Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Please don’t go,” she said to Lord Marlow, who’d nearly reached the door leading to the hallway.
“Rosalind, dear,” her mother began.
“Tell them,” she entreated him. “Tell them you must marry me.”
“Lady Rosalind.” His gaze was hurt and angry. “You must listen to your parents. They know better than me who you ought to marry.”
“But I’m the one who must be in the marriage. Am I to have no say?”
“You will have a say, but you’re also duty-bound to listen to your parents in such matters.” There was warning in his patient tone. His use of the word “duty” was not by chance.
“You’re in very high spirits,” her mother said, coming to take her hands. “Let Lord Marlow go, and we’ll speak more together when you’ve calmed.”
“Speak of what? Lord Brittingham?” Her voice grew thick with tears. “I want to marry Lord Marlow, don’t you see? We are in love, truly. We have kissed.”
Her mama went still beside her. She realized as her father turned toward Marlow that she had said a very wrong thing. She had never seen Marlow look terrified before. Careless, reckless, even sad a few moments ago, but never terrified.
“Well, I kissed him,” she said quickly. “When he was consoling me after Bouncer’s funeral.”
“Consoling you, eh?” Her father scowled at Marlow. “Did he take advantage?”
“It was my doing,” she said, wary of her father’s glower. “I—I was upset.”
“I hold myself entirely to blame for the incident,” said Marlow. “Though it was hardly a kiss, Your Graces. More a comfort in her sorrow. I would not have trespassed further for the world.” Marlow had gone pale, staring from her father back to her. “We spoke in Townsend’s greenhouse of wishing to court, to marry,” he admitted. “I told her it would not be possible, that you would not find me worthy. She became morose and… There was an embrace, a small kiss, to comfort her only. It lasted a second or two at most.”
“A second or two too long, wouldn’t you say?”
“Your Grace, it was born of caring, not disrespect. I value her above all others even if I am not deemed deserving of her hand.”
Rosalind opened her mouth to speak but her mother squeezed her fingers, a wordless order to silence. She bit her tongue instead and blinked. She’d hoped confessing the kiss might make a marriage more possible between them. Foolish of her. It had only served to enrage her father and make Marlow seem an even less appropriate match.
“Papa.” She forced the word out, her voice trembling. “Please, may I explain? I mean to say… I have spoken so carelessly, and I would—”
“We’ll speak later,” he said in a tone that made her tremble worse. “Leave us now. Go to your bedroom and wait there.”
She ducked her head and obeyed, not even daring to look at Lord Marlow, to see the damage she’d wrought upon his character with her impulsive outburst. Her heart ached too at the way he’d dismissed the kiss they’d shared. It had meant so much to her. He’d said it was “hardly a kiss.” He’d called it an “incident.” She was sobbing before she reached the stairs, and fully weeping by the time she reached her chambers and threw herself down on her bed.
*
Marlow mounted the steps to his carriage and threw himself inside. Damned pompous thing. He only owned it for times like this when he had to pretend to be a gentleman. As soon as they left the environs of Lockridge Hall, he pounded on the roof to make his groom stop so he could escape the gilded interior. He felt too dirty for the silken cushions. Filthy. Incandescent with rage.
He didn’t know who the rage was aimed at. Rather, there was too much rage to parcel out who had earned what. The lion’s share was directed at himself for behaving like an utter buffoon before Rosalind’s parents. The duke and duchess had also earned his wrath for pretending to care about him while they shamed him until he felt like the lowliest insect scurrying upon the ground. The final weight of rage fell upon Rosalind, who’d burst in at the end and nearly gotten him murdered by her father.
He walked faster, his boots pounding the ground. Not literally murdered, of course. Their families were too close to murder one another’s offspring. No, he had been figuratively murdered, receiving such a tongue-lashing from the Duke of Lockridge that his ears still rang with the tersely delivered syllables. I warn you, do not find yourself alone with Rosalind again. Should my daughter’s reputation become entwined with yours, I will make you regret it. He was sent out the door with instructions not to call again at the Lockridge home unless he should be summoned.
Which he most certainly would not.
He could not relax his clenched fists. He could not slow his furious breathing. He felt as if he’d been kicked hard in the balls, so damaged was his manhood and pride. This was Rosalind’s fault, this emasculation. She had enticed him to kiss her, then to call upon her parents even though he’d known it was for naught.