Page 20 of A Lady's Lesson in Scandal
Well, better they know now than find out later.
‘I assure you, sir, we are grateful for your generous offer after my daughter’s disastrous behaviour. My wife is only concerned with salvaging Millicent’s already damaged reputation. An endeavour equally benefitting you.’ Henry Whittenburg didn’t even spare his daughter a glance.
Millicent dropped her head, a blush staining her neck crimson.
Drake rankled at Lord Whittenburg’s words, though they were no less insulting than his own had been toward his betrothed. ‘Her reputation is none of your concern any more.’
‘I’m right here.’ Millicent spoke quietly. She raised her chin, and Drake didn’t miss the tremble in her full lips. He wanted to lick the seam of her mouth. Taste her again. Bite her bottom lip until the only tremble through her body was one of desire.
Control yourself, man!
‘Yes, of course you’re here, silly girl. Where else would you be?’ Patricia hissed.
‘You don’t need to speak about me as if I’m a naughty child or some kind of hideous vase you can’t decide whether to hide in the attic or throw out with the rubbish.’ Anger brought a flush to her cheeks, and her eyes flashed. Drake almost nodded in encouragement. Watching Millicent fight back was a damn sight better than the defeated woman who had slumped next to him moments before.
‘Perhaps we should set you on the mantel, Miss Millicent. You can stand quietly while we all admire your…’ His gaze was drawn to the luscious curve of her breasts, hidden beneath a sensible coat. ‘Numerous assets.’ The dry words slipped out before he could stop himself.
Millicent narrowed her gaze, pulling her arm free of his grip. ‘I have a better idea, my Lord. Let’s abandon this farce of a wedding. I can retire to the country in shame, another ruined woman disappearing into the heather. You will be free of an unwanted wife. Lord and Lady Whittenburg can distance themselves from their wayward daughter. A task they shall apply themselves to with vigour, I’d wager.’ She spared her father a glance that had the man looking quickly away. ‘I will happily spend my days wandering the woods and riding across the moors, and the rest of you will never see me again. A desirable outcome for all involved.’
Everything in him recoiled at the thought of breaking their engagement, which was bewildering. He had only offered for Millicent out of honour.
And that kiss.
Drake blinked, refusing to revisit the incendiary moment. His rogue desires had nothing to do with this wedding. But the thought of never seeing Millicent again filled him with a strange hollowness.
Bollocks to that! I am not some shell of a man waiting to be filled up by the next beautiful woman who kisses me on a veranda. But neither am I a libertine.
Regardless of his feelings about marriage, he would not be responsible for ruining a young woman, even if it meant doing the unthinkable and willingly sacrificing his quiet, calm solitude for matrimonial agony. The prime minister’s encouragement to find a wife didn’t hurt. While not Drake’s choice, having a bride foisted upon him was awfully convenient.
Still, he should jump at her offer to rescind the proposal. He could hardly be considered a feckless profligate ifshewas rejectinghim.
Something kicked in the vicinity of his chest. A strange pounding.
Mine.
The word rang through his head in rhythm with the beating, like war drums decrying an impending battle. Giving Millicent up to live as a tainted woman on the edges of society was unthinkable.
‘Mad Millicent of the Moors. Yes, that would be a fitting future for you. Shameless girl! You would happily soak in your scandal while destroying all our reputations with your wanton ways,’ Patricia hissed, bony fingers reaching for Millicent’s arm.
Drake stepped between Patricia and Millicent. Lady Whittenburg’s fingers smashed into his back before she quickly retreated. Drake took immense pleasure in the strangled sound she made at being thwarted.
He forgot how tall Millicent was. He barely needed to lean down to whisper in her ear, his lips almost grazing the sensitive lobe. ‘We will marry, my lady. Reconcile yourself to the fact.’ Lemons and fresh laundry engulfed him in a scent unique to Millicent.
He reached out and carefully gripped Millicent’s arm, forcing her to walk with him up the stone staircase leading to the grand entrance of his estate. Drake cared not if Millicent’s parents followed them into the house or got back in the carriage and left. Reynard – always displaying exemplary manners – swept in and introduced himself to Lord and Lady Whittenburg, glossing over Drake’s rude dismissal.
‘You cannot manhandle me, sir,’ Millicent whispered furiously.
The household staff created an orderly line, waiting to meet their new mistress.
‘Then stop fighting me, my lady.’
She hissed in pain as she twisted away from him. Drake gentled his grip, murmuring quietly, ‘Are you quite well, Millicent?’
For a moment, she froze. Perhaps it was his use of her first name. Or his question. Or the fact she was clearly injured and trying to hide her discomfort.
‘I’m perfectly fine.’ Her words were barely discernible as her voice caught.
Bollocks to that!
