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“You’ve the same wit as that lady,” Lord Reginald said. “It’s strange how that is the aspect of you which appears to be the most consistent.”
“You don’t believe that ladies who are tired can be witty?”
He smiled and turned his gaze to the sky. His profile was magnificent, and Marcella’s throat went dry the longer she looked at him, her eyes tracing the line of his strong jaw. “Ah, well. I’m not particularly witty when I’m tired. I suppose that I erroneously assumed that all people in the world were like me.”
There was a depreciative humor in the words, a dryness that Marcella’s lips twitched at. Lord Reginald seemed quite likable when he was in good humor.
“You seem quite different from the gentlemen I met, too,” Marcella said, her façade slipping just a little. “You seem more gentlemanly now.”
And gentlemen didn’t engage in inappropriate behavior with ladies in gardens. Marcella, a bit guiltily, glanced at her lady’s maid, obediently chaperoning them. If anything untoward happened, Jane would most certainly tell.
“I’ve become more comfortable with being myself,” he replied.
“I very much doubt that.”
A silence stretched between them, so heavy and uncomfortable that Marcella felt as if it might be a physical weight settling around her shoulders.
“Why do you doubt it?” Lord Reginald asked.
If there was one aspect, above all others, which was not highly valued in women, it was bluntness. Brutal honesty.
“It’s quite apparent to me that you’re only putting on the performance of a gentleman in the hopes of wooing me,” Marcella said. “Acting does not change who you really are, no matter how much you may wish otherwise.”
Lord Reginald clenched his jaw. Marcella watched, anticipation causing a tightness in her chest. She expected that the young Marquess would either storm off, leaving her to finish the walk with Lord Brookshire or Adeline, or else that he’d say something scathing. She wouldn’t have minded if he’d kissed her like angry heroes always irrationally did in the novels she’d read, although Marcella knew that reaction would be most unlikely. Instead, his shoulders seemed to slump a little. He looked suddenly so very tired, and Marcella felt a small shred of guilt for deceiving him.
He looked so handsome and tragic, like some fallen rake. Marcella’s head spun with the rumors she’d heard. He was a vagabond. That made her heart quicken and blood roar in her ears. He was exciting. Different. Even if she didn’t wish to marry him, she felt as if there was some integral part of her which wanted to know everything about him. She wanted him to touch her, to make her tremble.
“I know that acting doesn’t make me a gentleman,” Lord Reginald said at last. “It is my hope, My Lady, that if I act well enough that I’ll eventually be able to turn myself into a better man, one who is worthy of you.”
I don’t think I’ve ever had a man feel as though he needed to be worthy of me.
“A Marquess would never be an unworthy match,” Marcella said.
“Worth isn’t measured in titles alone. In fact, I’m not sure if worthcanbe measured in a title. Is being born into a high position with great wealth really something which gives a manworth?”
Marcella frowned, and although she didn’t look at Lord Reginald, she sensed his eyes on her. “How very profound,” she said sincerely.
There were so many questions she wanted to ask and debate, though. Of course, she understood that Reginald would understand wealth differently from herself. His experience living as he had would’ve given him quite a different outlook from thetonand even Marcella herself, but Marcella feared that if she showed any interest in Lord Reginald’s words, her mask would slip. She couldn’t allow that to happen.
“Do you like London?” Lord Reginald asked. “I’m sure you’ve been there often, particularly during the Season.”
What a disappointing change in topic.
“Of course. I immensely enjoy the balls.”
“And yet you complained about the ball which I hosted, a ball to celebrate your own engagement. I find that to be a fascinating contradiction.”
He’d caught her there. “Humans are contradictions,” Marcella replied. “Sometimes, we wish to be proper and to abide by society’s rules, and other times, we wish to…do things which we shouldn’t.”
Her face grew hot. She scarcely even dared put anameto the wicked deeds which she was thinking about, which her mind was fantasizing.
Lord Reginald halted abruptly, and Marcella started, stumbling a bit. Because her arm was linked with his, she had to either stop or risk falling. She chose the former and tipped her chin imperiously up. Lord Reginald moved closer to her, shifting so he faced her. Marcella still kept her hand on his arm, and her heart hammered against her ribs, like a bird trapped in a cage. She was too aware of her lady’s maid walking behind them, but she couldn’t force herself to pull away.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her words softer than she’d intended them to be.
He tilted his head and leaned forward. For a wild moment, Marcella thought he might be preparing to kiss her. Heat spread to her face, and her stomach felt as though it was filled with butterflies. Every part of her was simultaneously light and tense, awaiting to see what would occur. He wasn’t a proper gentleman. He might not realize it was improper to kiss her, and she ought to say something—
A small part of her was curious, though, to know how that improper declaration of affection would feel. She’d read about kisses so many times, and when Marcella searched her mind, trying to find a heroine’s example to follow, she found none. They’d all pull away and be mortified. But what would it be like? Would kissing feel like the same heat which kept pulsing in her blood? The same fire which quickened her heart?
