A Scot in the Dark (Scandal & Scoundrel #2) - Sarah MacLean Page 0,64
narrowed to slits. “You shouldn’t curse.”
“Ah. Another rule that differs between men and women. No matter,” she added, lifting her teacup to her lips. “I politely decline your offer of marriage.”
He blinked. “My what?”
“Well, you did add to my experience last night and, by such rationale, that should result in a wedding, no?”
He stood there for a long moment, watching her, as though she were an animal behind bars in a traveling show. Finally, he said, “Lily, I’m trying to do right by you. Everything I’ve done—all of it—has been to protect you. I realize I’m doing a terrible job of it. Last night—in the carriage—it shouldn’t have happened.” He paused. “I’m your guardian, for God’s sake.”
She did not reply. What was there to say? He regretted the event that had made her feel more alive, more treasured, more desired, than anything in her life ever had. And, sadly, his regret begat hers.
It wasn’t as though she expected him to march into the breakfast room and propose. After all it was not as though they’d completed the official act.
But she hadn’t expected it to hurt quite so much.
She turned away from him, heading to the windows that lined the far end of the breakfast room. She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the familiar pang—the one that she’d felt all too often. The one that came with being passed over.
She was being silly. She hated being silly. And, somehow, that seemed to be all she ever was now.
Hardy seemed to sense her frustration, coming close and pressing his large, warm body against her thigh. There was something very comfortable about the big dog’s presence, and she immediately set her hand to his head, stroking his soft ears as she looked out the window, over the gardens of Dog House.
After a long while, she said, “There is a topiary out there in the shape of a poodle.”
Alec did not sound amused when he replied. “I would expect nothing less.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” she said, softly.
“Of course it wasn’t.” And, for a moment, she believed he meant it.
“It wasn’t Derek’s, either. Not really.”
“There, we disagree.”
She shook her head, but did not look back to him. “The rules, they are so different for men and women. Why should it matter to the world whom I am seen with? Why should it matter if I have private audience with a man? It shouldn’t be their business. It should be just that. Private.”
There was a long silence as he considered the words, and when he replied, he was closer than he had been. Just over her shoulder. “That’s not how it works.”
It wasn’t fair. Lily had been alone for so long, and finding companionship of any kind had given her such hope. She hadn’t even considered her reputation when she’d been with Derek. She’d been too desperate for companionship.
Just as she hadn’t considered her reputation last evening in the carriage with Alec. But it hadn’t been companionship she’d been desperate for then.
It had been him.
“It’s how it should work,” she said, looking down at the dog, his soulful brown eyes seeming to understand exactly how she felt.
“It should,” he said.
It shouldn’t have happened.
His words. Filled with regret. She closed her eyes.
Should was a terrible word.
She squared her shoulders and turned to face him, resolute in her decision to ignore his handsome, angled face and his brown eyes, gleaming the color of whisky. She would not notice any of it. Not his broad shoulders, or the way his hair fell in a haphazard sweep over his brow, or his lips.
She would certainly not notice his lips. They’d done far too much damage as it was.
Sadness and frustration coursed through her, a river of something that could become shame if she allowed it. But she wouldn’t. Not again. Not with another man. Not with one who suddenly seemed far more important than the first.
She pushed the emotions away, leaving room for one thing only.
Determination.
She would not feel shame. Not today. Hang the Duke of Warnick and his temptation. If he wanted to get her courted, she would be courted. It was seven days until the painting was revealed, and she wouldn’t fall in love in that time.
Couldn’t.
She shook her head, resigned to the plan, and hedged her bets. “The Earl of Stanhope,” she said, selecting the first name on his idiotic list. “He is my choice.”
It was remarkable how quickly one could go from receiving what he desired to questioning why he desired it in the