Page 75 of The Truth About Love and Dukes

Her father, who didn’t read any of the gossip rags and had long been accustomed to Irene coming and going at odd hours, was given no cause for suspicion, and as long as Clara didn’t visit Belford Row, the secret of Irene’s sleeping arrangements would be able to remain intact.

For Irene, their nights together were wondrous, not only because of the sweet bliss she felt in Henry’s arms, but also for their conversations, for she had never in her life had the chance for open, honest debate with a man. She’d had a suitor or two, respectable young men introduced through her cousins or because they lived in the neighborhood and she’d known them all her life. They had all been polite, earnest, and dull. Any feminine dissent on her part to their opinions and advice had made them uncomfortable and inclined to change the subject. Never had she had any interaction with a man who could meet her on her own ground as Henry did. He did not find her feminine brain at all intimidating, nor inferior to his own masculine one. Nor was he wont to patronize or humor her to avoid discussion, and their conversations were often as heated as their lovemaking. As he had from the moment they’d met, he was able to provoke her, and infuriate her, and make her think.

“But why should women have the vote?”

Irene set down her knife and fork, happy to take him on over the breakfast trays spread out between them on the bed of their third hotel room in a week. “Why shouldn’t they have the vote? Answer me that.”

“That’s not an argument.” He leaned back against the brass headboard with his tea, preparing to get comfortable. “Make your case.”

“Why should I have to? Did men ever have to? Or did they just decide—we’re bigger, we’re stronger, we win?”

“Well, yes, that’s probably exactly how it happened, but again, that’s not an argument. If you want the vote, you’ll have to do more than march and protest and declare some sort of moral high ground, you know. You’ll have to convince men in power to cede power to you, and to accomplish that, you’ve got to do better in forming your argument. It’ll get you nowhere to complain about how unfair things are and how men have had it all their own way for too long. If you ever get the ear of an MP and you say rot like that, he’ll laugh in your face and tell you that what you need is to be married with a brood of children so you’ll remember your place.”

She grimaced. “That’s more true than I like to think.”

“So, answer my question. Why should women have the vote?”

Breakfast forgotten, she set down her utensils and shoved aside her tray. “I believe if women had the vote, it would be a better world.”

“That’s sentiment, and I don’t care what you believe. Remember,” he added at her sound of outrage, “I’m your opponent. I’m the MP you’ve got to convince. Try again.”

“I will try, Henry, but in all seriousness, don’t you think women having the vote could bring about changes that are good? Forget the notion of making argument, just tell me what you think, you personally.”

“Honestly? I don’t know.” He ignored her sound of exasperation and considered for a moment. “If it happened,” he said slowly, “the change would be enormous, chaotic even. Would they be good changes? How can I answer that? All my life, I have been raised by a certain code. I am the duke, it is my responsibility to keep my world stable, to take care of all those who exist within my sphere. The tenants of my farms, the servants in my employ, the tradesmen in my village—all these people depend upon me to keep their world as reliable as possible. That is a fact of my existence. I am keenly aware that the economic condition of all these people, particularly the women and children, is to a great extent dependent upon decisions I make.”

“But put your title aside. What of yourself?”

“Speaking as a man, I have always believed it is my duty, my responsibility, and my honor to take care of the women in my life, and the children. If I do not have that, if I am not allowed that, then—as a man—what am I? What is my purpose in this world, if it is not to protect and care for those I love and hold most dear?”

Watching him as he spoke, Irene felt a powerful ache in her chest. She could not reply, for she was overcome by myriad emotions. Bafflement, for he truly did not see that he was so much more than the caretaker of others. Confusion, for she’d never known any man for whom caring for others meant so much. And, yes, she felt a hint of envy, too, envy of those who were fortunate enough to have him as their champion.

She couldn’t think of how to say all that, and as she watched, that puzzled little frown etched between his brows. “Why are you looking at me that way?” he asked.

“Because, Henry,” she said softly, “you are not like any other man I have ever known.”

That embarrassed him, she could tell, for he looked away with a cough. “Yes, well, I don’t think I’m so rare a chap.”

“But you are. And because not all men are like you, where does that leave the women who are not fortunate enough to be within the realm of your responsibility?”

He raked a hand through his hair and gave a laugh. “God, Irene, I don’t know. You confound me at every turn, you truly do. Why is it that with you, I am always questioning what I think, what I believe, what’s right and wrong? Until I met you, I was absolutely sure I knew all these things.”

“And now?”

“Now, I’m not sure of anything, to be honest. You provoke me and madden me and arouse me and impel me to question everything I know and believe. I find myself engaged in debates on issues I never considered before, and you shred ideas about my life I have always taken as truth.”

“You do the same to me. But that’s a . . . a good thing.” As she said it, she felt a sudden prickling along the back of her neck, as if an ill wind were brushing through the room. “Isn’t it?” she whispered.

“Is it?” He frowned, glancing around the hotel room, and as she followed his gaze, she noted the evidence of their frantic rush to lovemaking a short time ago—the scattered clothing, the red envelope. “I am enmeshed in situations that I never would have dreamed of only a few weeks ago,” he went on, musingly. “You delve, Irene, into the very bedrock of my existence.”

She forced herself to look at him again. “You said you wouldn’t regret this,” she whispered. “What we have.”

“I don’t.” He set down his tea and leaned forward, cupping her cheek. “Not at all, not for a moment. But knowing you is a bit chaotic to my sensibilities. You want to change the world, darling,” he added, smiling so tenderly that her moment of apprehension floated away and disappeared. “And I’m far more accustomed to being content with the world as it is. And on that note,” he added, leaning back, his hand falling away, “you still haven’t convinced me of why women should be granted the vote. So carry on.”

She thought for a moment, trying to form her argument as he expected her to do. “Because what is decided by men on our behalf takes no account at all of what we want, of what we know is best for us.”

“But as a man, I know what you really want and what’s best for you.”

“Really, Henry,” she choked, any notion of reasoned debate going straight out the window. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

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