Page 29 of The Truth Serum
She turned to stare at him. “No, I have not, but I have heard of it. Please tell me the name of the bookseller. I shall get a copy immediately.”
“Oh dear, I’m afraid he can no longer help you,” the baron said with teasing smile. “His last copy was purchased this morning.”
She sighed. “Well, perhaps he can find me—”
“By me, my dear. I bought it off him, sent it round as I was leaving to come here. It’s probably waiting in your bedroom now.” He leaned forward and tapped her nose. “Promise me you won’t stay up all night reading it.”
She blinked. “I shall promise you no such thing!” And though she knew it was improper for her to accept such a precious gift from a man not related to her, she couldn’t bring herself to refuse it. But she could attempt to be proper. “Pray let me repay you. That book was probably very expensive.”
“You are worth it, my dear. And if I have my way, I shall be buying you many more books in the years to come.”
She flushed and looked away. He was always saying things like that, declaring his interest for all to hear. It would be delightful in a man who had known her for years, but their acquaintance was barely a week old.
“I have embarrassed you,” he said, his voice filled with contrition. “Janet used to tell me that my passions overwhelmed people. That I should moderate my public desires. It is only that when I see something I desperately want, I cannot stop myself.”
Janet was his first wife, tragically gone of childbed fever. “How was your daughter this morning? Has she recovered from her cough?”
“Nanny says she is nearly recovered. But of course, what she really needs is a new mother. And perhaps a brother.” At this, he slid his hand down her arm to grasp her fingers through their gloves. The fabric muted his touch, but she felt his meaning like a heavy cloak. He was clearly anxious to find a new wife, and he’d obviously selected her.
But why? Why her?
Just about any woman in the room would leap at the chance to marry him. He was handsome, rich, and not disgustingly old. At thirty-nine, he wasn’t young, rash, or foolish either. She should be falling over herself at his attention.
Instead, she felt a bit smothered. And ungrateful. He was giving her wonderful gifts, showering her with more attention than she’d ever received. Better yet, he’d encouraged her to talk about her interests (medicines) and her fears (biting insects). They’d even discussed her teenage disaster with Nate, and he had seemed to understand. Teenagers are so impetuous, he’d said, and relayed a tale of his own adolescence.
He’d been trapped by a scheming barmaid and discovered by her horrible mother. He’d barely escaped marrying the shrew which, he claimed, was very similar to her own tale. An innocent teenager faced disaster because of someone else’s duplicity.
But Nate hadn’t been duplicitous or scheming, and so she’d explained. But the baron waved away her comment with casual dismissal. “You were innocent. He was not.” Then he’d taken her hand and kissed it. “I forgive you,” he’d said.
And the next morning—during Fletcher’s regular grilling of her activities—her brother had crowed about how generous the baron was being about her indiscretion. No other gentleman, he claimed, would be so understanding.
That was likely true. So why wasn’t she falling at the baron’s feet? Why wasn’t she blushing with delight every time he whispered that he wanted to deepen their relationship? She wanted to get married. She wanted children, and he already had a four-year-old girl desperate for a mother. She’d met little Edith on their walk in Hyde Park. The girl had been sweet as she’d walked alongside her nurse.
He was everything a woman could desire in a husband: attentive, understanding, and rich. But she just wasn’t sure. Or perhaps she didn’t trust herself to know what she wanted.
“Why?” she abruptly blurted.
The baron stopped their slow circuit of the ballroom. “Why what?”
Oh! Goodness, she hadn’t meant to be so blunt. But now she’d said it, so she might as well explain. “You’ve been so attentive, Baron Courbis. Wonderful and amazing.” So many adjectives could apply. “But why me? You could have anyone.”
He chuckled and patted her hand. “So modest. Beauty, intelligence, and modesty. What more could a man want?”
That didn’t seem like a real answer, and she gently removed her hand from his. “Your first wife was correct. You’re overwhelming sometimes.”
“But surely that’s not a problem. She understood that it came from a place of love.”
“Of course,” she said as she resumed walking. He matched her pace, his words earnest.
“Do you wish me to declare myself? I will. I have! I shall go down on one knee now—”
“No!” Her cry was too loud and nearby people turned to look at her. She felt her cheeks heat as she quickly moved further down the room. “No,” she repeated. “I’ve just gotten to London. I been here barely a week. I cannot make such a decision so quickly.”
He firmly picked up her arm and placed it on his. She could have resisted, but that would be churlish.
“I know my mind,” he said in an undertone. “What can I do to convince you that we are perfect for one another? Tell me, and it shall be done.”
Who wouldn’t be overcome by such a statement? By such a declaration! She couldn’t think of a thing that would satisfy her questions. Especially since they’d had some version of this conversation at least three times already. Why do you want me?Because you’re beautiful or intelligent. This was the first time he’d added “modest,” but that was hardly convincing.
