“She insists upon it,” Jasper said gravely, already moving to pull back her chair. “Miss Tolliver, might I escort you on a brief constitutional? Some air before the planning commences?”
Before Lottie could refuse, Jasper turned smoothly to the duke. “Your Grace, you would not object to joining us, I hope? I am certain Lady Malverne would rest easier knowing her guests are properly chaperoned.”
The Duke of Morleigh pushed back his chair at once. “Of course.”
He offered his arm to Lottie with impeccable composure, though his posture suggested his temper had not cooled in the least. She took it wordlessly, and Jasper fell into step beside them as they crossed to the terrace doors.
Only when the doors closed behind them, and they had descended the steps into the sunlight, did Lottie understand how artfully Jasper had contrived her escape.
The moment they reached the gravel, the duke exploded. “How dare that man show his face here! It is an outrage. An insult to decency… Propriety! To breakfast itself. He dares to test the limits of my restraint. By God, I should have him dragged out by the collar and thrown into the stables. But no. I cannot. Not without parading the very scandal I sought to bury for your family’s sake.”
Lottie said nothing. Her hands trembled despite her best efforts to still them, and the sunlight seemed far too bright.
“Good God,” Jasper muttered, looking back towards the house. “What the devil is that scoundrel about?”
The duke’s mouth flattened. “There are two reasons a man like Marchmont returns. To beg forgiveness, or to blackmail.”
Jasper swore under his breath. “Repentance seems unlikely. He’s neck-deep in gaming debts. I’d wager half the hells of St. James’s are still after him.”
“Then he will try to profit from whatever remains of Charlotte’s reputation,” the duke said grimly. “Or force our hand and entrap her into marriage under the pretence of honour. Thirty thousand pounds is enough to tempt fortune-hunters across half of England. Marchmont is no exception.”
“That,” Jasper said evenly, “will not be a problem. Nor, I think, will Miss Tolliver’s virtue. She is already engaged to be married. To me.”
The duke regarded him for a long moment. “Good. That settles one disaster before it can begin.”
Lottie opened her mouth.
“Be silent, Charlotte. I care nothing for your protestations at present. Only that the announcement reaches the proper ears before Marchmont decides to open his mouth. You are not to be alone, nor near that man without at least two chaperones present. Not for a moment. Do you understand me?”
“Perfectly, Your Grace,” she said through her teeth.
“Good. I will not have you fancifully running off again, nor imagining yourself in love with any charming scoundrel who smiles at you.”
Now, dear readers, this is the moment at which you shall learn the truth of what befell Miss Charlotte Tolliver, and I must beg you, therefore, to be kind to her. She had her reasons for silence. Besides, one can hardly blame a woman for waiting until the most dramatic possible moment to educate gentlemen on their collective idiocy.
“In love with him?” she repeated.
The duke stopped.
Lottie turned on him. “You imagine I fancied myself in love with that creature? Do you truly think so little of me?”
The duke scoffed. “Well, I hardly know what else to think, Charlotte. You vanished in the middle of the night. You caused a scandal that occupied half the ton for a month. Langley and I nearly broke our necks getting to you. What conclusion was I meant to draw, if not romantic idiocy?”
“Romantic idiocy?” Lottie’s voice trembled, not with tears, but with fury. “Not one of you—not one—ever thought to ask me what truly happened!”
“What truly…” The duke blinked, as though she had spoken a foreign tongue. “What truly happened?”
“Oh, you would like to know now, would you, Your Grace? Would you not rather reprise your gallant rescue, bursting into the chamber to drag me away? Oh yes, quite the conquering hero! And I, the hysterical girl pining for her captor. As though I had chosen to be locked in that house, behind bolted doors and shuttered windows, with a man who would not let me go!”
Jasper took a prudent half-step back. “Good Lord.”
The duke began, quite uncharacteristically, to splutter. “You mean to say…”
“That I was taken, Your Grace,” said Lottie. “Not in love.”
For the first time since Lottie had known him, the Duke of Morleigh looked entirely without command, before his colour began to rise. “If that is true, then why in heaven’s name did you not tell us? Why allow us to believe… why lock yourself away for three days and refuse to come home? Had we known, we might have—good God, we could have summoned the magistrate. The Bow Street Runners. We could have done what was proper—”
“No!” she cried, her voice breaking through his as cleanly as a whipcrack. “You willpermit me to speak for once!”
