Never Judge a Lady by Her Cover
Page 54
Nor would he have imagined how much the information would bother him or how much he wished to wipe the memory of the man from her mind.
To replace him.
He resisted the thought. For a dozen years – longer – Duncan had sworn off women who requested intensity of any kind. He was opposed to anything that might end in a desire for something more than a fleeting fancy, than a mutual arrangement designed solely for the pleasure of both parties.
Commitment was not in the cards for Duncan West.
It could not be. Ever.
Because he would never saddle another person with his secrets, which loomed large and ever-threatening, always a heartbeat away from revelation and ruin. He would never leave another with the shadow of his past, with the punishment that would no doubt be his future.
It was the only noble thing he could ever do – staying himself from commitment.
Keeping himself from love.
And so, he should not care if Lady Georgiana Pearson loved the father of her daughter. It mattered not a bit to him, or to his future. The only way the man was in any way relevant to Duncan’s life was if he were revealed – thus requiring column inches in Duncan’s newspapers.
No, he should not care. And he did not.
Except he did. Ever so slightly.
“What happened to him?”
She did not pretend to misunderstand. “Nothing happened. He never intended to stay.”
“Is he alive?”
She hesitated, and he watched her consider lying. “He is.”
“You love him.”
She took a deep breath and released it, as though the conversation had gone too far in a direction and she was not prepared to follow. Which, it occurred to him, was very likely the situation.
“Why don’t you know how to dance?” she asked quietly, staring intently into the darkness.
The question and the way it twisted the conversation irritated him. “Why is it relevant?”
“The past is always relevant,” she said simply before she faced him. Utterly calm. As though they discussed the weather. “I would like to teach you to dance.”
The words were barely out when a boisterous group of revelers spilled onto the balcony, crossing paths with the group that had been there when he had found Georgiana. Making a quick, barely calculated decision, Duncan seized the opportunity for escape, clasping Georgiana’s elbow and guiding her quickly and silently into the darkness at the edge of the space, where a set of stone steps led down into the gardens.
Within seconds, they had left the ball, without being seen.
He moved them around a corner of the great stone house, into the darkness, where anyone who saw them would have secrets of his own to hide.
Once there, in the shadows, she said, “How will we return?”
“We won’t,” he replied.
“We must. I’ve a cloak. And a chaperone. And a reputation to uphold. And you’ve promised to help do just that.”
“I am taking you home.”
“That isn’t as easy as you would think.”
“I’ve a carriage and I am familiar with the location of your brother’s estate.”
“I don’t live there,” she said, leaning up against the dark wall of the house, watching him in the darkness. “I live at the Angel.”
“No,” he said, “Anna lives at the Angel.”
“She’s not the only one.”
The statement grated. “You mean Chase.” She did not reply, and he added, “He lives at the Angel?”
“Most nights,” she said, so simply that he had to bite his tongue to hold back his retort.
She clearly sensed his irritation. “Why does it make you so angry? My life?”
“Because this didn’t have to be your life, nights spent on the floor of the casino. Carrying messages for Chase.”
“To and from you,” she pointed out.
Guilt flared. She was not wrong. “For what it’s worth, I’ve an excellent reason for tonight’s message. And I was not going to ask you to deliver it.”
“What is it?”
He could not tell her that his sister was in danger. Could not bring her any closer to the knowledge that he and Tremley were more than passing acquaintances. If Chase knew how much the Tremley file was worth to him, he might hold it ransom. And Cynthia would be more and more in danger.
“It’s not relevant to our discussion. My point is —”
“Your point is that you believe there was a life of tea and quadrilles waiting for me at the end of some path not chosen. Your point is that Chase has ruined me.”
“As a matter of fact, it is.”
She laughed at that. “Then you have forgotten what it is Society does to young women in my particular situation.”
“You could have survived it,” he said.
“No. I couldn’t have.” The words were so matter-of-fact, it was almost as though she weren’t the victim of fate at all.
“You could have done this ages ago. Married.”
She raised a brow. “I could have, but I would have hated it.” She paused. “What would you say if I told you that this was my choice? That I wanted this life?”
“I wouldn’t believe you. No one chooses exclusion. No one chooses ruination. You have fallen victim to a powerful man who has kept you in his pocket for too long, and now refuses to release you fully.”
“You’re wrong. I chose this life,” she said, and he almost believed her. “Chase saved me.”
Hatred flared at the words, the words of a woman in too deep. A woman who cared too much to see the truth. A woman who —
To replace him.
He resisted the thought. For a dozen years – longer – Duncan had sworn off women who requested intensity of any kind. He was opposed to anything that might end in a desire for something more than a fleeting fancy, than a mutual arrangement designed solely for the pleasure of both parties.
Commitment was not in the cards for Duncan West.
It could not be. Ever.
Because he would never saddle another person with his secrets, which loomed large and ever-threatening, always a heartbeat away from revelation and ruin. He would never leave another with the shadow of his past, with the punishment that would no doubt be his future.
It was the only noble thing he could ever do – staying himself from commitment.
Keeping himself from love.
And so, he should not care if Lady Georgiana Pearson loved the father of her daughter. It mattered not a bit to him, or to his future. The only way the man was in any way relevant to Duncan’s life was if he were revealed – thus requiring column inches in Duncan’s newspapers.
No, he should not care. And he did not.
Except he did. Ever so slightly.
“What happened to him?”
She did not pretend to misunderstand. “Nothing happened. He never intended to stay.”
“Is he alive?”
She hesitated, and he watched her consider lying. “He is.”
“You love him.”
She took a deep breath and released it, as though the conversation had gone too far in a direction and she was not prepared to follow. Which, it occurred to him, was very likely the situation.
“Why don’t you know how to dance?” she asked quietly, staring intently into the darkness.
The question and the way it twisted the conversation irritated him. “Why is it relevant?”
“The past is always relevant,” she said simply before she faced him. Utterly calm. As though they discussed the weather. “I would like to teach you to dance.”
The words were barely out when a boisterous group of revelers spilled onto the balcony, crossing paths with the group that had been there when he had found Georgiana. Making a quick, barely calculated decision, Duncan seized the opportunity for escape, clasping Georgiana’s elbow and guiding her quickly and silently into the darkness at the edge of the space, where a set of stone steps led down into the gardens.
Within seconds, they had left the ball, without being seen.
He moved them around a corner of the great stone house, into the darkness, where anyone who saw them would have secrets of his own to hide.
Once there, in the shadows, she said, “How will we return?”
“We won’t,” he replied.
“We must. I’ve a cloak. And a chaperone. And a reputation to uphold. And you’ve promised to help do just that.”
“I am taking you home.”
“That isn’t as easy as you would think.”
“I’ve a carriage and I am familiar with the location of your brother’s estate.”
“I don’t live there,” she said, leaning up against the dark wall of the house, watching him in the darkness. “I live at the Angel.”
“No,” he said, “Anna lives at the Angel.”
“She’s not the only one.”
The statement grated. “You mean Chase.” She did not reply, and he added, “He lives at the Angel?”
“Most nights,” she said, so simply that he had to bite his tongue to hold back his retort.
She clearly sensed his irritation. “Why does it make you so angry? My life?”
“Because this didn’t have to be your life, nights spent on the floor of the casino. Carrying messages for Chase.”
“To and from you,” she pointed out.
Guilt flared. She was not wrong. “For what it’s worth, I’ve an excellent reason for tonight’s message. And I was not going to ask you to deliver it.”
“What is it?”
He could not tell her that his sister was in danger. Could not bring her any closer to the knowledge that he and Tremley were more than passing acquaintances. If Chase knew how much the Tremley file was worth to him, he might hold it ransom. And Cynthia would be more and more in danger.
“It’s not relevant to our discussion. My point is —”
“Your point is that you believe there was a life of tea and quadrilles waiting for me at the end of some path not chosen. Your point is that Chase has ruined me.”
“As a matter of fact, it is.”
She laughed at that. “Then you have forgotten what it is Society does to young women in my particular situation.”
“You could have survived it,” he said.
“No. I couldn’t have.” The words were so matter-of-fact, it was almost as though she weren’t the victim of fate at all.
“You could have done this ages ago. Married.”
She raised a brow. “I could have, but I would have hated it.” She paused. “What would you say if I told you that this was my choice? That I wanted this life?”
“I wouldn’t believe you. No one chooses exclusion. No one chooses ruination. You have fallen victim to a powerful man who has kept you in his pocket for too long, and now refuses to release you fully.”
“You’re wrong. I chose this life,” she said, and he almost believed her. “Chase saved me.”
Hatred flared at the words, the words of a woman in too deep. A woman who cared too much to see the truth. A woman who —
