It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers #2)(79)

“Pardon, my lord,” Hunt said in a carefully controlled voice. “I did not anticipate that you would be…meeting…with someone at this hour.”

Marcus skewered him with a savage stare. “You might try knocking next time.”

“You’re right, of course.” Hunt opened his mouth to add something, appeared to think better of it, and cleared his throat roughly. “I’ll leave you here to finish your, er…conversation.” As he withdrew from the room, however, it seemed that he couldn’t keep from ducking his head back in and asking Marcus cryptically, “Once a week, did you say?”

“Close the door behind you,” Marcus said icily, and Hunt obeyed with a smothered sound that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Lillian kept her face against Marcus’s shoulder. As mortified as she had been on the day that he had seen her playing rounders in her knickers, this was ten times worse. She would never be able to face Simon Hunt again, she thought, and groaned.

“It’s all right,” Marcus murmured. “He’ll keep his mouth shut.”

“I don’t care whom he tells,” Lillian managed to say. “I’m not going to marry you. Not if you compromised me a hundred times.”

“Lillian,” he said, a sudden tremor of laughter in his voice, “it would be my greatest pleasure to compromise you a hundred times. But first I would like to know what I’ve done this morning that is so unforgivable.”

“To begin with, you talked to my father.”

His brows lifted a fraction of an inch. “That offended you?”

“How could it not? You’ve behaved in the most highhanded manner possible by going behind my back and trying to arrange things with my father, without one word to me—”

“Wait,” Marcus said sardonically, rolling to his side and sitting up in an easy movement. He reached out with a broad hand to pull Lillian up to face him. “I was not being high-handed in meeting with your father. I was adhering to tradition. A prospective bridegroom usually approaches a woman’s father before he makes a formal proposal.” A gently caustic note entered his voice as he added, “Even in America. Unless I’ve been misinformed?”

The clock on the mantel dispensed a slow half-minute before Lillian managed a grudging reply. “Yes, that’s how it’s usually done. But I assumed that you and he had already made a betrothal agreement, regardless of whether or not it was what I wanted—”

“Your assumption was incorrect. We did not discuss any details of a betrothal, nor was anything mentioned about a dowry or a wedding date. All I did was ask your father for permission to court you.”

Lillian stared at him with surprised chagrin, until another question occurred to her. “What about your discussion with Lord St. Vincent just now?”

Now it was Marcus’s turn to look chagrined. “That was high-handed,” he admitted. “I should probably say that I’m sorry for it. However, I’m not. I couldn’t risk the possibility that St. Vincent might convince you to marry him instead of me. So I felt it necessary to warn him away from you.” He paused before continuing, and Lillian noticed an unusual hesitancy in his manner. “A few years ago,” he said, not quite looking at her, “St. Vincent took an interest in a woman with whom I was…involved. I wasn’t in love with her, but in time it was possible that she and I might have—” He stopped and shook his head. “I don’t know what would have come of the relationship. I never had the opportunity to find out. When St. Vincent began to pursue her, she left me for him.” A humorless smile edged his lips. “Predictably, St. Vincent tired of her within a few weeks.”

Lillian stared compassionately at the severe line of his profile. There was no trace of anger or self-pity in the scant recitation, but she sensed that he had been hurt by the experience. For a man who valued loyalty as Marcus did, a friend’s betrayal and a lover’s perfidy must have been hard to bear. “And yet you remained friends with him?” she asked, her voice softening.

He replied in a careful monotone. It was obvious that he found it difficult to speak of personal matters. “Every friendship has its scars. And I believe that if St. Vincent had understood the strength of my feelings for the woman, he would not have pursued her. In this case, however, I could not allow the past to repeat itself. You’re too…important…tome.”

Jealousy had darted through Lillian at the thought of Marcus having feelings for another woman…and then her heart stopped with a jolt as she wondered what level of significance she should place on the word “important.” Marcus had the Englishman’s innate dislike of wearing his emotions on his sleeve. But she realized that he was trying very hard to open his closely guarded heart to her, and that perhaps a little encouragement on her part might yield some surprising results.

“Since St. Vincent obviously has the advantage in looks and charm,” Marcus continued evenly, “I reasoned that I could only weigh the balance with sheer determination. Which is why I met with him this morning to tell him—”

“No, he doesn’t,” Lillian protested, unable to help herself.

Marcus looked at her then, his gaze quizzical. “Pardon?”

“He doesn’t have the advantage over you,” Lillian informed him, her face reddening as she discovered that it was hardly any easier for her to reveal what was in her heart than it was for him. “You are very charming when it suits you. And as for your looks…” Her blush deepened until she felt heat pouring off her. “I find you very attractive,” she blurted out. “I …I always have. I would never have slept with you last night unless I wanted you, no matter how much brandy I had drunk.”