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“Like that I always brush my teeth—”
“No, ten interesting things.” Though she was alarmed to discover she would like to know his daily routines too. What did he do before and after their walks?
“Not an objective standard. Who will judge the interest of what I say?” He offered her his arm and they continued walking together, the horses now quietly grazing.
“I will,” she declared. “And if I think what you offer isn’t good enough, then I have the right to ask a question, and you must answer.” She could find out everything that she wanted to know about him.
They drew to a stop at an opening to the lake where the view opened out.
“Ten things about me.” He breathed in and focused on the horizon, as though this were a trial to be endured. “One, I would do anything for my friends or my family. Two, my favorite color is red. Three, I wake every day at five. Four, my favorite flower is a rose. I have a whole border at our Herefordshire estate that I planted when I was a child. Five, I drink coffee in the morning and cannot function without it. Six, I broke my leg when I was ten, and that was when I learned to love reading books. Seven, my father threatened to cut off my allowance when I was at university, and that was when I decided to go into business. Eight, I have seen a ghost. Nine, I know many men wish to inherit their titles, but I dread my father’s death. Ten… I find balls incredibly tedious, except when an intriguing lady, in the most awful dress, is stepping on my toes.”
“That was eight interesting things and two very dull things. You owe me the answers to two interesting questions.”
“They were all interesting things.” He turned his attention back to her. “But I will trade you a question for a question.”
“Duke said you were in business. What do you sell?”
“That is quite dull, or so people tell me.” He removed his hat and dragged a hand through his hair. “My company sells a new way of ironing clothes. Usually, you risk a mishap with a hot iron on your delicate embroidery or lace. My linen press will never harm your clothes. You simply place the items in between plates, then wind down the screw.” He pushed his hat back onto his head and mimed turning something large around. “To exert pressure and flatten out the creases. A few hours later, your delicate linen is flat and undamaged by heat. And your maid isn’t complaining that her arms are going to fall off from ironing.”
She couldn’t have been more surprised than if he told her he built stairs to the moon. “Where did you learn about laundry?”
“University reading Classics didn’t suit me,” he said with a shrug. “I liked spending time with the servants of the College. I used to help with the ironing, but it was dreadful. I burnt through two of my compatriots’ shirts and had to replace them from my own pocket. But worse were the burns I saw on the laundrymaid’s hands.” He hesitated.
“I’ve always been good at building things. When my father threatened to cut me off because I was skipping lectures, I began to hoard my allowance. Eventually, I left Oxford with a second-class degree and a working sample of my invention. From there it was merely a case of sorting manufacture, and traveling across the country and to the continent selling the invention.”
He said it like it was nothing. Just the thing that all young aristocratic men did, like going on a Grand Tour.
“That’s not boring.” It was a bit discomfiting though, for a different reason.
“It is, you’re too kind.” But there was relief in his eyes.
“You must meet a lot of women in your work. Housemaids, and housekeepers, and wives who manage the domestic affairs.” So many opportunities for a man as physically beautiful as him. A jealous creature unfurled its claws in her chest.
“Sometimes,” he agreed casually.
“How many lovers have you had?” she blurted out.
“I’ve never kept a tally,” he replied calmly, as though this was the sort of question a well-bred lady asked a gentleman at least once a week. “But you shouldn’t ask questions that you might not like the answer to.”
It was a high number, then. He was right. The creature in her chest was digging its pin-sharp claws into her heart.
“I do want to know,” she insisted. She wasn’t convincing him, to judge from his expression, so she must have been trying to convince herself. “Can you remember all their names?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me their names.” She’d lost her mind. Acknowledging she was interested in Mr. Stanton—Emmett—had opened the front door to a storm and now she was swept away like a leaf in the wind. She needed to know everything about him, particularly the most intimate details.
“No.”
“But—”
“A gentleman does not kiss and tell. Not even to his future wife.” He softened the words by catching her hand in his, toying with her fingers. The creature in her chest purred.
“I’m not your future wife. I’m your fiancée.”
“All the more reason not to tell you other ladies’ secrets. I hope other men would show you the same courtesy. How many lovers have you had?”
He assumed she’d had lovers. She ought to be offended, but instead his question made her feel very inexperienced and naive.
