Mercy narrowed her eyes. “I’m serious.”
Penelope shook her head and allowed her laugh to escape. “You must be the only woman in London who, upon hearing that her admirer has raised false hope in other women, likes him better for it.”
“I didn’t say I like him better for it.”
“You didn’t have to. I can see it. Passion and philandering are two very different things, Mercy.”
“While you were cavorting with Lord Bryant, you didn’t seem to worry about that. And look at him now, completely devoted to his wife.”
Penelope stilled. “Do not use Lord Bryant as your compass for what a loyal husband might look like before marriage. He’s not the man Society painted him to be.”
“It seems that neither is the Duke of Harrington. He wants everyone to think he is the most proper man in London, but thatis only a facade.”
“Mercy, are you certain you aren’t sabotaging your courtship because you’re hurt the duke hasn’t been arduous with you?”
Penelope didn’t understand. She hadn’t seen the look on Miss Morgan’s face while she was so obviously remembering herverypleasant trysts with the duke. “No. I’m not at all certain of that.”
“Because if you change your mind and he finds out we’ve done this—”
“I know.” What could she say? Miss Morgan had awakened a beast from somewhere so deep inside Mercy, she hadn’t even realized the beast existed. The duke had pulled away from Mercy every single time she’d touched him. And now, in the course of two days, she’d learned of as many women who had gotten much more than scintillating conversations over chessboards with him.
Devil take his thick lashes and smile that made her want to reach out to him, when he had no desire to do the same. She would not settle for a man who saw her only as a way to solidify his social standing, even if he wanted that social standing for noble reasons. She would wait and give her heart to someone who didn’t see her has chattel. “I just want to go back to being the person I was a few weeks ago. Someone who doesn’t care one whit for the Duke of Harrington.”
Penelope pushed her lips together in thought and sighed. “All right, then. Let’s start that list. One way or another, we will either get the duke a wife or, at the very least, destroy any connection you have to him.”
Mercy jumped from her seat and dashed over to the writing table before she could change her mind. Making a list of possible suitors for a man who was courting her would be a pleasant way to spend the remainder of her morning, and the sooner she got this over with, the sooner her life could return to normal. The next time she saw Harrington, she would be the one in chargeof their courtship for a change, and she would get to see how he handled his perfectly organized world becoming invaded by chaos.
Chapter 16
Nicholas stood in the entrancehall of the Driarwood home and struggled to keep from pacing. For some reason, the Driarwood butler had asked him to wait here instead of showing him to the drawing room. Was he going to be dismissed?
It had been three days since Nicholas had laid eyes on Lady Mercy. Three very long days in which he debated whether or not he should have been so forthcoming to her about his involvement with Lady Plymton. It certainly looked like he shouldn’t have; now her family didn’t even want to admit him to the drawing room. He took two steps to the right, then clenched his jaw and kept his feet still. He was not some young, inexperienced man who couldn’t control his feet while he waited to be attended to.
All thoughts of pacing left him, though, when Lady Mercy appeared alone at the top of the stairs. Her pale-pink dress was simple elegance, well cut and made from fabric sturdier than her ballgowns but just as flattering. She stopped and placed a hand on the banister, smiling down at him. But it wasn’t her dress or even the fact that he hadn’t seen her in days that made his breath hitch. Something had changed. In the past three days of not seeing each other, something must have changed.
Her smile was vibrant, covering her face in the joy and satisfaction of a friend or a lover reuniting after long days apart. It was a smile that spoke, and the words it said werethis woman is excited to see you, as if, perhaps, like him, she had counted the last hours and then minutes until he would be in her home again. He didn’t move, not certain he could trust this vision of her, but as she descended the stairs, her smile did not waver, nor did the spark in her eye diminish.
She shouldn’t be coming down those stairs smiling at him like that. If anything, he had thought their last conversation would have damaged his chances. That he would have to try evenharder to win her over, to convince her that despite his past, he was committed to doing everything correctly and properly with her. But he must have been wrong.
Had sharing about his history helped his cause? Lord and Lady Bryant had visited the morning after the ball, ecstatic about his choice of woman to court. Lord Bryant had wasted no time in giving him terrible flirting advice. It was all incidental touching—he would absolutely not be doing that—and longing glances—something he was quite certain he was incapable of. However, before Lord Bryant left, he’d pulled Nicholas to the side and said the one thing that actually made a bit of sense. “Touching, complimenting, eye contact. Those are great starting points and quite enjoyable. But the truth is, if you want a woman to fall in love with you, you are going to have to share yourself with her. She can’t fall in love with a shadow. And when you know you want to spend the rest of your life with her, don’t keep her guessing. Tell her.”
When he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her? Their eyes met and held while Lady Mercy made her way down the last two steps. They sparked with an energy of a woman with a plan, and based on the way they held his, for the first time, he thought her plans might include him.
Blast. He did want to spend the rest of his life with this woman. He didn’t want to deal with three-day periods where he didn’t see her. And if he did have to travel somewhere without her, he wanted her to be at his home when he returned. He wouldn’t stand waiting near the door for her to come to him, nor would he have to tell her how much he missed her. He would rush to her, grab her by the waist before she even reached the bottom of the stairs, and show her how much he’d missed her. First, he’d let her neck know by dragging a finger softly up it to her jaw. Then he’d let her mouth in on the secret. And then she’d be completely wrapped in his arms, laughing and making certainhis face, arms, neck, chest, every part of him, knew she’d missed him as well.
The pace of his heart was nearing dangerous levels when Lady Mercy reached him and held out her hand. It wasn’t lifting her in the air or kissing those lips, but it was a better greeting than he’d ever received from her. Every other time they had met, she had given him wary bows or half smiles. Her hand was gloved in a soft crème leather, each finger covered in that smooth supple blanket of fabric. Perhaps she meant for him to shake it, and he should. He really should.
But her cheerful countenance had awoken the part of himself he tried so desperately to keep sleeping. Whether on account of Lord Bryant’s advice still fresh in his mind or simply the desire to actually touch the marvelous woman he courted, he grasped her fingers, so soft and trusting in his hand. With his grip light, he brought her knuckles toward his lips. He moved slowly, giving her the chance to pull away or stop him, but she didn’t. He placed the briefest of kisses on her fingers, and the room brightened, as if the sun had broken through the clouds outside and was streaming through the windows.
At her swift intake of breath, he dropped her hand and straightened sharply. Lady Mercy pulled her hand to her chest, and her eyes went wide, but it wasn’t disgust or anger he saw in them. Only surprise.
He’d surprised her.
She’d surprised him first. He smiled, knowing full well that his smile would not bring the devastation and hope that hers did to him, but perhaps... perhaps it could bring her a bit of happiness to know he was excited to see her too. “Lady Mercy, you look lovely this afternoon.”
Blast his tongue. Could he think of nothing more eloquent to say? She looked more than lovely, but any other descriptions might have come out more like poetry and less like appropriatecourtship language. He needed to find some sort of middle ground when he spoke with her.Be specific, Lord Bryant had said, but telling her that her smile had given him hope or that the freckles on her face and collarbone drove him mad seemed an even worse idea than poetry.
“Thank you, Your Grace. My parents are already in the drawing room, as well as a few other guests. I wanted to warn you that we would not be alone.”
