Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(51)

“I am afraid that it is true, my child.” The duke patted her hand. “Geoffrey has had very little experience with women. A father does know these things. He has never gone through the things that most boys of his class do.”

“I see,” she said, although she didn’t at all.

The duke let out a long sigh. “I did try to help. I know it sounds strange, but a father does worry. And I discovered that the boy is almost afraid of women. He certainly cannot bear for them to be forward in any way.” The duke looked away from her, his own embarrassment clear. “There is no one else to tell you this, and I can’t believe that Geoffrey could ever be honest about it, even if he understands that there is a problem.”

“Are you saying that he can’t …” Louisa could not bear to finish the question. It seemed impossible—but then, nobody had ever guessed about John.

“Oh no. Certainly not,” the duke sputtered. “Or at least, I have no reason to think so. No, he is simply shy, unbearably shy. You would never think it of him, but it is true. He can be gracious with women, but that is as far as he can go.”

“Are you saying that I should … should take the lead?” She certainly could not ask the duke if he meant that she should seduce his son—although, she had considered that it might be necessary. Swanston did seem slow to act upon the flashes of heat she sometimes thought she felt between them. But, perhaps they existed only in her mind.

“God, no. That is the last thing you should do. I quite fear that if you are forward at all the boy may go running. He’s done that before. Or he might yell at you, order you to leave.”

A pain formed in her belly. If she weren’t careful she might be sick. This could not be happening. Not again.

“So what should I do? I did tell him that I longed for children. It seemed important to him also.”

“And to me. I do long for an heir to the succession. I do have other sons who may yet father children, but it should be Geoffrey’s child. For all our disagreements, I do see that.” The duke looked down at the ground. “Did you know that I was born a younger son? I was in my twenties when my brother died. I was never meant to manage things.”

“I see,” she said—and this time she did. It explained so much.

“I think the real key is that you must be a perfect lady, an innocent girl. I don’t know that I’d have felt the need to say anything if you were not a widow—a widow who’s been alone for several years. Pretend that it is your wedding night and that you don’t know anything. Let him take the lead. Do not be … enthusiastic.”

Even in the dark Louisa could sense that a deep flush was infusing the duke’s face. “I am quite afraid that if you had a love match before you may be expecting things—things that my son is not planning, assuming he has any knowledge of them at all. I am sure he will do fine with the basics, but that is all you must expect—the basics. And don’t scare him off. The lad is incredibly proper and has a very specific idea of how people should behave, of what is right. Look how he reacts to my antics—and that is all they are, antics.”

It was that last that convinced her there might be some truth to what Mirth said. Swanston had made it very clear that there were lines in the sand for behavior and that they must never be crossed. He had spoken of his father, his sister, and several of his brothers with disapproval in his voice. He’d told her that he liked her orderliness, her sense of purpose. He’d rarely complimented her looks, but he’d often told her he liked how she lined up the quills upon her desk.

Had Lady Perse been right: Had she jumped into the fire without thought?

“Oh dear, don’t look so worried. That was not the effect I meant to have. He is a wonderful man.” The duke said the last word with emphasis. “I am sure everything will be fine. Just give him time. I am sure that you can bring him around. I was actually quite pleased when I heard he’d chosen a woman of some experience. You’ll be much better for him than one of those useless young chits.”

It was Louisa’s turn to look down. “I am sure you are right. Everything will be fine.” She turned over her hand, which still rested under the duke’s, and gave him a soft squeeze.

“Just don’t rush him. That’s all I meant to say.”

“I won’t.” She felt some despair as she said the words, but she did mean them.

Swanston was a good man. He would be a good husband, a good provider, a good father for her children. If she had to give up some of the pleasure she had begun to hope for, surely that was a small price to pay.

“I will be going then.” The duke rose. “I do hope I have not upset you. I only meant to help. I wanted to make recompense for some of the mistakes of my past.”

Pasting a smile on her lips, Louisa rose with him and leaned forward, placing a soft kiss upon his cheek. “Thank you. I do trust that you meant only the best. And if you are right, it is certainly better to know ahead of time.”

Not another word was spoken as they walked back into the house.

There really was nothing to say—only a lot to think about.



“I suppose you know why I am here,” Swanston said as he stormed into Ruby’s parlor, his boot heels clacking along the wood floors.

Ruby looked up from the settee. Her feet were curled under her, and she had been enrapt in her novel, with a small pair of spectacles perched upon her nose. Hurriedly she pulled them off and slipped them between the cushions. “I do. I understand I owe you congratulations on the morrow, but I do not believe you have stopped by for those after all these last weeks of absence. And so, no, I do not know why you are here on the night before your wedding. Some men come for that last hurrah, but I never saw you as that type. Or do you intend fidelity? It would not truly surprise me, but …”