Page 113 of The Dueling Duchess

Guy considered his next words carefully. “Well, as a young man who is dependent—”

“A position that came with a wife.”

Guy kept his mouth shut; after all, what could he say?

She glared at something—or somebody—not in the room. “It was better I found out his true colors now rather than waiting.”

“So, if he’s no longer a consideration, then why, er . . .”

“Why did I jilt your cousin?” she asked tartly.

“Yes.”

Revulsion flickered across her face. “There is something . . . not right about him.” She cut him a quick glance. “Not meaning to give offense—”

“Please, say whatever you like about him—it shan’t offend me. Did he, er, do something?” he demanded, not sure he wanted to hear the answer, which might mean he’d need to meet the bounder at dawn.

“Oh, no, nothing like that. But—and I know you probably will think this female foolishness—but he gives me a bad feeling.”

As it happened, Guy didn’t think that foolish at all. “I think that is self-preservation at work. Did you say this to your father?”

“Father believes I am just willful. That I wanted to marry Gerald and would do anything to get what I wanted. But that isn’t true. I’m not foolish—I know life is not easy for most people.”

“That makes you smarter than me.” At her curious look, Guy explained. “Not until I took a job with the Fayre did I realize just how difficult life is for the average Englishman. And woman.” And child, he could have added, thinking about poor Cat and her miserable existence.

“So,” he said, “do you have some sort of plan—other than to work as a governess the rest of your life, that is?”

“I don’t know. But I do know I will no longer marry whomever my father chooses.”

“Couldn’t you have told him that and remained in your own home? ”

“I did tell him that. You don’t understand,” she said. “He would wear away at me day in and day out until I capitulated.”

Guy knew the type—his mother was something of an expert at the erosion approach, too.

“Cecile needs to know the truth.”

“So soon?”

“Yes. I owe her that much and I do not wish to anger her any more than I already have. You know how I feel about her.”

“I know. And I don’t wish to cause problems between the two of you.”

“Yes, thank you for that because I can cause plenty of trouble on my own. You do realize that your father probably has every Bow Street runner in London hunting for you?”

“I know. I took . . . precautions when I left.”

“You mean the hair and glasses.”

“No, I mean I left a trail leading elsewhere. He is looking for me—I know that because my old nurse is the one who helped me, and she still lives in my father’s house—but he believes I’ve gone to Newcastle to try to stop Gerald’s impending wedding. He would never imagine that I would come here—especially not with you here.”

He chuckled. “Yes, that was good thinking. But the Newcastle ruse probably won’t occupy him for long.”

“I know. I’ve taken care of that. I promise I won’t jeopardize Miss Tremblay.”

“If your father discovers you here, there is no saying how angry he might be or what he might do to punish her.”

The way she looked at him told him she knew exactly what he was saying. Her father was one of the most feared, heartless, and vindictive men in business. Guy would never want to cross the man, and he certainly wouldn’t want to involve Cecile in such trouble.