Page 25 of Never a Duke
“I excel at nearly everything,” Stephen replied, with what sounded like genuine exasperation. “My point is that we’ve never been delicate with each other, so what the hell is wrong?”
That kiss with Rosalind had been wrong—also wonderfully right. “I must pay a few calls I’m not looking forward to.”
Stephen shot his cuffs. “You dread these calls.”
“The brothels,” Ned said, hating even the word. “I must canvass my connections in the brothels to learn if pretty female domestics are going missing from London’s streets in greater numbers than usual.”
“I’d relieve you of those errands, except Abigail would disapprove of me setting foot in such establishments. Most bachelors would leap at the chance to pay such calls.”
“Most bachelors are idiots.” Ned rose and locked the blue ledger in the glass-fronted bookcase beneath the window. “I kissed Lady Rosalind.”
Stephen looked bored. “Proving that at least sometimes, you do not number among the idiots.”
“She’s an earl’s daughter, and she came to me for help.”
“She’s an adult with a brain in her head, Neddy. I hazard she did not swoon with disgust at your overture—unless you made a complete hash of the business?”
“I did not.”Nor had she.“Most people think I’m Walden’s by-blow.”
“What matters, Neddy dearest, is what Lady Rosalind thinks of you. Your personal wealth recommends you to any woman short of royalty, as do your social connections. The problem is not Lady Rosalind’s social standing.”
Ned had suspected as much, though he’d not admitted that to himself. “I’m sure you will enlighten me as to the true difficulty?”
“Being generous of heart and brilliant of brain, of course I will. The ladies all eye you covetously. You are the dark-eyed Wentworth, the mysterious Wentworth, the quiet Wentworth. Byron’s charms would pale beside your manly allure, and yet, you never dally, never favor one lady over another. You treat all with distant, impeccable courtesy, and that drives them wild.”
“You have a vivid imagination,my lord.”
“I was pathetically jealous of you. Who can compete with that cool self-possession, particularly from the confines of a damned Bath chair?”
“So you became the idiot variety of bachelor.”
“You are an idiot.” Stephen rose and smoothed the crease of his trouser, which was fitted loosely enough to conceal the brace stabilizing his knee. “You aren’t cool and haughty and all that other whatnot. You are simply indifferent. The belles and merry widows do not appeal to you. You see them as slightly tiresome, while they regard you as fascinating and forbidden.”
The tiresome part was accurate enough. “To many of them, I am forbidden. In trade, baseborn, and so forth.”
“Balderdash.” Stephen collected his walking stick. “Money and ducal associations can elevate the prospects of the lowliest knight. In any case, your quandary arises not because you kissed Lady Rosalind, but because she kissed you back.”
Oh, she had. Wonderfully, enthusiastically, generously. “You find that surprising?”
“Not at all,but you do, and therein lies the difficulty. She refused to adhere to your treasured prejudices and predictions, and now you are wrestling with hope and uncertainty. Being a mortal and tenderhearted male, you find those demons terrifying.”
“Are you quite finished?” Ned asked, producing a yawn and a stretch.
“I am, and you are just getting started. You might consider offering a reward for information about the missing ladies. Make it quiet and confidential, and you might learn something.”
“That is not a bad idea.”
“Such high praise from you, dearest Neddy, will surely put me to the blush. When will you call on Jane?”
“Soon. Give Abigail my love.”
“I will give her your fond regards, you blackguard. Abigail is mine. Go find your own duchess.” Stephen saluted with his walking stick and departed, closing the door silently in his wake.
Ned remained in his office, wrestling with hope and uncertainty, and with joyous memories of Rosalind’s kisses too.
***
“My lady, with all due respect, you don’t know who Mr. Wentworth’s antecedents are.” Mrs. Barnstable offered that vexing observation in tones of earnest patience.
