No Good Duke Goes Unpunished (The Rules of Scoundrels #3)(106)

“Forsaking all others,” she said. She could not forsake all others. She wasn’t sure she could ever forsake the only other who mattered. She took a deep breath around the tightness in her chest. “My lord, I am afraid that I have fallen in love—quite accidentally and not at all happily. With another.”

His face softened. “I see,” he said. “Well, that does change things.”

“It does,” she agreed before she changed her mind. “Except, it doesn’t, really. He . . .” She paused. He is marrying another. “. . . The feeling is not reciprocated.”

Castleton’s brow furrowed. “How is that possible?”

“You should not be so quick to defend me, you know. After all, I just ended our engagement. You’re required to dislike me immensely now.”

“But I don’t dislike you. And I shan’t. Such is the risk we take in this modern world.” He paused, stroking Trotula, who leaned against his leg. “If only marriage were still arranged at birth.”

She smiled. “We mourn the past.”

“I would have liked a medieval keep,” he said happily, “and I think you would have made an excellent lady of the castle. Surrounded by hounds. Riding out with a sword on your belt.”

She laughed at the ridiculous image. “Thank you, my lord, though I wonder if the best ladies of the castle were as blind as I.”

He waved to a nearby settee. “Would you like to sit? Shall I have something brought from the kitchens?” He paused, obviously considering what one offered one’s ex-fiancée in such a situation. “Tea? Lemonade?”

She sat. “No, thank you.”

He looked across the room to a crystal decanter. “Scotch?”

She followed his gaze. “I don’t think ladies drink scotch before eleven o’clock.”

“I shan’t tell anyone.” He hesitated. “In fact, I might join you.”

“By all means, my lord . . . I wouldn’t dream of preventing you from having a proper drink.”

He did, pouring a finger of amber liquid into a glass and coming to sit beside her. “Our mothers will be beside themselves when they hear.”

She nodded, realizing that this was the first time they’d conversed about anything serious. Anything other than dogs and weather and country estates. “Mine more than yours, I should think.”

“You’ll be ruined,” he said.

She nodded. “I had considered that.”

It had never mattered to her very much, reputation. For one who was often described as odd and strange, having little in common with others her age or gender, reputation never seemed worth much. It did not buy her friends, or invitations, or respect.

So now, it was not paramount.

“Lady Philippa,” he began after a long moment of silence, “if you’ve . . . er . . . that is . . . if you have need of . . . a-hem.”

She watched him carefully, noting his reddening face as he stumbled over the words. “My lord?” she asked after it seemed as though he might not say more.

He cleared his throat. Tried again. “If you are in a difficult spot,” he blurted out, waving one hand in the general direction of her stomach.

Oh, dear. “I am not.”

She supposed she might be, but that was a bridge she would cross at a later time if necessary. Without Castleton.

He looked immensely relieved. “I am happy to hear that.” Then, after a moment during which they both resumed calm, he added, “I would marry you, anyway, you know.”

She met his gaze, surprised. “You would?”

He nodded. “I would.”

She couldn’t stop herself. “Why?”

“Most people think I’m an idiot.”

She did not pretend to misunderstand. “Most people are idiots themselves,” she said, feeling suddenly very protective of this man who should have tossed her out of the house with glee but instead, offered her a drink and a chat.

He tilted his head. “Most people think you’re odd.”

She smiled. “On that, most people are right.”

“You know, I used to think they were. You’re brilliant and have a passion for animals and strange flowers, and you were always more interested in the crops that rotated on my estate than in the trappings of my town house. I’d never met a woman like you. But, even as I knew you were smarter than I, even as I knew that you knew that you were smarter than I . . . you never showed it. You’ve never given me any reason to believe you thought me simple. You always went out of your way to remind me of the things we had in common. We both prefer the country. We both enjoy animals.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I was happy to think that you would one day be my wife.”

“I don’t think you simple,” she said, wanting him to know that. Wanting him to understand that this mess she was making had nothing to do with him. He was not lacking. “I think you will make someone a very happy match.”

“But not you,” he said, simply.

She shook her head. “Not me.”

There was a time when you might have. It was true. She’d been happy to live out her days in country idyll, talking of crop rotation and animal husbandry and consulting the men and women who lived on Castleton land.

There was a time when I would have been content with you.