A Scot in the Dark (Scandal & Scoundrel #2)(89)

Alec’s gaze narrowed on his friend. “What is that to mean?”

“Only that I do not understand forcing the girl to woo another. When she has a possibility so very close at hand.”

“King,” the marchioness said again.

King turned to his wife. “Look at him. I’ve haven’t seen Alec Stuart in a properly fitting English suit since school. It’s obvious for whom he dresses, so why not marry the . . .” He trailed off, and Alec gritted his teeth.

No. Don’t see it.

Understanding flared in King’s gaze. “You won’t marry her.”

“I will not.”

Pity chased understanding away, and Alec wanted to leap from the balcony to save himself from King’s approach. From his soft words, unable to be heard by any but the two of them. “Alec,” he said. “School was a long time ago.”

“I know that,” Alec replied curtly.

“Do you, though?” King paused. “You are a different man. A man, full stop. She would have you. All of you. She would be lucky to—”

Alec moved, stopping the words on his friend’s lips. “Don’t you dare. Don’t even suggest that she is the one who would be lucky in such a scenario.”

King’s eyes went wide, and his voice grew louder. “You’re a duke. She’s the scandalous daughter of a—”

Alec’s gaze narrowed. “Call her scandalous one more time.”

His friend was intelligent enough to remain silent.

“I am barely a duke. I was seventeenth in line. Like the setup to a goddamn farce. And so far beneath her it is obscene.” He looked away. “It does not matter. I am not her future.”

He had a chance to have her unruined. A chance for her to remain without him. To survive however she liked. To not regret. And he intended to take that chance.

And leave her with a better man than he could ever be.

He knew that in most circumstances, the most noble act would be to marry her. But in his case, nobility came with making a place for Lily to be happy and well provided for with a better man. One without shame behind him.

The previous evening had been a disastrous mistake.

He was racked with guilt over his inability to resist her. To ruin her again, with his body and his past. And his desire.

Guilt. Not regret.

He would never regret touching her.

And that would be his punishment.

A vision flashed, Lily barely clothed, surrounded by the proof of his coarseness. The broken bed, the canopy in shambles, the porcelain figurines smashed to the ground, she remained perfection incarnate. A goddess among ruins.

The ruins of his hand.

Of his touch.

In that keen awareness, he could not help but tell her the truth.

You will regret me.

But she would not regret what he did for her. Of that, he was certain. And so he was here, tonight, in a supremely uncomfortable suit, waiting for the rest of London to arrive, so he might commit a crime.

And give the woman he loved the life she deserved.

The curtain moved and West entered, his highborn wife on his arm, the two looking like royalty. And they were in this new age, where the news could elevate or destroy, and the ground shifted beneath the feet of the aristocracy. In a matter of years, women would survive Lily’s scandal as long as the news was on their side. The world would see the truth of her—that she was glorious and worthy only of their adoration.

Not so now, however.

Now, he required West for more than the papers.

The other man met his gaze, nodding a greeting from across the box so that he could dispense with the formality when he reached Alec, his wife firmly on his arm. The lady’s presence made it impossible for Alec to do the same. He bowed, greeting her with the title to which she was entitled, despite her marrying a commoner. “Lady Georgiana.”

She smiled, broad and beautiful. “Your Grace,” she said, setting her hand in his with a curtsy that would put a duchess to shame. “I do not use the title. I am Mrs. West.” She turned to her husband. “Proud beyond measure to be so.”

The love in the words was unmistakable, and Alec found himself, for the first time in a long while, believing in the emotion here, surrounded by couples who seemed to have touched it despite its ephemera.

Perhaps the box would bless Lily. Bring her the love of which she’d once dreamed.

The thought ached, even as he forced himself to complete it. Pushing aside the knot in his throat, he looked to West. “Tell me you have it.”

West reached into the pocket of his top coat and extracted a sheaf of paper. “That you must ask is an insult of the highest caliber. I should call you out.”

“I would choose broadswords. And you would not enjoy the outcome,” Alec said, taking the paper.

“Christ,” West said. “The Scots really are a prehistoric people.”

“I rather like the idea of broadswords,” Mrs. West said, dryly. “I should like to see you with one, husband.”

He turned to her, his voice going low and dark. “It can be arranged.”

Alec rolled his eyes and opened the document, not caring that the rest of London watched. He stared at the map for a long moment, committing it to memory before depositing it into his own pocket. “I shan’t ask you how you procured it. But I am grateful for it.”