The room began to heat. Or was it just her? “Why?”
“For starters, you were usually the prettiest girl at any party. You also have a propensity for getting into mischief.”
She quickly swallowed the bite she had been chewing. “I do not. I’m quite proper.”
His eyebrow shot up. “When you’re not deceiving everyone. You spent most of last season pretending to be Lily. I found your acting abilities quite entertaining. You had some alarmingly close calls, but you managed to outwit everyone for months.”
“Apparently, not you.”
He cast her a teasing smile and walked back to her side. “I’m not quite the idiot you make me out to be.”
“Oh, Ian. You’re not an idiot at all. I only said that to keep you at arm’s length. I was afraid of you. Rather, afraid of how much I truly liked you. There, I’ve revealed my only dark secret.”
He brushed his fingers lightly across her cheek. “It wasn’t ever much of a secret. I’m a scoundrel, remember? I can sense when a woman is attracted to me.”
“You knew? How is it possible? I didn’t know it myself until... never mind. You couldn’t have known.”
He set his untouched cup on the nightstand beside her. “Here, why don’t you have it? I think I’ll pour myself a whiskey. I need the liquid fortification.”
“Of course, to get the chill out of your bones.”
“Not quite.” He turned to meet her gaze. “To fortify me for what I’m about to tell you.”
***
“What are you about to tell me?” Dillie asked Ian. Her smile faded as Ian drew his chair even closer to the bed and sank into it with a heavy sigh. He’d poured himself a glass of whiskey and had begun to swirl the amber liquid, absently watching it gleam within the glass while he considered the wisdom of dredging up a pain that would not be numbed no matter how much he drank, even the entire contents of the bottle.
Dillie set her tea and partly eaten cake on the nightstand, and then leaned close. The look on her face revealed that she was ready to swallow him in her arms and offer him comfort if the need arose. That’s what set Dillie apart from the peahens with whom he often dallied, those ladies who clucked and fussed around him but never seemed to accomplish much. Dillie, once she set her mind to it, could conquer kingdoms. Or scare off ruffians. Or melt a duke’s icy heart.
Lord! He hardly believed he’d heard right. She’d agreed to marry him, just like that, no longer fighting him or resisting the wishes of her own heart. It wasn’t just their lovemaking that had swayed her. Something had happened between them, something wondrous that went beyond the carnal act itself. Somewhere between his grunts and her breathy moans, they’d forged a bond that would connect them forever. A bond of silk, for the fabric of life that bound them was delicately spun and exquisitely rare. He’d felt the connection just as she had.
In truth, asking Dillie to share his life, and knowing she would probably turn it upside down, felt good. Damn good. But that’s how Dillie always made him feel. The sun shone brighter when she was near. The air smelled sweeter. He always heard laughter. Sometimes his own. He felt alive whenever Dillie was by his side.
But how would she feel once she learned the truth about him? She would eventually find out. Better that she hear it from him. “The gossips say that I killed my brother,” he started, taking a deep breath that did nothing to stem the ache in his heart. “They’re right. I killed him as surely as if I’d taken a knife and stabbed him through the heart.”
“Oh, Ian!” Dillie glowered, but her glare wasn’t aimed at him but at everyone who had ever maligned him. It felt odd to have an ally. He’d never had one growing up. “You told me you were only four years old when he died. A mere child. A child that age can’t hurt anyone, not intentionally. Would you tell me what happened?”
He took a sip of whiskey and felt the heat of it slide down his throat. “It was winter.” He took another sip, needing a moment to collect his thoughts. He’d never confided in anyone before, not even his closest friends. Hell, this was Dillie. She was going to be his wife. She’d earned his trust. “Being boys and cooped up indoors, James and I were misbehaving. James is... was... my big brother, all of six years old at the time.”
“A perfect age for mischief.” She cast him a soft, encouraging smile.
“So our nanny always claimed. She’d had enough of our antics that day and decided to take us for a walk along the pond on our estate, hoping the cold wind and long trudge through the snow would rid us of our wildness. It was a particularly brutal winter that year, and the pond had frozen over—or so we thought.”