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“I’m sorry to hear that,” she told him, softly. She offered her hand to him, which he took, so she drew him back to the bench.
Sitting beside her again, he continued, “My mother died when I was young. She was in poor spirits and quite ill for some time. I have never been able to let go of the idea that she died from my father’s treatment of her.”
Lydia squeezed his hand comfortingly.
“Something he said to me, though, stuck with me, even after I was an adult. He tried to explain his treatment of her, saying, ‘Men will be driven wild by their passion for women that do not deserve it.’”
“What did he mean by that?”
“He meant to say that my mother did not deserve to be treated respectfully. And in the same thinking, me as well. So when my father was on his deathbed, I made him a promise.”
“What promise?” she asked in a whisper.
“I promised him that I would not marry, and I would not produce an heir to continue our lineage.”
She gasped in shock, covering her mouth with her hands.
“So, you see, I made him a promise, and since that day, I have upheld it. Do you see now?”
“Since you will not marry, you have decided to live a life of pleasure, indulging yourself to find happiness,” she asked, trying to confirm.
“Indeed,” he responded. He traced his thumb over her lip, slowly and softly. “However -”
“However?” she breathed, watching him.
He cupped his hand around her jaw, leaning in toward her. Softly, he pressed his lips against hers, sweetly and chastely. Her heart raced in her chest, wishing that he would press his mouth more firmly against hers, wrap his arms around her, or pull her against him. She leaned forward, but he pulled back.
Standing again, he offered his hand to her. She took it and he led her from the nook, back onto the wide paths of the garden. He wrapped her hand around his arm as they walked slowly side by side, as though they were coming out of a dream. She wanted to break the silence, but she did not want to lose the memory of how his lips felt against hers.
“I must admit, though, I have grown tired of the life of indulgences,” he said, at last.
“Is that so?” she asked.
He smiled down on her. “Yes. I spent many years, running amuck in London. The past few years, though, I am finding myself enjoying more the quiet of country life.”
She smiled back at him. However, she could not help but to feel disappointment at his admission. The small hope that she had that he might actually be interested in her faded.
“I think I have found a new perspective of you,” Michael said.
“Is that so?”
“Mmm.”
“Tell me.”
He grinned. “Everyone said how virtuous and demur you were, a perfect wallflower in society. But I see it was all a ploy.”
He took her hand that laid on his arm and kissed it, before placing it back on his arm. Seeing how tenderly, how sweetly, he treated her, she fought to tell herself that it was just a ruse. Looking into his eyes, though, she could not help but feel that he was truly enjoying being in her company.
She wanted him to want her, to kiss her. Even though she knew better than to want him to touch her, she could not fight the desire building in her heart and in her body. Her skin felt alive where her hand rested on his arm.
Thinking how he had just said that country life had been more attractive to him than city debauchery as of late, she wondered if perhaps he needed to see true love. Thinking of her parents’ marriage, and how much love they shared when her father was alive, she wished that she could show him how good a true relationship could be.
“Well, my ploy has backfired,” she said wryly.
“You are walking arm in arm with a duke,” he reminded her. “And I will not forget my promise to you to help you find an advantageous match by the end of the Season.”
“I think that I might have a new perspective on you, as well.”
