Page 81 of The Dangerous Lord

No! Despair knotted in her belly. This was like those garden mazes she hated, where each turning only led to more turnings. Sheer frustration drove her to her feet. “Then how am I to know I’m not making the biggest mistake in my life by marrying him?”

The woman’s forehead knotted into a perplexed frown. “Tell me something, Miss Taylor. Two weeks ago, Lord St. Clair instructed me never to speak to you, yet now he’s marrying you. How did that come about?”

“I’ve wondered the same thing myself,” she said glumly. “Apparently, somewhere among our many battles over my column, he came to the conclusion that I’d make him a suitable wife. I can’t imagine how, since we have nothing in common.”

“No indeed.” The woman’s lips twitched with amusement. “Except perhaps for an incredible ability to find out other people’s secrets. And a tendency to act forcefully to get what you want. And let’s not forget a fondness for children—he did say his fiancée had four brothers he’d be supporting, and he’s always been kind to my son.” She broke out in a smile. “But nothing else, certainly. Whatever do you see in each other?”

Felicity didn’t like being mocked. She halted to glare at the governess. “You’re laboring under a misconception if you think this is a love match. Ian didn’t choose to marry me for any such commonalities, I assure you. He wants a brood mare, that’s all.”

“A-A brood mare?” Miss Greenaway choked out.

“A woman to give him an heir. And in exchange for my marrying him, he’s paying off my debts and providing for my brothers and me.”

“Ah. So your marriage is nothing but a business arrangement?”

“Precisely.”

“And the fact that you’re a beautiful, intelligent young woman has nothing to do with it, just as his attractions have nothing to do with your decision.”

She colored. “Certainly not.”

“Then why, pray tell, are you so intent on uncovering his past? If this marriage is merely a business arrangement and he’s keeping his end of the bargain, why do you care what he did ten years ago?”

“Because,” Felicity said through gritted teeth, “in a short time, I’ll be putting my life and future in his hands, and the man is so bloody secretive I don’t even know if I can trust him.” That wasn’t entirely true, but she had no time for shilly-shallying.

“You needn’t worry about that. Lord St. Clair is quite trustworthy. He’ll treat you well.” Miss Greenaway rose and approached to where Felicity stood trembling. “But I think you know that. So what really torments you so much?”

Felicity ducked her head to hide the sudden tears swimming in her eyes. “What torments me is that we aren’t even married and I’m already in love with the scoundrel.”

She sniffled. Oh, damn, it was true. Why else did she feel sick at the thought of being his wife and not having his heart? It was love, to be sure, even if he was a cold devil sometimes. And she’d fought so hard against it! She should’ve known fighting was pointless from the first time he’d sauntered into her study and informed her that she would regret tangling with him.

Oh, yes, she regretted it. She regretted that tangling with him hadn’t made him love her back. The tears straggled down her cheeks, first singly, then in solid rivulets, forlorn pilgrims streaming to the shrine of unrequited love.

Miss Greenaway drew out a sensible cotton handkerchief and handed it to Felicity. “There, there, my dear. Surely it’s not so terrible to be in love with a man like Lord St. Clair.”

“It is when he doesn’t love me,” she whispered.

“Are you sure of that?”

She nodded. “Ian has a thorn buried deep inside his heart that prevents him from loving me in return. It needs plucking out. How can I do that when I don’t know what it is?” She lifted a pleading glance to Miss Greenaway. “Can’t you help me?”

“Oh, Miss Taylor,” the woman said sympathetically. “I’d tell you in a moment if not for my promise. You’re right about the thorn in his heart. It lies so deep, he won’t even speak of it to me, and I know all that happened. Yet he needs to speak of it.”

“If you tell me what happened, I can make him speak of it.”

“No. It must work its way to the surface before he can be rid of it.”

Despair crept over her again. “Is there no way I can help him?”

With a smile, the older woman chucked her under the chin. “I think you’ve already begun. When he came yesterday to tell me of the wedding, there was a light in his eyes I haven’t seen since he was a young man. In the past, his descriptions of women he courted were always unemotional recitations of their qualities. But you he called ‘the most vexing creature in London—headstrong, brazen, and badly in need of a man’s guiding hand.’ It was quite clear to me he couldn’t wait to provide that ‘guiding hand.’”

“That proves nothing,” she grumbled. “He’s a bully, you know.”

She chuckled. “Only with you apparently, and that’s because his emotions are engaged. Besides, I find very curious his reluctance to reveal that his fiancée was Lord X. Either he wanted to protect you, or he didn’t want me to think ill of you. Both show he cares.”

Felicity twisted the handkerchief. “Or that your opinion matters a lot to him.”

“We’re friends, yes.”