How to Marry a Marble Marquis(55)
It was then that he heard it. He was barely cognizant of the fact that sound was coming back to him, that he had somehow already spent an entire day frozen in the sunlight. Her voice, heavy with melancholy and inexorably sad. He listened to her describe her disaster of a day, and her tears broke his heart anew. She was sweet and beautiful and kind, and deserved nothing but good things. Life had dealt her wretched hand, and any one of these monstrous lords would have been lucky to call her his . . . but she was sitting with him. Despite her anger, hurt he’d cost her, despite her words, she had come back. It’s not too late.
“Would you like to join me this evening after dinner, Miss Eastwick, to row on the lake?”
Now they were entering the ballroom once more, a shiver of déjà vu up his spine, and he was determined to right all that he had wronged. It couldn’t be too late. He wouldn’t let it be.
The first sight of her in her dress nearly made him stumble. It was an airy pink confection with what he could only describe as an indecently low neckline. Her every lovely asset was on display, but none was as beautiful as the smile she gave him as she approached. Her eyes were full of trepidation, but she wanted to believe him. It’s not too late.
“Miss Eastwick, you’re looking ravishing this evening. I was hoping I might ask you to join me outside for a moment. I would like to have a word with you, and I fear it cannot wait.”
Her eyes flickered back, and he recognized the two young women he had seen her speaking with the previous evening. They were already paired off, he knew. One with his friend Casselon, and the other with Warwick. “Alright,” she murmured hesitantly. “But we shouldn’t be long; they’ll be starting soon.”
As soon as they were on the veranda, all of his practiced words left him. He was a fool, and he did not deserve her. “I don’t deserve you, Eleanor.” Not the way you’d meant to start off, but you may as well be honest for a change. Her eyes widened. “And I’ll never deserve you. I think that’s the most important part for you to know. You never have to feel as though you are earning anything with me because I will always be in your debt simply for having me. I’m not a good man, Miss Eastwick. I am jealous and lustful and childish and vain.”
“You are all those things, yes.”
“I am. There’s no denying it. I am a liar and a rake, and a spoiled child. And I will never deserve to have a woman as fine as you at my side. But if you give me another chance, little moth, I will spend every night of the rest of my life showing you that I can be worthy of your heart. I will cherish you for the rest of my days. Come home with me, Eleanor. Be my wife, and let me spend the rest of my life showing you that I can be a man who deserves you.”
Her eyes were full of tears, her lip caught between her teeth, but she said nothing. A little nod, raising a hand to wipe her eyes. He swooped forward with his handkerchief, pressing into her palm.
“Thank you. We — we should go back in. I don’t want the Countess to think I’ve slept through the entire day’s events.”
His heart fell. She was moved, but not moved enough. That was what he thought, at least until they reentered the ballroom, the music already begun.
“Will you dance with me, Lord Stride?”
His heart was in his mouth as he took her hand. They entered another blasted quadrille, and he cursed the entire idiotic trend. Silas relished the weight of her hand in his as they moved through the steps, his hand at her waist, her hand at his shoulder. The music ended, and everyone applauded.
“Will you dance with me again, my Lord?”
She was looking up at him with her luminous eyes, and he knew that every word he had uttered was true. He would spend the rest of his miserable existence attempting to be someone who deserved her. But that doesn’t mean you need to start behaving like a bloody chaplain, not with her.
“Why Miss Eastwick,” he drawled into her ear, gratified at her smile, “I do believe you are sending the message to the rest of the guests that you have made a preference in your chosen suitor.”
“I believe it does,” she agreed nonchalantly. “One does hear such tales of butterflies and moths, you know, it seems rather silly to go risking it all now on a horse in a manure and mud-soaked field.”
“It does indeed. Particularly as I’ve read that horses only know how to make love in one position. That sounds dreadfully dull to me.” The music queued up. A waltz. Perfect. “What would you like to do after we row on the lake this evening, my dear?” They moved into the music, bodies flush, that lovely little lip trapped between her teeth again.
“I’d like for you to bring me home.”
“That sounds perfect to me, little moth.” He dipped her gracefully, his wings opening to shield them from the prying eyes of those behind them as he kissed her neck. “Miss Eastwick, this is a positively scandalous dress. Wherever did you get it?”
“I borrowed it from one of the other girls, actually. Uncle Efraim sent me beautiful dresses with necklines I knew you would think were far too high, and my neighbor’s father altered all of her hers to look like this.” Another turn, his hand slipping lower on her back, just over the swell of her delectable behind. “And besides, Lord Stride, don’t you know?”
The music ended, applause, but she was pulling him down to her, to meet her lips.
“The scandal is the point.”