Delilah Marvelle – Forever Mine (страница 2)

Augustine blinked in astonishment, observing that masculine profile that continued to survey the garden, instead of her. Though she desperately wanted and needed someone to confide in, she knew she couldn’t bring herself to trust anyone. Not even him.

He adjusted his morning coat against his chest, but kept his gaze firmly fixed on the garden before them. “Whilst you think on whether I am worthy of confidence, might we touch on the portrait you were just looking at?”

Her throat tightened, realizing he had seen her with her brother’s portrait. She fingered her reticule, drawing it closer against herself. “Please don’t tell anyone about it, Your Grace. Especially my father. I’m not supposed to have it. He would confiscate it if he knew.”

He angled himself toward her, his large knee grazing her thigh. “One of those. I see.” His eyes flicked toward her lips before meeting her gaze. “I hope to God you are not allowing this gentleman to take advantage of you.”

She stilled, her heart pounding at the realization that he actually thought it was a lover. “I beg your pardon, but the portrait is of my brother, Your Grace. I am appalled that you would insinuate otherwise.”

He winced and shifted away from her. “Forgive me. That was incredibly rude.” He winced again. “Incredibly. Had I known, I wouldn’t have…I was only trying to…” He shifted his shaven jaw and rose to his full height, gesturing toward the path leading back toward the festivities. “I should take my leave. I have clearly burdened you long enough. Simply know that should you need someone to confide in, send word at any time as to how I may assist, as I am genuinely worried about you. Good day.”

He had been worried about her? Augustine drew in a shaky breath and let it out, suddenly not wanting him to leave. She’d been alone in her head and in her heart for far too long and a part of her wanted it to end.

As he quietly rounded her to move past, she leaned forward and grabbed hold of his large, gloved hand, yanking him to a halt with the tug of his arm. “Stay. You are the first to have ever inquired about my thoughts or to have noticed that I had any. ?Tis incredibly kind of you to have sought me out like this given all the guests you have and given how insolently I’ve behaved.”

His dark brows rose as he slowly turned back toward her and the bench. His hand tightened around hers, fully encasing it in its heat. “I have sensed for some time that you are wary and need someone that you can trust. You can trust me.”

Heat spread across not only her face but her soul. There was an intensity in his tone and in his touch that whispered to her that this man was everything known as genuine.

And yet a part of her panicked. She hadn’t entrusted herself to anyone in so long. Not since…Nathaniel.

Releasing her hand with the slow turn of his wrist, the duke leaned down toward her, his dark hair falling onto his forehead. “I know you and your family have endured quite a bit these past two years and it is my hope you will allow me to assist in any manner I can. Anything you say will be held in strict confidence. That I vow.”

She swallowed, struggling to face what she had been ruthlessly planning since being forced to return to London from New York without Nathaniel. It was going to be a long, treacherous journey of scouring uncobbled streets of a foreign city hostile to the British. She knew she was going to have to take on the role of a commoner and find work to pay for whatever expenses her voyage would bring, beyond the hundred pounds she had managed to tuck away from the sight of her parents.

Sweeping her hand up again, the duke pressed it tightly against his own and clasped it with his other hand. She bit her lip, staring at her hand which was encased in his in so intimate a manner. She knew it wasn’t proper for them to be touching like this, and most certainly given that they were alone, but it felt so…blessedly right. More important, it felt real.

His fingers dug into her palm. “My devotion is real. I want you to know that.”

She jerked her chin upward and gawked up at him, her lips parting. Tightening her hold on his hand, she blurted, “You about read my mind.”

A small smile touched his lips. “One of my many talents.” His large fingers grazed their way upward toward her wrist before releasing her hand. His dark brows came together. “Might I ask why you do not seem to find me trustworthy? I thought we had long veered past all things superficial. I have come to think of us as good friends. Or rather…I was hoping a bit more than just friends.”

More? She swallowed and nervously brought her hands together, fingering the wrist he had just touched. “Well, I…although I do find you to be very pleasant, I…” Why couldn’t she focus on saying anything coherent?

Lowering himself to the bench again, he searched her face and said huskily, “Pleasant. I suppose there are worse things I could be.” He hesitated and then tossed out, “Do I interest you? At all? As a man? Or am I overreaching here?”

Blooming heat pulsed against her entire face, sensing this was veering onto a very different path. One she wasn’t prepared for, let alone capable of entertaining. “I am not…looking.”

“You are taking part in the Season, Lady Ascott. Therefore I would say, yes, you are looking.” He cleared his throat. “Your mother called on me last week.”

Dread seized her. “She did?”

“Yes. She, uh…pleaded that I make an offer on you. Apparently she noticed that I have more than a mild interest in you–-which I will admit I do—and insisted that I offer as she intends to have you married by June for reasons she was unable to disclose. Needless to say, her visit has been weighing on me since. She seemed panicked. Very panicked, actually.”

She cringed. Her mother had become pathetically desperate. Though she understood the woman only sought to protect her by removing her out of the care of her father, marriage was not the solution. Finding Nathaniel was.

He leaned in closer and lingered. “Is there something going on within your family that I don’t know about?”

She dragged in a breath, noting how breathtakingly close he was. She always thought him dashing, but never noticed how utterly spectacular he was until that moment. She tried to focus, spacing her words and her thoughts out as best she could. “I will admit that taking part in the Season is but a ploy. If I am to be honest in this, I am merely biding my time without my mother knowing it and ask that you forgive her. She means well.”

“Biding your time?” He lifted a brow. “Until what?”

She had already said too much. Although she desperately wanted to share the burden of her secret plans to flee London, the thought of exposing herself kept her from choking out the words. She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “How do I know I can even trust you?”

“You don’t.” He nudged her arm with his own. “You simply have to consider if taking a chance on me is better than taking no chance at all.”

She nervously brought her hands together. “Why do you even want to help? What will you get out of it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a wife.”

She glanced toward him in astonishment, noting his rugged features were, in fact, serious.

His full mouth quirked. “Was that a bit too forward for the cynic?”

Her. His wife. Her chest felt as if it would burst, torn between her duty to her brother and the possible duty to a man whom she had grown to admire and adore from a distance.

Setting aside that she had no intention on marrying given the mess her family was in, New York was waiting. Nathaniel was waiting. “I cannot offer you or any man matrimony.”

He was quiet.

She gestured toward him, trying to push aside the awkwardness that hovered between them. “I have yet to fully understand your interest. After all, you are the duke of Wentworth.”

He stared her down. “I don’t rather like the sound of that. What do you mean?”

She looked away, sensing she had only stupidly made things worse. She had been a touch obsessed following all the gossip pertaining to his life. It was certainly far better than following her own mess of a life. “I will admit that I follow gossip a bit more than I should. London whispers of the sworn oath you made to mourn for your beloved wife for the rest of your days. I will say this apparent interest you have in making me your wife conflicts with everything I have heard about you. And while I am honored to no end, I don’t know what to believe.”

His features tightened. “Given you wish to know, Lady Ascott, I ceased wearing my mourning garments all but last year, shortly before meeting you. It was time. It had been seven years.” His brows came together. “I always felt as if I would be betraying her. So although the whispers were once true, I am, in fact, trying to rise above them. Trying.”

Seven years. Seven years was a very long time to mourn for one’s wife. She doubted her father would mourn at all if her mother were to die.

Her heart squeezed, sensing the truth in his words. This was real. He was real. “You loved her that much.”

He half nodded, but wouldn’t meet her gaze. “We grew up together. She lived with her uncle on the estate next to mine in Essex. We were the same age, actually, and there wasn’t a time I don’t remember her not being part of my life. She was eight and twenty when she succumbed to illness. It wasn’t her time and I most certainly wasn’t ready to see her go. She wanted children. We both did. Sadly we… It never happened.”