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Marcus couldn’t keep his eyes off Lizbeth again. Although he’d told her she looked beautiful when she was a mess from crying, he’d truly meant it. It wasn’t just her countenance that made her lovely, but her smile, the way she carried herself, and most of all the courage she’d shown since her abduction, that made her beautiful.
But now with her change of clothes, along with the perky hat that sat on her head, she once again looked as beautiful as when they carried her from the brothel.
Her tears over her brother had torn him up inside. His feelings for her were growing every day. He was not happy if she was unhappy. He was not calm if she was nervous, and he was terrified if she was in danger.
“How do you find working at the bookstore?” Marcus asked as he assessed the traffic when they reached the edge of the pavement. He moved them forward when there was a break in the vehicles.
“I love working there. I have always favored reading, and to be able to handle books all day is such a treat. And when we are not busy, I get to read.”
“I must stop in there one day. Reading
is also a favorite pastime of mine. And I’m sorry to say I only visited Once Upon a Book twice when my sister owned the place.”
They remained silent for a few minutes, then Lizbeth turned to him. “May I ask you a question that might seem rude, but if you will forgive me my impertinence and answer it, I would be grateful.” She grinned. “Oh, my, that was quite a mouthful, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. That was indeed quite a speech. I dread to think what you have in mind.”
She waited a few more minutes, and just when he thought she had changed her mind, she spoke. “I am not, and have never been, part of the upper crust.” She turned toward him. “The sort of people I know you socialize with in London.”
He smiled. “Ah. The Beau Monde. Also known as the ton. Or the Upper Ten Thousand.”
“Yes. That group.”
“You might say that. My father’s oldest brother is an earl, and Mother’s father was a baron. So, we are members of the ton. And as such I have attended a number of events.” He looked down at her. “Is that what you are referring to?”
Perhaps Lizbeth wanted to attend one of the many balls and routs she was asking about. Although he would be happy to escort her to any event she would like if they had reason to be in London, with her sweet countenance and honesty, many of the other young women would eat her up.
“Yes, that is what I mean. I know Addie had a difficult time with it, but she mentioned you were quite…popular.”
Bells went off in his head. He’d spent several years working on his reputation as a rake. He’d enjoyed numerous liaisons, although he shied away from married women. He’d had mistresses on and off and spent time and money in the gaming halls and gentlemen’s clubs.
He’d never been involved in public drunkenness or races in Hyde Park in his curricle. Having to work each day in his father’s businesses did curtail his carousing a bit from some of his friends who continued to eschew work and carry on as gentlemen, even though many of them were having a hard time maintaining their estates.
Thinking—and hoping—that perhaps he was off on what she was referring to, he said, “Yes. I was invited to many social events.” He shrugged. “I guess you could say I was on most hostesses’ list.”
“I see.” They continued to walk. “But that isn’t exactly what I meant.”
That’s what he was afraid of. They crossed another street and Marcus turned them toward the area where the tea shop was. “What, exactly, then, did you mean?”
“Addie mentioned, and so did Pamela—not that we were talking about you, please understand—that…”
“That what?” He was almost sure he knew what she was dithering about, but in the oft chance he was wrong, he kept his mouth closed and let her have her say.
She brought them to an abrupt stop. “That you are a known rake, have had numerous affairs, dozens of mistresses, and attend questionable parties.” With the last few words, she dragged them forward, her face a bright red.
“I see.” How the devil was he to answer those charges? While he enjoyed bedding more than a few women, he would hardly say he’d had numerous affairs and dozens of mistresses. Perhaps in his younger days, fresh from University, there were several parties he would never want to see his sister at, but all gentlemen delved into that area at least once in their life. Didn’t they?
He cleared his throat. “You must understand that the life of a young man in the ton—”
“Did you?”
“Did I what?” Perhaps ignorance would help to at least give him some time to form a truthful answer without making him look like some sort of dissipated scoundrel.
She offered him a slight smile. “I think you are avoiding the question.”
They reached the tea shop and he was grateful for the interruption while they were greeted, seated, and approached by the server. Once their order had been placed, Lizbeth folded her hands on the table and looked him square in the eye. “I am still waiting for my answer.”
“That’s what I am afraid of,” he mumbled to himself. Then, he quelled the urge to run his finger around the edge of his cravat, which suddenly felt much too snug. “I led the typical life of a young man of the ton. I attended a number of social events, like balls, routs, garden parties, and house parties.”
