Albemarle looked over at Braedon’s horrified look. “I beg your pardon?”
The viscount was looking between them, intrigue starting to suffuse across his face. “Well…she is a lady. This is Boodle’s. ’Tis not allowed.”
Albemarle shrugged. “Theodosia—Miss Ashbrooke has a point. I mean, damnation Braedon, she works for a living, far more than you or I ever have. How can the woman conduct business if she cannot meet with clients?” It was only then that he realized the way he spoke at the club was probably not suitable for the ears of ladies. “No offense meant, Miss Ashbrooke.”
She smiled with sparkling eyes. “Far be it for me to interrupt you, your lordship.”
Was it his imagination, or was her chest heaving a little more than normal? Perhaps Miss Ashbrooke was more nervous than she was letting on.
His spirits lifted. She had come all this way, pushed herself far beyond her comfort zone, dressed herself to the nines…all to see him.
Miss Theodosia Ashbrooke would be the talk of the town within minutes, and she knew that. Knowing that, she came anyway.
What did she want?
“I have given greater consideration to your suggested match,” she said quietly.
The flash of understanding between them occurred in an instant.
Albemarle smiled. “I believe the woman in question, in my opinion, is the perfect match for me. In every way. You are yet to argue me away from that position.”
She was wily. So, she had come here to discuss his proposal, and in a way that no one else could guess. Yes, the gossips of Bath would have even more to discuss tomorrow morning. Was the Earl of Lenskeyn close to marriage?
“You must see how impossible it is,” Theodosia said, her gaze not wavering from his. “Even if you wish it, the lady herself must be convinced.”
Before Albemarle could formulate an answer, Braedon spoke up. “Christ alive—begging your pardon, Miss Ashbrooke—but do you mean to say you have found a suitable candidate after all! Who is she? Goodness, could you find one for me?”
Albemarle glared, but it was nothing to the glacial disdain Theodosia subjected him with.
“If you are looking for a wife, you will need to book an appointment,” she said coldly, reaching into her reticule and placing a card before him. “But you must see, your lordship, that your suggestion is most irregular.”
“Irregularity has never bothered me before,” Albemarle said with a smile, leaning back in his chair. “When I have made up my mind, I have made it.”
Theodosia lowered her voice as chatter in the room started to grow. “Even if the lady in question might…might want to consider your offer, you must see she cannot.”
As Albemarle lowered his voice in turn, he carefully placed his hand on hers. “I ‘must see’? Damn ‘must.’ I only see things the way I want, and they are not the way I want at the moment.”
Was that his pulse quickening, or her own?
“You think you can convince her?” Theodosia spoke with a smile, and it was that smile that pushed Albemarle over the edge.
Damn this confining space, and damn their restrained conversation. It was time to speak openly.
Rising smartly, he said briskly, “Walk with me.”
“But what about our game?” came the plaintive cry from Braedon.
Devonshire merely smiled. “Oh, let him be, Braedon,” he said easily. “Can’t you see the man’s in love?”
Albemarle chose to ignore the comment for now but file it away for later consideration. He had no comprehension of what these sensations were. He felt for Theodosia…well, something different.
“I find I am at leisure,” said Theodosia as she rose elegantly from her seat. “And you, my Lord Braedon, can write to me at that address and request a place on my rotation if you truly seek matrimony.”
Braedon’s mouth fell open as she swept past him. “I-I—mean—Lenskeyn!”
His cry went unheeded. It was all Albemarle could do to keep up with Theodosia as she strode through the adjoining chamber, to more shouts and cries of, “A woman! Here! Again?” and down the stairs to the hallway.
“I trust, your lordship,” said the master of the club pointedly as they passed his desk, “that this will not happen again?”
Albemarle had no chance to reply as Theodosia marched through the door and onto the street. Dark, cool, and calming night air struck him as he followed her, the club’s stuffiness disappearing immediately as the evening swallowed him.
Despite the late hour, there were still plenty of people on the streets. Hack drivers with their horses, sellers of drink and meat pies, gentlemen heading home from the club, ladies being escorted home from parties. It was a difficult job, weaving their way through them all.
It was plain to see by the slump of Theodosia’s shoulders that she had finally relaxed after leaving the club, and yet still, she kept walking. He fell into step with her, enjoying the silence between them, feeling the closeness without needing to speak.
After a few minutes, she sighed. “I suppose I should apologize.”
“I never thought you had it in you,” he replied quietly.
Theodosia glared, but then her expression softened. “I did not either, but I have seen the lengths some ladies go to speak to the man they—”
“Refuse,” he interrupted.
Even in the dark, Albemarle could see her cheeks pink. Damn and blast it, man. Why can’t you hold yourself together! She came to find you. That ought to mean something.
He pulled her down a side street. It was just as dark, but with fewer pedestrians. Now they could feel truly alone.
“I meant what I said, by the way.” Albemarle hated the nonchalance in his tone but had to maintain it. He could not reveal just how desperately he wanted this conversation to go well. How much he needed her.
“What you said?”
These words had to be said face to face. Her eyes were sparkling in the little moonlight of the evening, and there was that lurch again.
He nodded and stopped walking. “I want to marry you.”
Was that all he could manage? One of the most important questions of his life, and he wasn’t even able to form a damn sentence?
Theodosia’s mouth had fallen open. “Albemarle, I am your matchmaker!”
“So make a match,” he said sincerely. If only he could find the right words… “Match with me!”
“I-I cannot,” she stammered, but he could see the hesitation in her eyes. She wanted him.
“I think you will not. I think you are determined not to fail at matching me,” he said desperately, “but blast it all, you already have!”
“You think—when you say…” Theodosia swallowed and looked fierce. “You do not know what you are asking me. Your mother paid me to—”
Albemarle resorted to the one way he knew he could show his true feelings. He kissed her, loving the scent of her hair, the softness of her neck as he stroked it, her lips, tender and yet passionate…
He gloried in her, and in the desire that poured between them, forbidden, both knowing they should not want it, but both desperate for it.
Eventually, he pulled away.
Theodosia had a most intriguing look on her face as she whispered, “Albemarle.”
His stomach lurched. “Please, Theodosia. Marry me.”
“Y-You are in earnest? You an earl, and I, only a mere miss?”
“You think I care about that?” he said softly. “I see the woman you are. I see the woman I want. Marry me.”
For what felt like an eternity, she was silent. And then, “Let me think about it—no, listen!”
He had not been able to prevent the groan of frustration.
“You cannot expect me to just make a decision like that.”
His arms were tightly around her, keeping her close to him, her breasts pushed up against his chest in a way that made Albemarle grateful his breeches weren’t fitted. By God, but what he wanted to do to her…
“Good enou
gh for now,” he whispered, kissing her just underneath her ear. She quivered in his arms. “But I do not think there are many young ladies in town that would have to consider marriage to an earl.”
Knowing what he would want to do if they remained here, he released her with great reluctance and started walking back to the main road.
But he could not. Theodosia had kept a hold of his hand, and as she pulled him back toward her, she murmured, “And just where do you think you are going?”
Chapter Eleven
Theodosia tasted the nervousness in her throat. Could she be completely wrong about this?
Her gut instinct had seen her through her whole life. Never was it more important than when matchmaking. Would a gentleman of this temperament suit this particular miss? Could a miss of this family find peace with a member of that family?
Each time she had weighed up each side, carefully considered the possibilities, and then gone with her very first instinct. It had never let her down. She had never been wrong before.
Except that one time. Theodosia swallowed, seated comfortably in her armchair by the fire, and tried to push that particular situation from her mind. Least dwelt on, soonest mended.
But the pain from that period of her life threatened to intrude as she watched the sun go down.
Was she about to make the same mistake again? Had she learned from that reckless moment of her youth, or was she damned to repeat it, taken in once again by a handsome smile and pretty words?
“I do not think there are many young ladies in town that would have to consider marriage to an earl.”
A smile curled on her lips as she rose to her feet. Anything to try to shift the pain from her heart—but then, Albemarle was making new memories with her.
Scandalous memories. Memories respectable ladies, especially matchmakers, should certainly not be creating!
Her smile grew as she sat on a sofa, nearer the window. The dark evening sky prevented her from seeing a thing outside, but just being closer gave her the illusion that she could.
Albemarle was different. Different from the gentleman she matched—or had ever met. When he spoke, it was impossible not to believe his words.
He was not a liar, nor a dissembler. He was rude, perhaps, blunt. Direct. But never false.
Why, he had no reason to lie! He was a gentleman of the realm, a peer of England, with more money than he knew what to do with. He had nothing to hide, no shame to feel, and no sense of inferiority no matter who else was in the room.
Theodosia’s smile faded. How unlike her.
“I do not want a bride. I do not want a wife. I do not want children running around me. I do not want to make a home with anyone.”
He had said those very words when they had first met. He had been direct from the beginning.
No other gentleman she had ever met had been so blunt. His opinion had been against marriage, and now, what a change!
Was Albemarle Howard, Earl of Lenskeyn, swept up in the power of love—or was he just a very changeable man? She had only known him for…what, a month? How could she be sure she had the measure of him?
All she wanted was to be happy. The last two days had been spent hard at work, smoothing the path for happy couples, and they had been utterly devoid of Albemarle.
They had been awful.
A knock came at the door. Her heart jumped and then started to flutter. Footsteps down the corridor, her maid opening the door—a low male voice, and the door closing again.
Theodosia’s hands were in the way—but what did one do with one’s hands? By the sides of her legs? In her lap? Nothing felt natural, and she needed to decide quickly because there were two pairs of footsteps in the corridor now, and it had to be him, it just had to be.
She had sent an invitation. He had not replied, of course. It was so very like him not to bother with society’s niceties—but she had assumed he would attend. If it was not him…if it was someone else, at this hour, coming to beg her help with another marriage…
The door opened with a snap, and there stood Albemarle. He had attired himself in very smart clothes, a top hat on his head, and though he was smiling, he looked nervous.
Theodosia rose. This had been what she wanted—him, here, outside of their matchmaking, training, and formal conversation.
So why was her heart thundering so hard, she could hardly speak?
“Thank you, Robins, that will be all.”
Her maid, hovering behind Albemarle with wide eyes, nodded and bobbed a curtsey before she closed the door behind him.
They were alone.
Albemarle looked around the room curiously, a smile creeping over his face.
“What is that smile for?”
“I have attempted to picture your rooms here several times, but I admit to having found the task a struggle. From what I understand, few people have ever been invited to the famous ‘Theo’s house.’”
She laughed. “Oh goodness, do not call me that.”
“Better than Dosia,” he quipped, his grin widening.
“Now, you sit down and behave yourself,” she said severely, her smile still intact. “Even though this is…well, a personal visit, that does not mean I am going to accept such cheek.”
Albemarle did not reply but threw himself onto a sofa and lounged back, looking instantly at ease in a way that only a wealthy, titled gentleman could.
How on earth did he manage it? Here she was, working hard to train gentlemen like Mr. Birch, desperate to gain a few more societal polishes, and Albemarle was born to it. Maybe there was something in the blood of earls.
It was certainly not something that came naturally to a mere gentleman’s daughter, but Theodosia had worked hard on that particular skill years ago. She could now portray that comfort level as well as anyone—even if she did not feel it.
Seating herself at a respectable distance from Albemarle on an entirely different sofa, she sighed. “Nicknames can be a troublesome thing when you are named Theodosia. My…my parents called me Teddy.”
It was strange. Admitting this familial secret felt…well, vulnerable. Exposed.
“I like it. It suits you well. I am surprised I did not consider it myself. May…may I call you that?”
His voice was a little stilted, almost hesitant. It was most unlike him, and Theodosia was astonished that he had bothered to ask permission. Other people’s opinions had never mattered much to him before.
She nodded, not trusting her own voice. Nothing moved, save a log shifting in the grate, throwing up sparks.
They were nothing to the sparks between them, even in the silence. His presence was like a furnace, one that heated her even from a long distance. She felt drawn to him, desperate for more heat, more than she could take, until his contact could brand her.
She could never consider another man after this. No matter what happened, no matter how this ended. There was something special between herself and Albemarle Howard.
Teddy. She longed to hear it on his lips and knew that once she did, it would be a special pact between them, a moment she had shared with no one else.
She already felt, in some strange way, bound to him. And yet, not nearly as connected to him as she would like to be.
“Teddy,” Albemarle whispered.
His tone caused a deep blush to stain her cheeks, and in that instant, she knew.
She loved him. The earl that had spent the last ten years on another continent. The earl who was hardly welcome in some quarters of society due to his penchant for rubbing people up the wrong way, usually on purpose.
None of that mattered. The more time she spent with him, the more endearing those traits—previously so hideous to her, so despised in society—had become.
Theodosia had spent over a decade conforming closely to society’s expectations, and whenever not doing it herself, she was actively encouraging others to do so.
Conform, conform, conform. Be quiet, smile more, agree with whatever the gentleman said. Nod, agree,
never make a fuss.
Matches had been made, and happy marriages created, but had she been happy? Had she known the rush of joy that Albemarle gave her?
He was free from all those expectations. He saw society’s rules and laughed at them—or ignored them completely. His freedom made her feel free, as though society had been left behind, and they created their own world.
Despite all his faults, and there were plenty of them, and despite her failed efforts to train him, she loved him. She had fallen in love with the man before any improvements had been made and now was convinced any changes would be to the detriment of his character, not the betterment.
The rush of searing affection tied her tongue, leaving them in a silence that normally would have been unbearable. But he seemed to know how her mind was rushing from one thought to another, hardly able to catch her breath as she was overwhelmed with the realization that she would do anything, give up anything, for this man.
This wild, nonsensical man.
Theodosia swallowed. She had felt this before, of course—or at least, something like it. She was not foolish enough to make the same mistake twice, was she?
Was it him she did not trust, or herself?
“Marry me, Theodosia,” he had whispered all those days ago.
She knew what she wanted to say. The answer was on the tip of her tongue, yet she had held back—why? Fear? Concern she would be rejected?
But Albemarle had been consistent, had he not, with his praise, with his proposals?
No matter how many myriad thoughts rushed through her mind, Theodosia knew she would have to decide soon. Albemarle Howard, despite his protestations of affection, would not wait forever.
“Have—have you heard about my latest triumph?”
The words had somehow managed to leave her mouth coherently, to her relief.
“The Lymington girl? Everyone has known about that for ages, Teddy. I hope you did not invite me over here for that little tidbit of gossip.”
She shook her head, reveling in her nickname on his lips. “Do not be so foolish, the Lymington engagement was announced months ago.”
“Ah, so you mean the Marnion engagement?”
Always the Matchmaker (Never the Bride Book 8) Page 12
