He swallowed. “I have come to ask for Miss Hurston’s hand in marriage. I know that her father is currently indisposed, so I have come to you in your position as her stepmother, though she is past her majority and might marry me without your consent.”
Lady Hurston studied his face for a moment, as if trying to read what he had not said. “You have compromised her,” she said without malice. “Even after my warning.”
Refusing to be cowed, he inclined his head in assent. “Yes. Discretion prevents me from going into more detail, but suffice it to say that we should be married. Soon.”
The viscountess nodded. “I see. Well, then, let me be the first to wish you happy.” She rose, and smiled at him. “Though you will, of course, need to procure Cecily’s assent.”
Lucas grinned, grateful that she had chosen not to upbraid him for his actions, though she would have been well within her purview to do so. “I would appreciate your best wishes for that endeavor as well,” he said. “In fact, I suspect it may be more difficult to gain Cecily’s consent than yours.”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” Cecily’s stepmama responded, also grinning, “but then that is what we love about her.”
Knowing better than to fall into that trap, Lucas simply nodded and began to pace before the fireplace as Violet excused herself to summon Cecily.
What would she say? he wondered. Surely she would not be surprised to find him here.
Last night had changed things between them irrevocably, and the knowledge that she might even now be carrying his child filled him with a resolve unlike he’d ever felt. Whatever it took, whatever he had to promise her, he would leave Hurston House today with her acceptance, or he’d throw her over his shoulder and carry her off to Gretna Green whether she consented or no.
He was still frowning at the imaginary Cecily in his head, the one who had refused his proposal and forced him to kidnap her, when the real Cecily entered the room.
Their late night had left purple shadows beneath her eyes. And though she had, of late, worn more fashionable clothing than was usual for her, today she had chosen a pale rose-colored gown that only accentuated her pallor.
Yet, from her simply dressed hair, which was once again working to escape its pins, to her plain but serviceable slippers, she was, to Lucas, more beautiful than he had ever seen her.
“Miss Hurston,” he greeted her with a very proper bow.
“Your Grace,” she said, dropping into a graceful curtsy.
“I trust you have not suffered any ill effects from our … adventure last evening?” he asked politely. Searching her face for signs of upset or tears, he saw only weariness.
“I am perfectly well, thank you,” she said, her tone calm, controlled. Only her eyes flashed with the knowledge that their “adventure,” as he called it, had been something more than just a youthful escapade.
Still, her mouth quirked with a smile as she asked, “And you? Did you suffer any ill effects?”
Lucas hid his amusement at her inquiry. It was just like her to offer his solicitude back to him, emphasizing her rejection of the notion of the female as the weaker sex.
“Miss Hurston, there is something which—”
“Your Grace, if I might speak to you regarding the events of—”
They both stopped, the aborted attempt at conversation breaking the awkwardness between them in a way their prettily rehearsed words could not have done.
“I will speak first, if I may, Miss Hurston,” Lucas said, leading her to an overstuffed sofa near the window.
Waiting for her to be seated, he remained standing, restless energy preventing him from any sort of relaxation.
“Miss Hurston,” he said, stopping before her. “Cecily.”
Lucas found himself nervous in a way that he had not experienced since he was a raw youth asking a debutante for a dance at the village assembly. And for her part, Cecily kept her gaze fastened on her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. The knowledge that he was not the only one suffering pangs of trepidation soothed his agitation somewhat.
“Our … encounter of last evening makes it imperative that we wed without delay.” Lucas spoke decisively. His words emphasized the seriousness of their situation.
Seeing her head snap up at his words, he continued, “Before you object to my proposal, I beg you to hear me out.”
“How do you know I was going to object?” she asked, two furrows appearing between her brows. “Am I not allowed to speak?”
“Come now, Miss … Cecily, I had not known you above ten minutes before I realized your most common response to any sort of declarative statement is an immediate questioning of its validity.”
Before she could object again, he raised a staying hand. “It is not a bad thing,” he said, trying to explain more thoroughly. “I suspect it has something to do with your being the daughter of a scholar. They have, as I was able to determine during my years at Oxford, a tendency to ponder the whys and wherefores of everything from the most mundane to the most complex concepts. It is certainly nothing to be ashamed of. I see it as a mark of your inquisitive nature.”
“Yes, well,” she answered wryly, “I doubt there are very many members of either my family or the ton who will agree with you on that point.”
“Indeed,” he said, unable to make small talk in the present circumstances.
“I have already obtained your stepmama’s consent,” he forged on.
“Ah,” she said, her eyes shadowed, perhaps because her father was unable to perform that office now. “I am not surprised she agreed. I believe she thinks you are a good catch.”
That surprised a laugh from him. “I wouldn’t go so far as that,” he said. Then, growing serious again, “But I did inform her that given the circumstances we should probably be wed sooner rather than later. And, given the precarious state of your father’s health,” he went on, “I believe you could count it a good thing to know that should the worst happen, you will not be forced to throw yourself on your cousin’s mercy. I believe that was one of your reasons for wishing to marry a member of the Egyptian Club?”
Cecily nodded. “Yes, it was.” Still, she was quiet for a moment, thinking.
When her presence was requested in the drawing room, she had not been at all surprised. Since they had parted the evening before, she had expected just such a summons every hour on the hour.
It was not Lucas’s proposal itself to which she objected. Last night’s removal of the final barrier between them—both literally and figuratively—had been tantamount to a marriage proposal in and of itself. The fact that she simply did not accept every dictum dreamed up by society regarding what did and did not constitute a woman’s ruin was simply another hurdle for him to leap over in his pursuit of her.
No, what kept her from accepting him outright was something far more selfish, and more immediate.
“I do, in fact, wish for a home of my own. I even, though you will be surprised to hear me admit it, wish for a family, a husband, children. But it has never been my objective to marry for those things alone. I had hoped to marry someone with whom I could share my scholarly pursuits. A man who would encourage me in my work, rather than object to it outright, as my father did with my mother.”
Cecily twisted the handkerchief she clutched in her hands, nervous energy coursing through her as she tried to keep her voice level and to conceal her agitation. She searched Lucas’s face for some clue to his thoughts, but it was as impassive as her own.
“And you think that I would not encourage you?” he asked, his blue eyes sharp, cutting into her like an accusation. “That I would resent your mental acumen? Your skill with languages and your translation abilities?”
“I do not know,” she answered truthfully. “I know very little about you at all.”
“I should think you know me well enough after our activities of last evening,” he said, one dark brow arching in accusation.
Cecily felt a blush creep into her cheeks but she said nothing.
Cecily stood, and began to pace the floor while Lucas was now the one who remained stationary.
She stopped before him, her face set in lines of determination.
“But that is just it,” she said. “I do not want a typical ton marriage. I want more than just conversation over the breakfast table and bodies occasionally joined. I want the sort of marriage Miss Wollstonecraft speaks of. A marriage of partnership and mutual understanding.”
“And you do not believe you could have that with me?”
“I do not know if I might or not,” she said. “But I must confess that the idea of marriage at all strikes fear in my heart. I have seen what the imprisonment of an unhappy marriage can do to a woman, my lord. And I do not wish to be sacrificed on the altar of propriety merely because we were unwise in our actions during a time of great duress.”
“I see,” he said, his expression stark. “So it is not me you object to but the institution?”
She nodded.
“And how, pray, did you intend to overcome your objections when you planned to marry one of the men on your stolen dance card?”
Cecily waved a hand at his question. “Those gentlemen would have been easy enough to manage. I doubt Lord Fortenbury would have batted an eyelash over my pursuits so long as he had possession of my dowry. And Mr. Vinson is notoriously silly. He would not care what I got up to so long as I maintained a fashionable enough wardrobe and played a hand of whist at his card parties once a fortnight.”
Lucas’s jaw dropped. Finally, she had succeeded in shaking his calm. “Do you mean to tell me that you do not wish to marry me because I am not a simpleton? Because I am not easily managed?”
“I would not have put the matter so bluntly,” Cecily said, refusing to look away. “But, in effect, yes. You are a duke. You are used to having your own way. You would wish me to curtail my scholarly activities to maintain my position in society as your duchess. And I should not blame you. Really, it is because I hold you in some esteem that I would not wish to saddle you with a wife such as I will make.”
“And what if that decision is not up to you? What if I am somewhat in awe of your scholarly pursuits and would have no objection to your quest to edit your father’s journals? What if, so long as you were able to maintain a nominal presence in the ton, I don’t give a royal damn whether you play whist or not?”
He leaned forward, placing his lips close to her ear, so that he could whisper, “What if I will do anything to put you in my bed and keep you there?” Cecily felt a shiver run through her as his tongue flicked out and swept up the whorl of her ear.
“What if I won’t take no for an answer, sweet Cecily?” he asked, turning his head to kiss a path down her jaw toward her mouth.
“What then?” he murmured.
By the time he pressed his mouth to hers, Cecily was on fire with longing. All the places where he had touched her last night seemed to pulse in readiness, to draw her body toward his in an effort to bring that sweet friction that had brought her so much pleasure before.
She did not hesitate to return his kiss, to open her mouth and welcome him into her, match his tongue thrust for thrust. Her hands crept from his shoulder to grasp him closer, pulling him more tightly against her even as they thrust into the soft waves of the slightly overlong hair at his nape.
Wordlessly, he pulled her against him, relishing the feel of her soft curves against his hardness. He had thought perhaps she would deny the power of the attraction between them, but instead she had given in to it.
With reluctance, Lucas pulled back from her. Stepped away, made no attempt to conceal the evidence of his desire for her. Needing to keep his hands busy so that he could resist reaching for her, he straightened his waistcoat, smoothed his hair back down.
“You cannot deny what is between us, Cecily,” he said quietly. “An attraction like this cannot be suppressed or denied.”
“But attraction does not last, Winterson. I have seen marriages based on passion. Once it is gone there is little else to recommend the married state.”
Her gray eyes were bleak, stirring a protective instinct in him that he had thought gone long ago. He wanted to reach out to her, but knew that if they were to settle the matter, he had best keep his hands to himself until his cause was won.
“I cannot, I will not, profess an undying love for you, Cecily,” Lucas said with more severity than he intended. “I will not flatter you or tell you what you want to hear. I am drawn to you, however. I have been since I saw you that day in front of the club.
“Now, circumstance and fate have brought us together, and by God I will not be denied. You say you wish for a marriage based on partnership? Then you shall have it. I told the truth before: I do find the quickness of your mind, your facility with languages, fascinating. I am not a scholar myself, but that does not mean that I will begrudge you your own pursuits.”
Unable to continue without touching her, he stepped forward. Took her hand in his. “Cecily, you were prepared to marry men for whom you had little affection and even less attraction. I do not offer you the sort of partnership you crave—I am not even sure I know what you mean when you speak of it. But is it not foolish to refuse me when we are both intent on the same goal? When I can offer you more than those other men can?”
He took her other hand, was encouraged when she did not pull away.
“You are a practical being above all else. If you refuse me, there is a chance that your cousin will make life in Hurston House even more unbearable for you than I suspect it already has been. If you were to find yourself with child, the scandal alone would send both Hurston and his wife into the vapors for a month.
“And even if these reasons do not persuade you, I beg of you to remember that we have been seen in company together a great deal over the past few weeks. I very much doubt we could continue to do so without raising suspicions among both the ton and whoever it is who has taken your father’s journals. And if we are forced to look for them separately it will be difficult to share information as we have done up to now. It is in both our interests to continue our partnership. A couple newly married are afforded a great deal more eccentricities than an unmarried lady and gentleman with no discernible ties to one another.”
He waited in silence for her to say something, anything, in response to his argument.
Unable to see her eyes, he caught his breath in longing as her pink tongue darted out against her upper lip.
“Do you really not find my facility with languages off-putting?” she asked quietly.
Inwardly he cheered. Aloud he said, “On the contrary. I find it quite alluring.”
“And do you honestly believe we will have a better chance of finding Father’s journals if we are married?”
“I do,” he said.
“I would like to try to visit Egypt sometime in the near future, despite my fear of enclosed spaces,” Cecily said, lifting her chin in defiance. “My father refused to allow me to go. If this is something you would find objectionable I should like to know now before I give you my answer.”
“I do not foresee any reason why we should not be able to take such a voyage,” Lucas responded, not surprised in the least by her demand. He had expected her to mention it earlier. “Though I would suggest we postpone it until we have found your father’s journals.”
Cecily looked up at him, her eyes searching his, for what, he did not know. But she seemed to find whatever it was she sought, for she nodded as if coming to a decision, and said, “Then, my lord, I accept your proposal of marria
ge.”
“Excellent,” he said, taking her mouth in a kiss that left them both breathless with the memory of the passion they had shared only last night. Before he succumbed to the need in them both, he pulled back.
“You will not be sorry, Cecily,” he said, looking into her eyes, and pleased to see the flush in her cheeks. He reached out to caress her lower lip with his thumb. “I promise you, you will not.”
“I know that,” she returned, smiling ruefully at him. “I believe I must have known it already when I gave myself to you last night. Though I suspect I did not realize it until just now.”
The heat that her words generated in his groin, Lucas understood. What surprised him more was the constriction in his chest. Now that she had acceded he felt both relief and a vague sense of being on the cusp of something. Something important.
Badly needing to find some occupation, Lucas kissed her briefly on the cheek, told her he would inform her stepmama of their impending nuptials and would go in search of a special license. To Cecily he left the details such as where they would be married. He would brook no objections to the time, which would be the end of the week at the latest. When she objected to his haste, Lucas shook his head.
“I know you would perhaps like more time, but I will not take the chance. The members of society are perhaps mentally deficient in many ways, but they are all, to my knowledge, capable of counting to nine. I will not have you or our child exposed to the censure of polite society.”
Wordlessly, Cecily nodded. Watched him leave the room with a sense of unreality. She had awakened this morning knowing that he would propose. But now, having accepted him, she had the uncanny sensation of being on a runaway coach. No matter how she pulled on the reins, she realized, there was no stopping now.
She only hoped that her faith in Lucas would not flag once the vows were said. Because she very much feared he was the sort of man she could fall in love with.
And that, she realized, had been her real objection to the match all along.
* * *
She was resting in her bedchamber from the whirlwind that was Violet with a project, having spent the better part of the day being fitted for a wedding dress that she would wear in three days’ time, when Cecily heard a light knock at her door, followed by the sound of her cousins entering the room.
How to Dance With a Duke Page 19
