He rarely attended parties. He never danced. He made silly young women sigh and shiver. He shared a relationship with Harbury more akin to brothers than friends. And, before the other day, she’d never seen him on Rotten Row.
That was it. The sum of what she knew about the Marquess of Redver.
If she didn’t include what he looked like without his clothing. Or the skill he possessed in bed. Or the way his mere presence made her want to create a small world where only the two of them existed.
“It just so happens”—her words tumbled out in a hot rush—“I am unaware of your family history. No one ever tells young ladies anything of importance.”
Warily, they eyed one another. Slowly, his expression relaxed. She could read arguments and counterarguments behind his eyes but could not discern their substance.
“Search Lady Asquith’s library for gossip rags from 1803,” he said finally. “The D’Acre divorce was, for a time, a frequent feature.”
Divorce?
The very word left her chilled. She had to consciously shut her mouth.
No wonder Lady Asquith had saidthat Redver!
A divorce required an act of Parliament. Not all petitions were successful, and those that were often followed a crim. con lawsuit proving infidelity. She calculated the years. 1803 wouldhave been just after Emily’s birth. At the time, Redver would have been a on the verge of manhood, but still a boy.
Oh, no.
Eliza tried in vain to stop the surge of sympathy. She was already too intrigued by him. She certainly didn’t want to feel for him.
But how could she judge him based on his parents’ scandalous acts when her own father’s behavior made her shudder?
Poor Miss D’Acre!
Now she understood his urgency.
What had he said? Recent events had proven he’d fallen short? What recent events? Their encounter at the Lyon’s Den and her subsequent rejection?
Mrs. Dove-Lyon had said she wanted to teach him a lesson.
“You were right.” She softened her voice. “I do have better cause than most to understand your position.”
After all, she was considering a marriage of convenience to save her sister. Was a courtship of convenience any worse?
“The fault is mine,” he replied gallantly. “I went about the business more awkwardly than necessary.”
His contrite expression made her heart soften even further.
The side of her mouth quirked. “If you mean that you made a complete hash of your proposal, then yes.”
“Perhaps I should have done some research.” His left eyebrow lifted. “Do you think there is a handbook for this sort of thing? A gentleman’s guide to fake courtships—”
“—farces,” she added.
“—and other clandestine deceptions,” he finished.
The conspiratorial smile they shared increased her heartbeat.
She wanted to help him…and Miss D’Acre. A part of her was internally jumping up and down, shoutingyes.
But what would Mr. Vane say?
He’d been very blunt. Surely, if she explained, he would understand.
“Perhaps,” she suggested slowly, “we could write one together.”
