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Reginald crossed his arms. “I’m not entirely sure that exists.”
“Because of decorum,” Lady Marcella replied. “Yes, I recall your philosophy on the matter.”
“You seemed to find it compelling that night.”
“I did, but now, I wonder if you’re truly just a rake, My Lord.”
Reginald heard a muffled gasp from his valet. Indeed, most gentlemen probably would’ve been offended at being called a rake, but Reginald wasn’t even entirely sure if he could disagree with Lady Marcella’s assessment. He was rougher than a gentleman ought to be, and everything he’d learned while living in the poorest part of London seemed only to drive him further away from the young lord who he was supposed to be.
He had the sudden, wild idea of showing her how rakish he could be. A rake would have no qualms with letting his gaze linger openly on her slender form. He imagined pressing her against those same bookshelves and pressing his lips against hers. And in his mind, she quivered with desire and curled her fingers in his hair, silently begging for more attention.
“Some ladies quite enjoy rakes,” he said, careful not to let his expression show his untoward thoughts. “I wonder if you are one of them, Lady Marcella, and if you’ve some ulterior motive of drawing that improper side out of me.”
“What a preposterous thing to say,” she replied. “I would never settle for anything less than a proper lord. Nor should I have to, as a young lady who comes from a respectable family.”
Her respectable family didn’t matter nearly as much as her family’s fortune, but Reginald didn’t dare say so. Whatever Lady Marcella’s feelings might be, Reginald knew enough of women to know that none of them would feel very charitable to a man who admitted to only desiring them for their money. He was supposed to be courting her anyway, which meant being patient and offering sweet words.
“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Reginald replied. “Indeed, I hope that I can craft myself into the perfect gentleman you were to be pledged to. I would never want to displease you or mar your reputation.”
Those were the proper words to say, but Reginald felt utterly ridiculous expressing them. He sounded hollow and rehearsed, as if he’d conversed with his libertine friends about how to court a lady. That was because the only courtship he’d really witnessed had been between Matthew and Emma, and Reginald was quite sure that falling upon his rear in front of a cemetery would not have the same desirable effect in his situation.
“The library is nice,” Lady Marcella said. “It’s a pity that I can’t marry the books.”
“No,” Reginald said, “but once we’re married, you could begin building a library of your own if you so desire it. Would that please you?”
A flicker of hesitation crossed Lady Marcella’s eyes. Her attention snapped back to the books. “Yes, I think it would. Very much so.”
Reginald nodded. Finally, he’d gleaned something of her interests. If he could keep Lady Marcella talking about books, he’d survive the courtship, after all. But what precisely had happened? She’d seemed so lively for just a moment. Was she only pretending to be this horribly haughty lady, and to what end? Nothing about Lady Marcella made sense.
“You could fill it with whichever books you wanted,” Reginald said. “What do you like to read?”
“Everything,” she replied.
The answer was vague, but there was a hopeful earnestness behind it. Lady Marcella probably fancied herself a scholar, and being unable to attend a university, she’d sought her refuge in books. Reginald could easily see how the lady’s story might unfold before him. He couldn’t recall either Lady Marcella’s father or stepmother being avid intellectuals. Lord Castamere was a clever, shrewd man, but he didn’t have the sort ofdriveto learn. Not like Lady Marcella.
The wheels began to turn in Reginald’s head, all the comments about Lady Marcella being odd, her love of books, and her cold behavior. Perhaps she’d already come to the conclusion that he only wanted to marry her for her money.
If so, it’s no wonder that she’s so cold towards me.
Reginald felt a deep sense of shame. This poor lady had probably anticipated a loveless marriage was inevitable, so what reason did she have for being enthusiastic about it?
“When we are married,” Reginald said gently, “You shall have a library which is the envy of every man and woman in all of London. I’ll make sure of it, and we’ll have great balls, where we invite all the brightest scholars and most talented artists in Britain.”
Lady Marcella offered him a small smile in return. “It sounds like a lovely idea.”
Yes, but what was he meant to follow the remark with? Reginald’s mind raced in an effort to summon something acceptable to say. He’d not anticipated that Lady Marcella might be pleased by something like this, and his own education was woefully inadequate. It had been so very long since he’d had to think about high culture.
“Do you like the arts?” Reginald asked. “We can attend the opera in London, and we’ll go to the theater often.”
“I like both of them,” Lady Marcella confessed. “I like stories, primarily. Perhaps, too much.”
“There’s no such thing as liking stories too much, Lady Marcella. Even in Southwark, we enjoyed a good story, and I spun my share of them over pints of beer.”
She blinked at him, looking startled. “Is that where you were? Southwark?”
“You didn’t know?”
Lady Marcella’s gaze seemed suddenly intense, and Reginald had the strangest sensation that she could see every part of him, all the way down to his soul with her lovely eyes. “I had guessed Southwark and the gossip said Southwark, but all I know is that when your father found you, you were living as a vagabond in London.”
“That’s all?”
She nodded. “What really happened, My Lord? It seems like something which you would’ve mentioned before now. How else am I to know if you have some dreadful secret hidden in your past?”
More than anyone else, she ought to know. Lady Marcella was meant to be his wife, after all. If she knew the whole truth, this would never work. A proper lady like her would never marry him knowing all the terrible things he’d done while living on his own.
“Nothing exciting,” he said. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but all the rumors are wrong.”
“I see,” she replied.
Lady Marcella clearly didn’t believe him, and she’d made no effort to conceal her disbelief. Inevitably, the truth would come out, but Reginald couldn’t let that happen just yet.
