Page 54 of Made for the Marquess (Second Sons of London 4)

“Of course, my lord,” she said graciously. Turning to the circle around them, she said, “I will return in a few minutes, gentlemen.”

She turned and found Percy had already left the drawing room without her and she moved to the door.

He strode down the corridor and she lengthened her own stride, trying to catch up with him. She did so as he reached the staircase.

“What is wrong, my lord?” she asked.

He did not bother answering her and moved down the stairs. Minta followed, a sick feeling growing in her belly. They reached the foyer and he paused, looking about. Only a footman stood in the foyer, on duty at the door.

“Please come outside,” he ordered and she followed him, concern growing within her.

On the pavement, he turned and faced her.

“I owed it to you to come in person today, Miss Nicholls.”

She tried to smile and said, “You did promise you would call upon me, my lord. Remember, we are to go for a drive in Hyde Park.”

He frowned deeply and met her gaze. “I was wrong to have promised that and given you false hope.”

“False hope?” she echoed faintly, feeling disaster was striking.

“I have determined that we do not suit, Miss Nicholls, and that we never will. There are things I am looking for in my marchioness and you possess none of those qualities.”

Tears stung her eyes. “What? Why are you saying this, Percy?”

He flinched at her use of his Christian name. She saw his eyes harden. She was losing him—and didn’t understand why.

“I know very well that wedosuit,” she told him. “I know the kind of man you are. That I am a better woman when I am around you. We bring out the best in one another, Percy. You know that. I know that.”

His eyes narrowed. “You think you know me but you do not. Our acquaintance has been very short and must end now.”

Anger flared within her. “You would throw everything away? Everything we have? You are different with me and you know you are, Percy. You speak openly with me. The reserved, retiring man the world sees is not the one I see. You open up to me. We have things in common. I know we could build a good life together.”

She touched his forearm. “Tell me you do not sense that spark between us. Tell me the kisses we have shared mean nothing. Tell me there is another woman in Polite Society you would be more comfortable with.” Minta snorted. “You can’t—because there isn’t. We are right for one another, Percy. I beg you, do not do this.”

He shrugged her off. “You do not have the right to question me, Miss Nicholls,” he said coldly. “I am trying to let you down as gently as possible but you are being obtuse. I will speak plainly so that no misunderstanding will arise. You are not the woman for me. I was mistaken about you in every way possible. Go back to your bevy of suitors because you certainly have acquired enough of them. Lord Boxling would be a good choice for you. But under no circumstances do I have any interest in you nor will I vie for your hand. This will be the last conversation between us,” he stated, his voice flat and unemotional.

“You don’t mean a word you are saying,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Anger sparked in his eyes. “I meant every word of it,” he snapped. “I am not like the Second Sons in that I do not wish to have a marriage similar to the ones they have.”

“But they are so happy,” she stated firmly, seeing him slip away from her.

“They may want to be friends—as well as lovers—with their wives. I have no interest in that type of marriage. You are far too meddlesome to ever be my wife. I would not have a moment’s peace around you. You would demand too much of me—and I have too little to give.”

His words pierced her. “You are saying you do not wish for good conversations? Shared happiness?”

“They have nothing to do with a marriage. Marriages are about dowries and social connections. You simply are not up to snuff, Miss Nicholls. I can do far better than you.”

“Then go ahead and do so,” she lashed out, anger filling her. “Marry some empty-headed fool. Get her with child. Carry on with your selfish life. I hope I never see you again.”

His eyes turned wintry. “I hope the same thing, Miss Nicholls. If we do run into one another in the future, since we do have acquaintances in common, I will be polite but distant and expect you to do the same.”

Minta slapped him. Hard.

Shaking, she said, “Go to Hell, Lord Kingston. I hope you will enjoy it there.”

Whirling, she hurried back into the townhouse, rushing past the startled footman and racing up the stairs. She paused on the landing, unsure where to go. She couldn’t return to the drawing room with her bodice stained with tears and her eyes practically swollen shut. Yet she had left visitors with the promise that she would return to them.

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