“Indeed,” Nick replied noncommittally, looking from his outstretched hand to Meredith pointedly.

She could not refuse without appearing ill-mannered. No matter how much her lips wanted to form a denial. Such would generate speculation among the other guests.

Placing her hand in his, she murmured a parting to Lord Derring. Tucking her hand in his elbow, Nick led her out the French doors and onto the far end on the veranda. She barely inhaled the night air before he spoke.

“You should have better care for the company you keep, Meredith. He may be a duke, but he’s a reprobate.” Nick crossed his arms over his chest in a militant pose, legs braced apart as though he stood at the prow of a rollicking ship.

“I had little to do with it. He sat down beside me.”

“What did you say to make him laugh?” Without giving her time to respond, he rushed on,

“Flirting with him will not further your reputation.”

“Because he laughed, I had to be flirting?” Her snort of disbelief indicated what she thought of that logic.

“It was the way he laughed… and the way he looked at you when he laughed.”

“Neither of which is in my control.”

“I hope you are not foolish enough to consider him if things don’t come to fruition with Havernautt. Your dowry does not come close to meeting his needs.”

“He’s a drunkard. And a chronic gamester. Why would I set my sights on him?”

“He is a duke. It would be quite a coup for any woman.”

She turned her back on him and clasped the rail before her, lifting her shoulders in a carelessly affected shrug as she faced the gardens. “I have not given up on Havernautt.”

“You may well have to let go of that one.” His voice sounded alarmingly close to her ear. Goose bumps sprang up along her neck at the puff of his breath on her nape, at the answering spark of heat that flared to life deep in her core. She stiffened her spine and resisted the overwhelming pull of him at her back that urged her to melt into his broad chest. It took every last ounce of willpower to appear impervious. “His mother will never allow him to marry you.”

“It’s his decision, not hers.”

“You overestimate Havernautt’s will—or your wiles. Whichever the case, other suitable gentlemen are present. Extend your attentions to them. Only not Derring.”

She had actually tried to further her acquaintance with the other gentlemen present at this house party. Yet her zeal in searching for a husband had dwindled. Especially when her treacherous heart was invested elsewhere.

She fixed her gaze on the shadowy shrubs of hawthorn ahead, unable to turn and face him as she dared to voice the one question burning in her mind. “What happens if I don’t become betrothed?” Her hands clenched the stone railing before her.

He inched closer, until the hardness of his chest pressed against her rigid back. She resisted the impulse to lean back, to melt bonelessly against him, to allow his warmth to merge with hers until neither could tell where the other’s body began and ended.

“That was not our agreement,” he reminded, his voice a growl at her neck.

She couldn’t turn around unless she wanted to bury her nose into his chest. And while she might want to do that—she could not. So she stayed just so, her back to his chest as she gazed out at the moon-washed garden. “I don’t recall any actual agreement between us. I only remember tersely worded commands and decrees.”

“Call it whatever you like, we had an understanding. Are you reneging now?” An undeniable desperation hummed beneath the scathing tone of his question, and she wondered at it.

She spoke into the night. “Has it ever occurred to you that I simply may not succeed in gaining a proposal?”

“No. Not unless you deliberately set out to remain unwed.” She flinched at the brush of his fingertips against her nape. “Are you trying to back out?” he softly queried. His lips grazed the skin beneath her ear, and her entire body trembled. A lick of heat curled low in her belly.

She twisted around to escape the fiery brand of his mouth on her skin. A mistake. The move forced her flush against him. “Whether Teddy or any man proposes is largely out of my hands.

Things cannot be so easily controlled.” The croak of her voice betrayed her, revealed how much his nearness undid her, exactly how uncontrolled she felt.

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes traveling every inch of her face. Her breath hitched when those midnight eyes landed on her mouth. Lips tingling, her hands went behind her to clutch the railing in a death grip. The movement thrust her br**sts forward, straining against her bodice.

“You’re correct,” he growled. “Some things can’t be controlled.” That said, he grabbed her by the waist and hauled her against him.

His mouth stole hers in a hot, consuming kiss that fired her blood and invaded her soul. Common sense fled. Meredith came off the railing and gripped fistfuls of his jacket. Nick devoured her lips, licking, nipping, sucking. She didn’t care that they stood mere feet from a gaping door where members of the ton sipped their after dinner drinks. Didn’t care that she hovered on the brink of scandal. His kiss obliterated all thoughts of propriety, ignited a deep, soul-singeing recognition within her body that demanded fulfillment.

Nick cupped her br**sts through her gown. Her ni**les tightened, straining against the thin muslin of her dress, aching to be freed, hungering for the feel of his callused hands, for the wet-velvet rasp of his tongue. He swallowed her moan, drinking it deep in his mouth.

Driven by a wild need to touch, to feel him, she slid her hands inside his jacket and ran them over his hard chest, across the flat belly and the ridges of muscles that quivered beneath her palms. Desire pounded through her blood, emboldening her. Her hand dropped. She pressed her palm against the hard bulge of his manhood, curled her fingers around its pulsating length. He throbbed in her hand, and heat rushed through her veins, liquefying her bones.

He muttered thickly against her mouth, “Let me come to your room tonight.”

His words served as a cold dose of reality. She jerked free and collapsed against the stone railing, inhaling raggedly. “No—this is insanity.”

He ruffled his hair with both hands, nodding. After a long moment, he regained his composure enough to mutter, “Clearly your charms are not insubstantial.” Looking up, his glittering gaze seared her to the spot. “You’re resourceful. Pick a man and get him to bloody well marry you.”

A man. But not him. Not the man she wanted. Chin high, she attempted make a dignified departure, but he caught her arm as she tried to move past.

“I’m serious. You have only one Season to make a match. Don’t drag this out.”

She glared at his fingers on her arm, then up to the hard lines of his face, the thin brackets of tension on either side of his mouth. If she were not in love with him already, she believed she could despise him. Only she knew he was more than this.

More than he would have her see. More than a man desperate to rid her from his life. That’s why she loved him.

“Never fear. I’ll do as you bid,” she vowed, her heart clenching in pain.

He did not immediately release her. His eyes were too busy drinking in the nuances of her face, as if sealing them in his memory. The blood beneath her skin simmered where he held her.

Before she had time to reconsider, her emotions got the best of her and she heard herself spit out,

“I assure you that however low your opinion of me, you fall far lower on the scales of decency.

How can you even stand there and bid me to wed after we…” Her voice faded. She was unable and unwilling to make reference to that night. To fling it at him and dirty its place in her heart.

She forged ahead, trying to cover her lapse. “You should have stayed in London.”

The light from the drawing room illuminated his impassive face. From what she could detect, her words left him unaffected. He appeared as implacable and unmoved as ever.

Meredith turned and faced the French doors, pausing to gain her composure. With her back to him, she held her hands out in front of her and marveled at the way they trembled. If she persisted in wearing her heart on her sleeve, she might as well confess her love. Dear God. She pressed a hand to one heated cheek as mortification consumed her. If he stayed much longer, he would see her love for him writ on her face. A woman’s laughter floated on the air, incongruous to the moment and somehow firing her sense of desperation.

“Go home. Go back to your life,” she whispered, unsure if he even heard her before she rushed inside.

Because her life would be torment as long as he stayed.

Chapter 21

Meredith sat primly in the small boat, parasol angled very correctly over her face to ward off the sun’s rays. Teddy steadily rowed them across the lake, slicing smoothly through water as still and silent as glass. The other members of their outing were tiny, barely distinguishable figures along the shore. Some strolled. Others remained sitting on blankets, picking idly from the array of food taken from large straw hampers. The ladies’ day dresses were bright dots of color along the green slope of shoreline, reminding Meredith of her gratitude for once again being able to wear color.

She smoothed a hand over her dimity skirts. Hopefully, her black gowns would remain in the back of her wardrobe for years to come.

She made out her aunt Eleanor’s lavender turban with its purple feather dancing on the breeze.

Stationed closely to Lady Havernautt’s chair, Aunt Eleanor worked to earn the lady’s favor on her behalf. A colossal waste of her time, Meredith thought. Lady Havernautt’s icy reserve had not thawed one bit over the past week. When Teddy had suggested taking her out on the lake, the woman stared daggers into her, almost prompting her to refuse. Only Nick’s stern look spurred her into accepting. It was a silly exercise in defiance on her part. Especially since time spent with Teddy was time squandered. He would certainly not offer for her without his mother’s blessing.

A fact that only became clearer each passing day. She hated to admit it, but Nick was right. Her time would be better spent cultivating her associations with other gentlemen.

The early spring wind was stronger out on the lake and buffeted her at every side. She wrapped her pashmina shawl about her, but the fine goat’s wool afforded little protection.

“You must forgive my lack of attention this week,” Teddy said as he rowed. “But you have borne my neglect with admirable good will.”

She suppressed her flash of irritation. Did the man expect her to sit around pining after him?

“You have a houseful of guests.” How should she have reacted to his neglect? By howling in outrage? “I would not expect you to bestow all your attention on me.”

He smiled shamefacedly. “I would accept your pardon if it were the guests that occupied so much of my time.”

“You are very attentive to your mother’s condition,” she allowed, conveniently ignoring the fact that the woman did well enough without him the weeks Teddy spent in Town.

He stopped rowing and laid the oar across his lap to look at her thoughtfully. “You are far more understanding than any other lady of my acquaintance.”

She squirmed beneath his approving gaze, wondering how he could still appear interested in her in the face of his mother’s blatant disdain.

He continued, “You have been remarkably tolerant of Mother. I realize she has not been her most courteous with you, but you have borne it all… which leads me to further believe that you are in fact the woman of my heart.”

 Because she could abide his mother? Did the man not desire a little more from a wife than such an idiotic qualification? What if the day arrived and she had enough of his mother and snapped?

Would he then lose all regard for her?

Despite the wintry air, her palms began to sweat, her hold on her parasol growing slippery.