Blame It on the Duke(15)
His brow wrinkled slightly. “Miss Tombs?”
“You don’t wish to marry me, Lord Hatherly,” she said. “I’m notoriously peculiar. Have I told you about my devotion to a frugivorous diet? After reading the writings of Mr. Shelley I decided to give up eating—”
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he interrupted.
Alice paused in mid-explanation. “What am I doing, pray tell?”
“Putting on an act. Saying outrageous things to make me run away. Why don’t you try being yourself for a moment? Tell me the truth,” he coaxed. “Why don’t you want to marry?”
Had her powers of dissuasion finally failed her?
She’d been so very successful at eliminating suitors, and Lord Hatherly shouldn’t be such a difficult case.
It was only that she couldn’t think straight when he sat so close. Near enough to smell the sweet sherry on his lips and an underlying aroma of cedar, like the inside of her trousseau trunk.
He hadn’t doused himself in musky cologne like Lord White.
Why did he have to be so devastatingly attractive? It muddled a girl’s mind.
One of his large hands rested close to her on the sofa.
What depraved things had those hands done recently? The thought started a curious fizzing sensation in her lower belly, like she was a jar of apple cider left in the sun too long.
“I want to know the real Miss Alice Tombs.” He caught her hand and lifted her wrist to his ear, as if listening for her pulse. “What has made you so prickly?” His breath tickled the inside of her wrist. “And why don’t you wish to marry?”
She wasn’t prepared for the jolting sensation that rocked through her body when he flipped her hand over, stroking her palm with one rough-padded fingertip, and kissed her palm.
A crackling. Like sliding her stockinged feet across a carpet. A charge of energy from her fingertips through the ends of her hair.
“You want to know who I am, Lord Hatherly?” She snatched her hand away. “I’m the one lady on this earth who is thoroughly immune to your powers of seduction.”
“Oh really?”
“Really.” Maybe if she repeated it enough, it might begin to be true. “And there’s no use in you seeking to convince me to marry you. I won’t wed until after I have at least one exciting adventure abroad.”
The truth just slipped out.
She waited for the disbelieving laughter, the cold light of derision in his eyes, but he appeared to be absorbing her confession with gravity.
“Then why haven’t you embarked on a tour before now?”
“My mother feels that females should not be allowed to stray from hearth and home. Our place is at the heart of the circle of domestic bliss. Providers, nurturers subjugated by the needs of others. She wants me wed and with child immediately.”
“Ah. I see.” He cleared his throat. “And you have other plans.”
For some reason she felt compelled to tell him the truth. Why? Maybe it was because he hadn’t laughed at her or acted shocked.
She nodded. “I do.”
“My mother lives abroad—in Switzerland at the moment. My parents’ marriage is . . . not a happy one.” While his knowing smile never faltered, there was a momentary flicker of emotion in his eyes, but it was gone before Alice could pinpoint what it had been.
Pain? Regret?
Alice didn’t know what to say in response. She’d heard the rumors of his father’s madness, but the duke rarely left Sunderland House.
Could there be a deeper reason behind Lord Hatherly’s dissipated lifestyle? A reason to forget himself in all the wine, women, and wickedness?
“Where do you wish to go?” he asked.
“I will journey to Calcutta in India.”
“An unusual choice for a young lady. But your family has ties to the East India Company, is that why?”
“Partially. It’s also because I have a talent for languages and among them, Sanskrit. I’m working on a translation of an ancient manuscript I discovered in my late grandfather’s personal collection.”
“Sanskrit?” He cocked his head.
Alice bristled. “You think me incapable of such a skill?”
“I was merely startled by your choice of languages,” he said smoothly, recovering his seductive smile. “I see nothing objectionable about you translating some dried-up, boring old texts.”
The Kama Sutra was hardly dry and boring, but he could believe what he wanted.
“I know you must think translating texts an unsuitable occupation for a lady.”
“But don’t you see?” He caught her hand again and stroked a thumb across her knuckles. “This is perfect! If you marry me you may trot across the entire globe and you won’t hear the slightest protest. In fact, I would do my utmost to encourage such endeavors.” He placed his free hand over his cravat. “I swear it.”