He stared at her aghast. “You . . . helped them? To your own detriment?”
“Not to my detriment at all. As I said, Lord Nash and I both agreed we were not suited to one another. Do not misunderstand. I like him very much and felt society treated him most unfairly. But he wasn’t—” Her mouth clamped shut with such force, he worried she would crack a tooth.
He straightened in his chair. “Wasn’t what?”
Her gaze darting around the room—landing anywhere but on him—she twisted her hands in her lap. “Um . . . he wasn’t . . . in love with me.”
Something about her answer, or perhaps the way she answered, niggled at his mind. Although not untruthful, he suspected it wasn’t what she had initially intended to say. “I didn’t think love was a requirement among aristocrats. Indeed, had it been, we would—” He stopped short, finishing the sentence in his mind—easily have met it.
Unlike him, she didn’t ask him to finish. Apparently, he was more transparent.
Instead she asked, “And you? Surely, judging by the attention you’ve received from the ladies here, you’ve had ample opportunity to choose a wife.”
Aye. But none were you.As if clouds parted and the emerging sun illuminated everything around him, her earlier words became clear. Did she still love him? He eased into his deception, finding comfort in the lie. If she did indeed still hold affection for him, would she accept him as a mere man of business, refusing to bend to her family’s persuasion to avoid such alowlymatch?
In answer to her question, he planted the seed. “I will admit it’s time for me to settle down.” He forced the smile to his lips and hoped it appeared genuine. “Perhaps one of the fine ladies here might prefer a simple life over the glamorous one as a duchess.” The question remained; would the seed sprout and grow, or would it lay dormant and wither if not watered by her family’s approval?
Color drained from her face. Was it from the thought of him marrying another? Or did his blow land a direct hit, reminding her of their past?
Oily guilt slithered in his chest. Accepting he had done enough damage for the evening, he rose. “I should leave you before we are discovered.”
Torn between his desire to flee and to stay, the door both beckoned him and mocked him as he strode toward it.
“Drake.” Her voice was soft yet steady.
He closed his eyes, relishing the sound of his name on her tongue. “Yes?”
“Persuasion.”
The word stopped him dead, and he spun around. “What?”
“You asked what I was reading.”
He placed the copy ofRomeo and Julieton a side table. “The staff will re-shelve this.” Then he hurried from the room, too afraid of what he would say if he stayed.
CHAPTER 7
Around half past ten the next morning, Honoria made her way down to breakfast, finding a modicum of her appetite had returned. The room was deserted, save for two footmen. Both relieved and disappointed that Drake was not present, she helped herself to some tea, toast, and a slice of plum cake at the sideboard. Once again, her favorites—an assortment of morning cakes—were among the choices, giving her pause. Although, in truth, breakfast items offered at house parties were often the same.
She’d barely taken a bite when Anne burst into the room. Honoria lifted her cup of tea to hide her grin. One certainly couldn’t accuse the girl of being a wallflower.
Anne tossed a piece of toast and a blob of jam onto her plate. “I can’t believe I slept so late.” She plopped into a chair next to Honoria. “Did I miss anything exciting?”
“Well, the breakfast is quite delicious.”
Anne’s feeble attempt to appear aggrieved at Honoria’s comment failed miserably as a snort of laughter escaped her tightly pressed lips. “You know what I mean.”
Honoria delivered an insouciant glance. “I’m serious. Try the raspberry jam.”
Anne slumped back in her chair, pouting like a recalcitrant child. “Oh, Honny. Why must you besoserious?”
“Honny?” Drake’s voice had both Honoria’s and Anne’s heads turning toward the entrance of the room.
“Mr. Merrick!” Anne’s posture snapped back.
Yet, Drake’s attention remained on Honoria, his brow still quirking with his unanswered question.
Not to be dismissed, Anne left her chair and tugged on Drake’s coat sleeve. “Come sit with us, Mr. Merrick.”
