Page 57 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
Meg found herself chatting to the spouses, who were genuinely interested in how she’d found her first foray into political circles.
Meanwhile, Drago was surrounded by her sister and female cousins. Meg should have been on guard, but when she overheard Pru, Therese, and Louisa telling Drago about the old adage that Cynsters only married for love, it was too late to step in and change the subject. Instead, she had to continue pretending to listen to Devlin’s and Drake’s wise words about how best to deal with some of the other political hostesses who would doubtless soon summon her and Drago to their events—“Where Emily Temple leads, the others will be quick to follow”—while Pru and Louisa teased Drago about the need for him to live up to the Cynster ideal were he to be successful in ushering Meg to the altar.
Damn them!
She understood why the trio had enlightened Drago. All three were shrewdly observant, especially when it came to people and relationships, and also highly protective of her, and presumably they’d sensed enough to move to ensure that Drago knew what was expected of him in becoming her husband. So yes, she appreciated their motive, but they’d just made her way forward much more complicated.
Drago, of course, responded with his usual unrufflable charm, without, in fact, commenting at all on what the trio had said.
Meg inwardly sighed and, masking any sign that she’d heard a word, turned to join Drago in engaging with Pru, Therese, and Louisa. There was no sense in trying to dismiss or contradict what they’d said, much less create a fuss over it, not in public. Meg smiled and chatted and, within a few minutes, succeeded in drawing Drago away.
The instant they were free of others, Drago dipped his head and looked into her face. “What is it?”
She studied his dark eyes; he appeared merely curious. She set her chin. “I think we should talk about our situation. I believe there’s an issue we need to address.”
His brows faintly rose, but he didn’t argue as she drew him through the crowd. As they neared the far end of the room, the musicians helpfully started playing another waltz. Meg glanced swiftly around, but the guests had shifted their attention to the dance floor, quite possibly expecting to see her and Drago whirling around it.
Gripping his hand, she pressed a panel on the wall, and a hidden servant’s door sprang open. She stepped through, and Drago followed and closed the door behind him. Sconces, alight, were spaced along the narrow corridor’s wall. Meg drew Drago with her as she followed the corridor away from the ballroom, then she paused, opened another hidden door, and stepped out into one of the house’s hallways.
She waited while Drago resecured the door—given the size and age of his Park Lane mansion, he was no doubt accustomed to such things—then she turned deeper into the house. “This way.”
She led him to a small parlor that, prior to her marriage, Louisa had used. Meg was relieved to find it much as she remembered it. She went straight to the lamp on the sideboard and, once Drago had shut the door, turned the flame high, bathing the small room in a gentle golden glow.
Drago had halted inside the door. He studied her, then slowly walked closer. “What issue do we need to address?”
She stared into his face—that ridiculously handsome, often rather arrogant, but almost always impossible-to-accurately-read face. She couldn’t think of anywhere else to start other than by admitting, “I heard Pru and the others telling you about what the males in the family refer to as ‘the Cynster curse.’” Hurriedly, she clarified, “Marrying for love.” She tipped up her chin. “I want you to know that I don’t want any such consideration to…” She paused, groping for suitable words.
Drago studied her face and softly supplied, “Put me off?”
Her eyes flashed. “Yes! Exactly!” Her expression eased into one of reluctant acknowledgment. “I appreciate that, at least for Cynsters, the old adage is the most reliable guarantee of a happy marriage, but I’ve never heard it said that love has to come first. Initially.” She met his gaze. “That it has to be there from the start.”
Do you love me?The question all but filled Drago’s mind. Carefully, he asked, “In light of this apparent Cynster requirement, can I ask what, at this moment, you feel for me?”
She blinked at him.
He watched as her gaze grew distant, and she plainly looked inward.
After several seconds, she refocused, and he sensed she was, again, grappling for words.
This time, he didn’t help her out; he wanted to hear what she truly thought. He held his breath and waited.
Eventually, looking faintly disgruntled, she said, “I know I feel something for you, something unique—a connection, one that makes me anxious if you’re in danger, one that draws me to you in various ways. I’m interested in you and what you think in a way I’ve never before been with any other gentleman. I’m engaged, enthralled, fascinated, and drawn to you, but I don’t know what label to put on that.” She tipped her head. “Is that love?” Her frown deepened. “I’ve never been in love before, so I have no yardstick against which to judge.”
While that wasn’t exactly the answer he’d hoped for, it was one that held out hope.
She’d been studying his face, searching his expression. Before he could distract her, she drew breath and stated, “So that’s where I stand. What about you? How do you feel about me?”
When he didn’t immediately reply, she added, “More to the point, if we go forward and marry, do you think—is it possible—that you might, at some point, come to love me?”
I’m already so deeply in love with you, there’s no going back.
The words rang clearly in his head, but there was no way they could make it past his lips. Like all men of his ilk, admitting to love still ranked at the very top of the list of vulnerabilities no sane male ever owned to. It was simply not done.
However, looking into her face, into the soft sky-blue of her eyes, and reading all she allowed him to see, he accepted her question had to be answered. Somehow.
He, too, had never been in love before, but he knew damned well how it felt. How it affected him…
He caught and held her gaze. “You’ve described how you feel about me.” He nodded slowly as realization burst upon him. “And that’s exactly how I feel about you. You being in danger is a powerful and instant prod, galvanizing me into action. Into needing to protect you. That’s not simply behaving as a gentleman”—far from it—“but a reaction that’s driven by an imperative buried deep inside me. It’s not something I can easily control.” Best to own to that now, given the opportunity had presented itself. “And as for the rest, I, too, feel consumed by the need to know every little thing about you. About how you think about everything and anything.”
