Page 40 of Oddity of the Ton
“I am.”
“But I thought—”
“I’m going nowhere,” he said softly. “You may leave us, Harriet.”
“But you don’t know what she needs,” the maid replied.
“Then tell me.”
“Gentleness, Your Grace. She gets very little of that.”
“I can give her that,” he said.
“Make sure you do, Your Grace. Of all the young ladies in London, Miss Eleanor deserves to be loved.”
Before he could answer, she exited the parlor.
Miss Howard stirred again.
“Would you like some more tea?” Monty asked.
Her eyes focused on him, their color growing in intensity.
“Miss Howard?”
She remained silent, and he picked up the teacup.
“Eleanor?”
She blinked, and her expression cleared. “Your Grace.”
He guided the cup to her lips, and she lifted her hand and curled it around the porcelain. He brushed his fingers against hers, then caught his breath as a small fizz of desire rippled across his skin.
“You must call me Montague,” he said, “at least for now.”
She drained the teacup, then set it aside. “What would be the sense in my calling you Montague?”
“While we’re betrothed, we—” he began, but she interrupted.
“But we’re not betrothed.” She let out a soft laugh, though sadness lingered in her eyes. “It’s the shortest betrothal in history, but it’s more thanIcould have hoped for. And nobody could takethatfrom me—a few minutes at the end of a party where, for once, the world didn’t pity me.”
“There’s been many shorter, I assure you,” he said. “But there’s no need to break our betrothal just yet. I don’t wish to humiliate you.”
“More than you already have?”
She spoke the words so softly that he could almost have believed he’d imagined it.
“We cannot marry, of course,” he said, “but I’m not averse to our retaining our betrothal until the end of the Season—if you have no objection.”
“For what purpose?”
“It might be beneficial to us both. My mother will stop plaguing me about marrying, and you may find your life much improved.”
“MayI?”
His conscience—the newly discovered entity—needled at him. There might be some merit in extending their false betrothal until the end of the Season—merit forhim. It would keep Mother, and the tenacious Lady Arabella, off his back. But perhaps Miss Howard could benefit also.
“Your sister might treat you less cruelly,” he suggested.
