Never Judge a Lady by Her Cover
Page 70
… With utter glee, we report that Lord and Lady N— are in town for the Season, an unexpected change for a couple who so rarely leave their house in the country. The lady has been spotted in several storefronts on Bond Street, allegedly purchasing clothing for newborns. Perhaps the winter will deliver Lord N— a long awaited son now that he’s quite full of daughters?
The News of London, May 2, 1833
The next morning, Duncan handed his card to the butler at Tremley House at half-nine, only to be told that the earl was not in.
Unfortunately, the butler at Tremley House had not been alerted that Duncan West was through with aristocrats turning him away.
“The earl is in,” he said.
“I am sorry, sir,” the butler said, attempting to close the door.
Duncan set his boot in the jamb, preventing his dismissal. “Strange, as you do not sound sorry at all.” He set a hand to the door, pushing firmly. “I shall stand here all day. You see, I haven’t a reputation to uphold.”
The butler decided it was better to let Duncan in than to do battle in the doorway, where anyone wandering through Mayfair might see them. He opened the door.
Duncan raised a brow. “Smart man.” The butler opened his mouth, no doubt to assure Duncan that the earl was not, in fact, in. “He’s home and he’ll see me.” Duncan removed his coat and hat and thrust them into the servant’s hands. “Will you fetch him? Or shall I find him myself?”
The servant disappeared, and Duncan waited in the great foyer of Tremley House, feeling not nearly as satisfied as he should.
He should be elated, finally, finally in possession of something that would free him from the yoke of Tremley’s blackmail and threats. Today, finally, West would show his hand and win.
And now, after eighteen years of it, he would be able to stop running. Stop hiding.
He would be able to live a life. Mostly.
He should be celebrating his victory.
Instead, he was thinking of his defeat the night before. He was thinking of Georgiana, bared to him, cast in the golden glow of his fireplace, on the edge of his most prized possession – his most beloved location – in the wake of a pleasure that he had never known. He was thinking of the way she’d closed herself off, resisted his promises and his help even as she vied for his touch.
He was thinking of her rejection.
He’d never offered anyone what he’d offered her in that dark room. He’d never offered his protection. His funds. His support. Himself.
He turned, stalking to the far end of the foyer. Christ. He’d told her his secrets. He’d never told anyone about his childhood. About his obsession with cleanliness. About his past.
When she’d asked where he’d been when he was a child, he’d nearly told her. He’d nearly revealed everything… in the hopes that his honesty would unlock her own. Would help her to trust him. To tell him the truth about herself. About her past. About her mistakes.
About Chase.
But he didn’t. And thank God for that.
Because she didn’t want his truths. She didn’t want him.
I was thinking that I should tell you the truth
Her words from the prior evening rang through him as though she stood next to him. She should have told him the truth. He could have helped. But she hadn’t. She’d rejected his assistance.
Rejected him.
Instead, she wanted what he could do for her. The papers. The gossip. The restored reputation and the title that would come with it.
And even as he thought the words, he knew she was right. Because his truths changed nothing. Even now, even as he prepared to face the man who had controlled him for years, as he prepared to free himself, West remained unmarriageable.
Even now, as he wielded power and fortune and might, he would never be more than the boy born into nothing, raised in nothing.
He would never be enough to raise her out of scandal. He had nothing to give her. No title. No name. No past.
No future.
He was a means to her end.
So why not take what she offered? Her premarital arrangement? Why not lay her bare and make love to her in a dozen places in a score of ways? She did not wish him to play her savior, fine. She did not wish to share her truths, fine. But she offered herself. Her pleasure. Their mutual pleasure.
Why not take the pleasure and leave everything else?
Because he’d never been good at leaving things behind.
“It’s damn early,” Tremley said from the first-floor landing, drawing Duncan’s attention as he descended the stairs, his hair still damp from his morning ablutions. “I hope you’ve brought what I asked.”
“I haven’t,” West said, putting Georgiana out of his mind, not wanting her here, in this place, sullied by this man and his sin. “I’ve brought something infinitely better.”
“I’ll be happy to judge that.” Tremley paused at the bottom of the stairs, straightening his sleeves, and a memory flared.
West watched the careful play of fingers at the earl’s cuffs, and finally said, “Your father used to do that.”
Tremley stopped fidgeting.
West lifted his gaze. “Before anyone of import might see him, he would even his shirtsleeves.”
Tremley raised a brow. “You remember my father’s eccentricities?”
He remembered more than that. “I remember everything.”
One side of the earl’s mouth lifted. “I fairly quake in my boots.” He sighed. “Come, West. What have you? It is early, and I have not yet had breakfast.”
“You could invite me to eat.”
“I could,” the earl said. “But I think my family has fed you enough for a lifetime. Don’t you?”
The News of London, May 2, 1833
The next morning, Duncan handed his card to the butler at Tremley House at half-nine, only to be told that the earl was not in.
Unfortunately, the butler at Tremley House had not been alerted that Duncan West was through with aristocrats turning him away.
“The earl is in,” he said.
“I am sorry, sir,” the butler said, attempting to close the door.
Duncan set his boot in the jamb, preventing his dismissal. “Strange, as you do not sound sorry at all.” He set a hand to the door, pushing firmly. “I shall stand here all day. You see, I haven’t a reputation to uphold.”
The butler decided it was better to let Duncan in than to do battle in the doorway, where anyone wandering through Mayfair might see them. He opened the door.
Duncan raised a brow. “Smart man.” The butler opened his mouth, no doubt to assure Duncan that the earl was not, in fact, in. “He’s home and he’ll see me.” Duncan removed his coat and hat and thrust them into the servant’s hands. “Will you fetch him? Or shall I find him myself?”
The servant disappeared, and Duncan waited in the great foyer of Tremley House, feeling not nearly as satisfied as he should.
He should be elated, finally, finally in possession of something that would free him from the yoke of Tremley’s blackmail and threats. Today, finally, West would show his hand and win.
And now, after eighteen years of it, he would be able to stop running. Stop hiding.
He would be able to live a life. Mostly.
He should be celebrating his victory.
Instead, he was thinking of his defeat the night before. He was thinking of Georgiana, bared to him, cast in the golden glow of his fireplace, on the edge of his most prized possession – his most beloved location – in the wake of a pleasure that he had never known. He was thinking of the way she’d closed herself off, resisted his promises and his help even as she vied for his touch.
He was thinking of her rejection.
He’d never offered anyone what he’d offered her in that dark room. He’d never offered his protection. His funds. His support. Himself.
He turned, stalking to the far end of the foyer. Christ. He’d told her his secrets. He’d never told anyone about his childhood. About his obsession with cleanliness. About his past.
When she’d asked where he’d been when he was a child, he’d nearly told her. He’d nearly revealed everything… in the hopes that his honesty would unlock her own. Would help her to trust him. To tell him the truth about herself. About her past. About her mistakes.
About Chase.
But he didn’t. And thank God for that.
Because she didn’t want his truths. She didn’t want him.
I was thinking that I should tell you the truth
Her words from the prior evening rang through him as though she stood next to him. She should have told him the truth. He could have helped. But she hadn’t. She’d rejected his assistance.
Rejected him.
Instead, she wanted what he could do for her. The papers. The gossip. The restored reputation and the title that would come with it.
And even as he thought the words, he knew she was right. Because his truths changed nothing. Even now, even as he prepared to face the man who had controlled him for years, as he prepared to free himself, West remained unmarriageable.
Even now, as he wielded power and fortune and might, he would never be more than the boy born into nothing, raised in nothing.
He would never be enough to raise her out of scandal. He had nothing to give her. No title. No name. No past.
No future.
He was a means to her end.
So why not take what she offered? Her premarital arrangement? Why not lay her bare and make love to her in a dozen places in a score of ways? She did not wish him to play her savior, fine. She did not wish to share her truths, fine. But she offered herself. Her pleasure. Their mutual pleasure.
Why not take the pleasure and leave everything else?
Because he’d never been good at leaving things behind.
“It’s damn early,” Tremley said from the first-floor landing, drawing Duncan’s attention as he descended the stairs, his hair still damp from his morning ablutions. “I hope you’ve brought what I asked.”
“I haven’t,” West said, putting Georgiana out of his mind, not wanting her here, in this place, sullied by this man and his sin. “I’ve brought something infinitely better.”
“I’ll be happy to judge that.” Tremley paused at the bottom of the stairs, straightening his sleeves, and a memory flared.
West watched the careful play of fingers at the earl’s cuffs, and finally said, “Your father used to do that.”
Tremley stopped fidgeting.
West lifted his gaze. “Before anyone of import might see him, he would even his shirtsleeves.”
Tremley raised a brow. “You remember my father’s eccentricities?”
He remembered more than that. “I remember everything.”
One side of the earl’s mouth lifted. “I fairly quake in my boots.” He sighed. “Come, West. What have you? It is early, and I have not yet had breakfast.”
“You could invite me to eat.”
“I could,” the earl said. “But I think my family has fed you enough for a lifetime. Don’t you?”
