He didn’t think. He reached out and took her hands in both of his. “I told you. Dinna fash. I don’t mind it. You were clever on the stairs, quick-thinking and brave. I wouldn’t blame you for such a thing, not even if it hadn’t worked at all. And it did work.”
“It worked well beyond your expectations,” said Georgiana, and Arthur recalled himself enough to drop Lydia’s hands. “Andnow you have an opportunity to finish what you started and find out how the de Younges are connected to Davis.”
Though he had not intended any of this, he had to admit that it did provide them with a clear path forward. And he meant what he’d told her. He did not mind.
Of course he did not, damn it. He would not mind pretending she was his, not when he wanted it to be real.
Lydia, meanwhile, was fighting with the tangled ribbon at her waist and looking miserable. When she had finally wrestled it into submission, she glanced up at him. “Yes, I suppose we cannot let this chance pass us by. Only—I shall embarrass you. Pretending to be your wife.”
He blinked. “When you go, do you mean? Because I’ve been thrown over?”
She appeared slightly agonized. “No—well, yes, that too, come to think of it. I only meant—at a house party full of strangers, I shall be an utter disaster. I may well cast up my accounts into a potted palm. It would not be the first time, as you well know.”
“For Christ’s sake,” he said, “I don’t care about such things. What part of my ruined castle and rampaging rodents would lead you to believe I did?”
“Of course you care.” She twisted her fingers together in her lap. “It will affect how everyone sees you. Their opinions of you.”
This time, he considered Lady Georgiana’s proximity, and decided it was worth it. He reached out and caught Lydia’s chin in his hand. She sat frozen, staring at him, and her skin was so soft beneath his fingers that his grip gentled almost without his intending it.
“They’ll think I’m a bloody lucky bastard for marrying a woman so bonny and fine. No doubt they’ll wonder how I’ve managed it. But I don’t give a fig for what they think. I’ve no need for their approval of me or my wife.”
Her eyes were wide and blue, fixed on his, and God, she was so lovely, he almost could not think straight.
She took a few breaths before she spoke. He liked how she did that, how she calmed herself and considered her words at the same time. Her fingers worried the ribbon at her waist, a busy gesture, not quite a caress.
“All right,” she said at last. “I’ll do it.”
Chapter 13
Evils of the Clearances.
Radical Parliamentary reform.
Abuses enabled by a corrupt aristocracy.
Novels?
Oh, hang this list!
—from Lydia’s private journal, page titledPROPOSED TOPICS FOR CONVERSATION AT KILBRIDE HOUSE
The following morning, Lydia found herself tucked under the comforting arm of Lady de Younge as she was led inexorably to the breakfast table.
Or, as she privately referred to it, hell.
Public dining was something Lydia did not enjoy, particularly when the table was arrayed with strangers and she was expected to speak to them. Strathrannoch Castle had not been so bad—she certainly had not needed to talk, what with the macaws and the degu and the constant patter between Rupert and the various adults. By the time they had left, she’d felt surprisingly comfortable.
But this was worse—this was the worst possible. She did notknow Lady de Younge, or the breakfast room, or any of the other people around the table. She was going to faint or cry or forget how to speak English. She was going to choke on a pastry and then drown in her teacup.
Arthur, her damned pretend husband, was not even there. She had not seen him since they had been ushered into separate bedchambers the night before—a sleeping arrangement which had caused a truly disconcerting wave of disappointment to wash through her.
No, Arthur was not at the breakfast table—there was only Lord de Younge, two other couples in their forties and fifties, and a blindingly handsome younger man in—
Lydia came to a dead stop, so abruptly that the much-taller Lady de Younge nearly knocked her over.
“Lady Strathrannoch?” she asked. “Is everything quite all right?”
Lydia did not know up from down. Everything had gone mad.Shewas Lady Strathrannoch, and the ludicrously attractive gentleman at the breakfast table wasArthur.
