything through a masculine eye, while she was in need of a feminine one.
She knocked. Waited not even a heartbeat before a footman opened the door.
“Miss Trewlove.”
