Page 34 of Ruined by the Wrong Earl

She shook her head quickly. ‘No, you’re right, we should attend. We need a love story.’

He set his glass down on an end table. ‘A love story?’ The topic was not the distraction he desired. Didn’t she know how the silk clung to her curves and that she was only an arm’s length away. The garment was designed to tempt a man.

She met his gaze. ‘Yes. That’s what they’ll ask about. How we met. How we fell in love. They will all be curious, don’t you think?’

He paused. She was right. He could just imagine the ton’s rabid curiosity. ‘Tell them we met at the house party.’

She blinked. ‘That’s it?’

‘It’s the truth. Or at least, part of it. A convenient truth.’

She leaned forward, a gleam of excitement brightening her green eyes. ‘We can say we danced at the Duchess’s first ball, then took walks in the garden under the watchful eye of my mother as a proper chaperone, of course. Perhaps we discovered a shared interest in gardening.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Gardening?’

She grinned. ‘Yes, the Duchess’s rosebushes. It’s better than admitting I snuck into your room.’

A low chuckle escaped him. God help him, she was enticing.

She seemed satisfied, as if the tale had soothed whatever social anxieties she harboured.

‘It’s getting late,’ he said. ‘Please go to bed, Nora. Rest. I give you my word that I will not come to your chamber until you are ready.’

He stood and offered his hand. His chest tightened when she slipped her hand in his, completely trusting. Her fingers were slender and her skin smooth.

He walked her to the door like a proper gentleman. A husband. All the while aware of her lush body next to his.

When the door closed softly behind her, the scent of her lemongrass soap lingered in the air. He stood alone in the library once again, staring into the fire, acutely aware of the fact that only a single door separated their bedchambers.

And that he would not sleep a single damn hour tonight.

Chapter Eleven

The following morning, Ralston stepped into the House of Lords in Westminster. With his scarlet fur-trimmed coat he blended in with the other lords seated on red-leather benches. Sunlight from the stained-glass windows streamed across the magnificent chamber. At the upper end stood the king’s throne, a gilded and carved chair. Situated beside it was the woolsack, the seat of the Lord Speaker of the House. Colorful tapestries depicting the battle in which the English defeated the Spanish Armada decorated the walls.

It was the first reading of his child labor bill, simply a time to introduce the measure, and he was prepared. The first reading was a formality, and debate was usually not allowed. Afterwards, he knew he would have to garner support for the second reading.

He’d left Berkley Square well before Nora had arisen. He understood she would be exhausted after a long wedding day, and he’d left his staff instructions not to disturb her. He hoped she’d slept well on her first night in her new home. He, on the other hand, hadn’t slept much at all. Rather than think of his proposed bill, he’d thought of his bride asleep a chamber away. He’d sworn marriage would not change his normal routine, not even a wrinkle, yet here he was on the cusp of the bill’s introduction, and he was thinking of his wife and if she’d slept well.

He forced himself to focus as the Speaker made the announcement. ‘My lords, the Earl of Ralston requests the floor.’

All eyes turned to him as he rose. ‘My fellow lords, I hereby introduce my bill to address the exploitation of our society’s most vulnerable, our youth. The Cotton Mills Act proposes that no child under the age of nine shall be employed in textile mills and no child from the ages ten to sixteen shall work more than twelve hours a day. This bill is a compassionate, modest measure and long overdue.’

Lord Weber, a fair-haired man of average height and weight, close to Ralston’s age, rose and was called to attention. ‘My lords, Lord Ralston, though well meaning, is proposing a bill that should cause alarm and should not have made the docket today. It is fiscally irresponsible and in direct conflict with our free market. I say his “modest measure” would cost us all inordinately high coat prices at our tailor’s.’

A good number of lords laughed at Lord Weber’s statement.

Ralston was surprised, not at his opponent’s argument but at the timing. Debate was usually reserved for the second reading of a bill. As for the man, Ralston knew Lord Weber. They’d gone to Oxford together and Weber was a snob. He frequently opposed bills that aided the lower classes of society. He’d opposed a bill to increase funding to the Royal Hospital Chelsea where many elderly veteran soldiers resided. Another to ban bone crushing in poorhouses and a third to prohibit factory smoke on Sundays. Weber was also closely aligned with the owners of London’s textile mills.

Ralston kept his voice firm as he responded. ‘Lord Weber, are you suggesting our lucrative mills would cease to exist without the backbreaking labor of children? If so, then perhaps you own one coat too many.’

More chuckling from the lords.

‘There are other reasons to consider.’ Weber’s smile did not reach his eyes. ‘These children you champion—poor, orphaned and without prospect—do not require the interference of Parliament. They require work and discipline. The mills provide both which they do not receive at home. Otherwise, they will resort to beggary and in many cases crime.’

Ralston had anticipated this weak argument. He also understood that the vote would be split. If Lord Weber garnered additional support, Ralston would have an uphill battle.

‘You suggest that employing a five-year-old child for fourteen hours a day in soot and filth and dangerous conditions is discipline? Or is it exploitation?’ Ralston faced the other lords, making eye contact with several as he spoke. ‘England is the leader of the world. Can we not do better? Can we not offer compassion with commerce?’