“And tell me, do you like it? Being in control?”
She’d made a life of it. “I do.”
“Does it pleasure you?” The question was low and dark.
“It does.”
His lips twitched into a smile, there, then gone. “I don’t think so.”
She didn’t like the way he seemed to know her. The way the words rang true – more true than anyone had ever noticed. Than she had ever admitted.
She didn’t like the way he took control for himself, smooth and nearly imperceptibly, until she was bound in his dark voice and his broad shoulders and his tempting gaze. She wanted him, and there was only one way she could have him now, here. “Dance with me,” she whispered.
He did not move. “I told you, dancing with me will not help your cause.”
She looked into his eyes. “I don’t care. I am unclaimed for this dance.”
He shook his head. “I don’t dance.”
“Ever?”
“Ever,” he said.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know how.”
The admission revealed more than she would have expected. He did not know how to dance. Which meant he was not born a gentleman. He was born something else. Something harder. Something baser. Something that had required work to conquer. To leave behind.
Something much more interesting.
“I could teach you,” she said.
He raised a brow. “I’d rather you teach me other things.”
“Such as?”
“Such as where you like to be kissed.”
She smiled. “Be careful, or I shall think you are trying to turn my head.”
“I’ve already turned your head.”
It was true, and she couldn’t stop herself from going serious at the words. At the hint of sadness that coursed through her at them. At the feeling that he was right, and she was ruined in more ways than she was willing to admit. She hid the thoughts with her best flirt. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”
He was quiet for a long moment, and she wondered what he was thinking before he said, “Langley?”
She did not misunderstand. He asked how things proceeded with the viscount. “He likes me,” she said, wishing he hadn’t returned them to the present. To reality.
“That will make it easier for me. The columns will speed the courtship.”
If only she wanted that. She was silent.
He continued. “It’s a sound title. Clean. And he’s a sound man.”
“He is. Clever and charming. Poor, but there is no shame in it.”
“You would change that for him.”
“So I would.” Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “He’s infinitely better than me.”
“Why do you say that?” The question came like steel. Without quarter.
She took a breath. Let it out. “May I tell you the truth?” she asked, realizing that she must be in her cups to offer him the truth. She dealt too often in lies.
“I wish you would,” he said, and she thought perhaps he referred to more than this moment. This place.
Guilt flared, all too familiar that evening. “I only wish her to be happy.”
He knew she spoke of Caroline. “Ah. Something far more difficult than well married.”
“I’m not certain it is possible, honestly, but respectability will give her the widest opportunity for happiness… whatever that means.”
He was watching her. She could feel his dark gaze on her. Knew that he was going to ask her something more than what she was willing to share. Still, his question shocked her. “What happened? To bring you Caroline?”
To bring you Caroline.
What a lovely way of saying it. Over the years, she’d heard Caroline’s existence described in a hundred ways, ranging from euphemistic to filthy. But no one had ever said it so well, and so simply. And so aptly. Caroline had been brought to her. Perfect and innocent. Unaware of the havoc that she had wreaked on a woman, a family, a world.
Of course this man, known for his skill with words, described it so well.
And of course, here in the darkness, she wanted to tell him the truth. How she was ruined. By whom, even. Not that it mattered. “A tale as old as time,” she said simply. “Unsavory men have a devastating power over rebellious girls.”
“Did you love him?”
The words stunned her into silence. There were so many things he could have said in response. She’d heard them all, or so she thought. But that question – so simple, so honest – no one had ever asked it of her.
And so she gave him her simplest, most honest answer. “I wanted to. Quite desperately.”
Chapter 11
… Charming daughter or no, there is no doubt by this point that the reputation of Lady G— is unimpeachable. Are we to blame her for a peccadillo from so long ago? And one that has such vibrance and charm? There will always be room for the Lady on these pages. But will there be room for her in London’s hearts?
… Lady M— appears positively bereft at social gatherings these days. Gone are her trio of lords, each showing interest in others. Perhaps the lady did not sell when she should? Earl H— is no doubt lining the coffers of a particular dowry even as we scribble…
The gossip pages of The News of London, April 30, 1833
He could have imagined her answering his question in any number of ways, from flat denial, to refusal to answer the question, to humor or evasion or a question of her own.
But he never would have imagined that she would tell him the truth.
Or that she might have loved the man who had ruined her.