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“No need to dust off your dueling pistols. I daresay you are the only libertine with whom I am familiar.”
“Hmm.” Another sip of his drink. “Let’s discuss Lord Crawford.”
She stiffened. “No.”
“Frederica, you—”
Rebellion surged inside her. “I will not marry that man!”
Those eyes, so penetrating and unflinching, settled on her. “That man is a viscount with an income of twenty thousand pounds per year. He has no bad reputation or debt following him, and he has expressed a sincere interest in your hand. Why do you refuse him?”
Her heart pounding, she closed the book and jerked to her feet. “You forget to mention he is a widower with three children, who has told me he likes that I am plain in the face, for it means I will not be tempted by others to behave scandalously. The gossips speak about his first wife and her great beauty and all the lovers she paraded with about town.”
His expression smoothed. “You would allow gossip to influence your decision?”
“I am using my heart, and it does not long for him!” She fisted a hand on her hip. “I’ve told you, if you are this insistent on me being married off, you marry me, Your Lordship.”
Amusement slanted his mouth, and she sniffed.
“You believe saying you’ll marry only me will have me shaking in my boots like a lad, hmmm?” He came over to her and used a lone finger to tilt her chin. “I am your guardian, and you will do as I say. Idle threats and stubbornness will not sway me from my duty.”
Their eyes met, and she was painfully aware of his touch on her chin. An aching awareness of him and that they were intimately alone shot through her. If the world had not seen him as her legal guardian, from this encounter alone, she would have been irrevocably ruined. Frederica took a step closer to him. His eyes flared at her actions, and she lifted her chin. “I dare you to make me.”
This time he laughed, and chucked her under her chin gently, as her brother often did. The familiar action brought a lump to her throat and reminded her that the marquess saw her as little Freddie. “Why do the rumors say you will never marry?”
“I have no desire for matrimony.”
She considered his words. He was decidedly wicked, with an air of dangerous sensuality surrounding him and a reputation for being a flirt and a rake. But he was more than his reputation, as evidenced by the fact many mothers still tried to toss their daughters at his feet. The marquess was also known for his shrewdness in business investments, his brilliance on the floor of the House of Lords, where he was frequently lauded for always championing the motions that supported reform for poorer citizens. It wasn’t only the scandal sheets she devoured when they mentioned his name but also the political tracts. “Did someone break your heart?”
He contemplated that for a moment longer. “Does a man need to be wounded to decide not to marry?” he drawled with amusement. “I enjoy being a bachelor, and I am not tempted by the wedded state.”
She buried the foolish ache inside her heart, scoffing at herself. The marquess had never given her any encouragement for her to feel any sort of disappointment. Yet she could not pretend she did not have feelings for her guardian, nor did she want to love or hope in vain. Frederica went over to the mantle and poured herself a glass of sherry. He stared at the glass, a small frown on his face, but he did not protest her choice of drink. She hid her smile into the glass as she took a sip. Perhaps she needed to shake things up a bit, do something…anything…to let him see that she was a woman and not a little girl.
Frederica would not have thought like this a few months ago. Then she had been shy, even around the marquess, and London had seemed too large and overwhelming. At her first ball, he had gallantly stood up with her. After sitting out several sets for no gentleman asked her, she had been thrilled to be dancing and with someone so dashing and sought after. Many had stared with clear envy, and that had made her feel as if she floated on air. To her great mortification, Frederica had stepped on his toes and even knocked her forehead on his chin. The marquess had tried to reassure her all was well, but she had been too humiliated to listen and had fled the ballroom to the gardens, where she had burst into tears.
It was there she met Lady Charity Rutherford, who had invited her to call upon 48 Berkeley Square the following day. Frederica visited and had found a place where she felt as if she belonged. She’d learned to dance beautifully without the condemning eyes of the ton looking on. She’d improved her natural talent at watercolors, discovered the art of fencing, and was currently learning about investments. She had established the powerful bonds of sisterhood and a deep, abiding friendship with several ladies.
At 48 Berkeley Square, Frederica had grown to ignore the discomfort of being mocked as a wallflower and the pain of being overlooked by many. She loved to read. That she was only pretty and shorter than most other ladies did not make her inferior. She’d learned when a lady wanted something that seemed beyond her reach, one must dare to go beyond the bounds of propriety and the roles they were taught to abide by from high society.
Life was too fleeting and precious to live only at the whim of others. She owned to all impulses and cravings most young ladies had. She eventually wanted a kind and loving husband, to be the mistress of her own home, and have delightful children. With someone she loved and respected, a gentleman who would feel for her in the same regard.
She certainly could not sit and agonize over what might have happened if only she had dared a little. Frederica did not want to reflect on her life years from now and think back with longing and despair, if only she had kissed him even once, or found the gumption to dance with him again, or confessed her burgeoning feelings for him. For without a doubt, she was captivated by her guardian, the most fascinating man she had ever met in her life.
Life must be lived, not endured.
She did not want to live with regrets. Still, a lady must have a plan. As the poet Virgil said ‘Audentis Fortuna iuvat.’ Fortune favors the bold, and in her situation, surely a wallflower who dared to be wicked would surely find success.
