The Marquis and I (The Worthingtons #4)(44)

Damn.

He may as well get this over with. “I did what I said I would do and spoke to my former mistress.” He hoped she would notice his use of former.

Her hands rested in her lap as she gazed up at him. Her blue eyes were so unguarded Con thought he might be able to see her soul. How unusual for a lady of the ton. A feeling or emotion tugged in his chest, but he didn’t have time to study it now.

“I have never impugned your honesty, my lord. To be frank, you have been extremely truthful in your dealings with me.”

Too truthful, mayhap. A little roundaboutation would have held him in good stead. “I would hope that all of our dealings are honest.”

She inclined her head rather regally.

“Well, as I was about to say. I did what we agreed and asked my—” Drat it. He couldn’t keep using the term mistress. “The woman I have been dealing with if she”—suddenly there was a blockage in his throat that needed to be cleared and he coughed—“had chosen her profession.” This was a damn sight harder than he thought it would be. Wishing he had a glass of brandy, he took a breath. “She had not. As a matter of fact, I—I was wro—wro . . .” He took a breath and tried again. “You were-were ri-correct.”

Charlotte’s lush lips pressed together and seemed to twitch a little for just a moment. The vein at the base of her lovely throat began to throb, and he thought her heart had started beating faster. He’d had no idea she would be so affected. “Do you plan to do anything to help her?”

Finally, he could give her an answer she would like. “Yes, indeed. I am in the process of doing so.” His eyes were drawn to her neck again. The throbbing had slowed. “She told me she is in touch with her family, who do not know what she has been doing. I offered to settle an amount on her that will enable her to regain the life she should have lived.”

Still clasped, Charlotte’s hands moved to her breasts. She blinked rapidly, her lips formed a perfect O, then she said, “That is . . . that is most kind of you. I did not expect . . . I mean for you to—”

For him to do anything to help his mistress was what Charlotte meant. It pleased him that she seemed to realize she had been about to offend him and stopped. “I can understand how you might believe me to be less than sympathetic. I find I owe you an abject apology, my lady. For the most part, I have not exhibited my best side to you. Nor have I always behaved as a gentleman should.”

“Nor I to you, my lord.” Her tone was firm, but, as if suddenly shy, she did not look at him when she spoke.

“In any event, I ask your forgiveness. I was wrong.” It wasn’t nearly as hard to say the second time.

“You are forgiven.” Her lips pressed together once again, but more in consternation. “I too have failed to always be at my best with you. I would like to apologize for my ill temper.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” As the words left his mouth, Con knew it was the truth. Any lady, especially an innocent one, would have been shocked at the idea of prostitution. For him to have baited her and engage in scandalous arguments with her had not been well done of him. “I would wish we could”—he glanced up at the sky, hoping for inspiration and found none—“for lack of a better way of saying it, begin again.”

She pulled her bottom lip between her pearl-like teeth. “I do not wish to offend you, my lord, yet I am afraid that—” Charlotte covered her face for a moment. “Oh, this is so awkward. I vowed to myself never to wed a man who had engaged in purchasing a woman. Yet, my brother tells me that gentlemen are encouraged to-to—”

“There is no need to explain. I comprehend your meaning. He is correct.” Con raked his fingers through his hair. He must convince her to accept him. The thought of being jilted was too much to stomach. Hell, he’d almost made a fool of himself trying to stop what he’d thought was her wedding. “Perhaps if I were to court you, and we came to know each other, you might look upon me more kindly.”

Her hands were still, but her dark blond brows drew together, causing a fine line to form. The thought came to him that he would always know where he stood with her.

She stared at her tightly clasped hands before gazing up at him. “Very well. You may court me. However, I have one request. If we decide we do not suit, you will release me from our betrothal.”

Never. The more he was around her, the greater his conviction that she would make him a perfect wife, marchioness, and mother to his children. Not to mention the damage to his pride if she rejected him. “Of course.”

For the first time since she had discovered who he was, she gave him a real smile, and it was just as beautiful as the one he remembered. “In that case, I shall save you a dance at Lady Pennington’s ball.”

“Two dances.” He could not stop himself from asking for more. “Both waltzes and one of them the supper dance.”

Her steady blue eyes regarded him for several moments, and his cravat seemed to grow tighter. “As you wish, my lord.”

As pleased as he was with her decision, he resisted the smug smile trying to form on his mouth. And two days was too long to go without seeing her. “Until then?”

Tilting her head to one side, she again drew her well-shaped brows together. “I shall have to think of something.”

No. He’d think of something and damned fast too. He must strike while she was being so amenable. “Would you like to join me for a carriage ride in the Park this afternoon?”