Page 67 of The Notorious Lord Knightly
Am I more attractive naked or in clothing?
Either way I can scarce take my eyes off you.
Do you prefer me in green or red?
In nothing at all.
Do you prefer my moans or my sighs?
I adore them both.
Would you rather have me in bed or against a wall?
I want only to have you.
With the last, he released a frustrated sigh. He couldn’t have her, not for any length of time, anyway, not as his wife, not if he was going to honor the vow he’d made. Five years ago, the cost had seemed absurdly high, and he’d refused to ask her to pay the price which he must, but now that he was spending time with her again, the temptation to break the vow was as strong as the temptation to ask her to sacrifice marriage and the legitimacy of her children for him.
Yet, he knew he wouldn’t do it, couldn’t bring himself to do it. She’d grown up without it, suffered because of it. She deserved to have children not labeled as bastards. That she’d already given birth to one tormented him, and he would do all in his power to ensure Arianna didn’t endure heartache as her motherhad. He’d already established a trust for the girl that would provide her with a substantial yearly income. And it contained no daft clauses about bad behavior. When she was grown, the young lady could ride a horse through the London streets without wearing a stitch of clothing, and still, she’d receive her funds.
He wasn’t quite certain when he was going to tell Regina about what he’d done. After she was married, he supposed. Or maybe he’d simply have his solicitor inform her. An anonymous benefactor. He wanted neither Regina nor her daughter feeling any obligation toward him. He couldn’t help but reflect that too much of their lives involved being anonymous.
The carriage drew to a halt. He opened the door and leapt out without waiting on a footman. Light spilled through the windows of the front drawing room, a welcome beacon as he sprinted up the steps and knocked on the door.
She opened it, her hair slightly askew, and he longed to release the strands from their confining hairpins. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
He couldn’t blame her for worrying. After all, once before he hadn’t come to her rescue. “I was at the club. I only just got your message. Is there trouble?”
“I don’t think so. Please come in.” She turned away and headed into the drawing room, leaving him to shut the door and follow.
It was nearing eleven, the house was quiet, the servants no doubt retired for the night. Her daughter was probably nestled in her cradle. No, she was too old for a cradle now. How had she looked shortly after she was born with her mother fussing over her? He hatedthe sights he’d been denied, and he could envision the joy it would bring the duke to know precisely what Knight was suffering.
He ambled into the drawing room, crossing the threshold just as she turned away from the decanter table, a tumbler of what was most likely scotch in one hand, a snifter of brandy in the other.
“Let’s sit over there.” She indicated the small settee situated in front of some bookshelves. Having sat upon it numerous times, he knew it placed her within easy reach.
“Not by the fire?” Sitting opposite each other seemed a safer way to go if they were to avoid temptation, although perhaps he was merely being idiotically optimistic because he couldn’t envision that being at opposite ends of Britain was far enough away from her to make him not want her.
She carried on to the settee. “No. Bremsford sat there earlier, and I’m not certain I’ll ever be quite comfortable in that space again.”
His gut clutched almost painfully because he’d not been here to provide a buffer between her and the man. “Bremsford. What the devil was he doing here?”
“Inviting me to his ball, if you can believe it.” Elegantly, she lowered herself onto the cushions and held the glass toward him.
Taking her offering, he settled beside her, giving his knee the freedom to touch hers. If she noticed, she didn’t react. Simply took a sip of her brandy, closed her eyes, and sighed heavily before concentrating on him. He wondered if they’d married five years earlier, if by now, they’d have grown bored with each other, ifhe’d no longer relish the sight of her. But he couldn’t imagine that what he’d felt for her then would not have merely deepened. “Why would he invite you to his ball?” he finally asked, deciding they needed to get to the matter at hand.
As she was a writer, her telling wasn’t particularly concise, but remarkably detailed, including facial expressions, tones, and the emotions that had been roiling through her. Thus, he was able to envision it all as clearly as if he’d been there, observing the encounter. When finished, she shook her head. “He seemed sincere. However, it struck me as a rather grand start to the forging of a relationship. Although perhaps having so many people around would lessen the awkwardness. It’s not like we’d be confined to each other’s company the entire time.”
He was having a difficult time reconciling the man who’d approached him at the Dragons with the one who’d been in her parlor that afternoon. “Do youwantto have a relationship with him?”
Cupping her snifter in both hands, she rubbed its bowl as though it was Aladdin’s lamp, and he wondered what she might wish for if a genie appeared. “When I was younger, I would write stories in which my father’s other children and I were fast friends and went on adventures together. Invariably one of them would save me from some disaster or I would rescue them from danger. I longed to have friends other than my dolls. It breaks my heart that presently Arianna’s friends are all made of porcelain or cloth. Bremsford and his sisters have children. Would they welcome Ari? Would they be there for her? Would itbe easier for Chidding to ask for my hand if he knew he wouldn’t make an enemy in the process?”
Her eyes held his, and he wanted desperately to give her the right answer.
“What if his quest to find Anonymous wasn’t truly about me,” she continued, “but simply his desire to confront someone who wrote something he believes to be subversive? Maybe he doesn’t even know about the clause in the trusts. Perhaps it’s all simply coincidence, and it’s my own duplicitousness that’s causing me not to trust him.”
She wanted family, and the hope that she was on the verge of acquiring it was reflected within the brown depths of her eyes. To belong. To no longer live on the outskirts of Society, just as she’d lived on the outskirts of London. She wanted to be in the center, and he wished to God he could give her that. “As the heir apparent, he was bound to have been kept apprised of everything, if not by your father, then by the solicitor upon the earl’s passing. I find it inconceivable Bremsford isn’t aware of the details of both trusts.”
“I would be unwise to attend, then... to accept what he said as truth.”
