The Forbidden Duke (19 page)

Nora realized she’d never answered her question, but supposed it didn’t matter. Lady Satterfield was pleased and happy for Nora, and that made Nora happy.

Yes, her future was secure. The only question was whether it was the future she truly wanted.

Chapter Twelve

T
he following day, Titus went to his club for luncheon before the House of Lords session. His stepmother was hosting a tea that afternoon, but he didn’t have time to attend. Nora had been at the forefront of his thoughts, and he planned to see her soon. Perhaps he’d stop in tonight after the session finished.

As he walked through the dining room, he saw Mr. Jonathan Gasper, a horse breeder with excellent stock, sitting by himself. Seeing him here, Titus was struck with the rather spontaneous urge to speak with him about a horse for Nora. Before he could make his way to Gasper’s table, a footman approached him.

“Your Grace, I’ll have your usual luncheon sent up directly.”

Titus appreciated the footman’s care. “I’m going to speak with someone first. Do wait a bit.”

The footman hesitated the briefest moment before saying, “As you say, Your Grace.” He began to turn, but Titus stopped him.

“And I think I’d prefer mutton today.”

The footman’s nostrils flared. It was a slight thing, but Titus caught the reaction. “Indeed, Your Grace.”

Titus had known this particular footman for quite a while. He knew Titus’s habits and preferences, and Titus had just surprised him. Twice.

Absurdly, Titus was amused. He felt good. Yes, for the first time in a very long time, he felt
good
.

He made his way to Gasper. “Afternoon, Gasper, I wonder if I might have a word.”

The gentleman looked up from his soup and blinked. “Kendal. Yes, yes, of course.” He gestured for Titus to sit. “Are you having luncheon?”

Why not eat it here instead of his private dining room? “Yes, do you mind if I join you?”

Gasper studied him for a moment. “Not at all.” It seemed he might say something more, but he took another spoonful of soup instead.

“I wanted to speak with you about acquiring a new mount—a gentle mare, something appropriate for a novice rider.” Titus signaled for the footman to come to the table.

“How may I be of service, Your Grace?”

“I’ll take my luncheon here, thank you.” He turned back to Gasper, effectively dismissing the footman, but not before registering that he’d surprised the man a third time.

Titus glanced at the footman’s departing back before returning his attention to Gasper. “I’m upsetting the order of things today.”

Gasper swallowed another spoonful of soup and set his utensil down. “Because you’re eating here?”

“It’s not expected, is it?”

Gasper blinked. “No.”
 

He seemed as hesitant and cautious as the footman had been. Was Titus so fearsome? No, but he’d created a wall around himself and preferred that no one breach it save his inner circle. Today, however, he felt like lowering that wall. Just a bit.

He turned the conversation back to horses, and after a while, the footman delivered his meal along with Gasper’s next course. They enjoyed a pleasant luncheon, and before Titus realized it, he needed to be on his way.

He was about to excuse himself when two gentlemen strolled by. “I can’t believe she chose Dawson,” one of them said. “My money was on Markham.”

The other man shook his head. “Why’d she choose Dawson over an earl? Makes no sense to me, but then women never do.”

Titus stood. “What are you discussing?”

The pair stopped in their tracks and slowly turned. They regarded Titus as if he had a second head. The first man swallowed. “Your Grace?”

Titus’s gut clenched. “What are you talking about? Who?” He feared he knew the answer and, like these men, he could make absolutely no sense of it.

“A wager was placed last night at White’s. About Miss Lockhart—your stepmother’s ward, I believe.” The man sounded a bit nervous, tentative. “There seems to be a competition for her hand between Lord Markham and Mr. Dawson.”

A bloody competition? A wager? The room seemed to darken, and Titus’s breath squeezed from his chest. “You said she chose Dawson?”

The two men exchanged puzzled looks. “Evidently,” the second one answered. “We just heard it down at Key’s Coffee House.”

The good mood Titus had just enjoyed, the only contentment he’d found in nine long years, evaporated like smoke.

Without a word, he turned and strode from the club, his feet devouring the ground as he made his way to his coach. He barely spared a glance for the coachman, who held the door for him. “Satterfield House.”

Once inside the vehicle, he exhaled his pent-up breath. She’d chosen Dawson? After what had happened between them the other night?

Well, why wouldn’t she, you ass? It’s not as if you proposed.

And he should have. Not because it was the right and honorable thing to do, which of course it was, and which
of course
she deserved. But because he loved her. He was irrevocably, hopelessly, desperately in love with her.

He had to tell her. Even if nothing came of it, he had to share what was in his heart before it was too late. He’d lost one person in his life—his father—without telling him how much he meant, and he wasn’t going to make that same mistake again.

Chapter Thirteen

D
espite a blissfully quiet night at home, Nora was no closer to making a decision about her future. The tea was due to start shortly, and presumably both Markham and Dawson would make an appearance. Neither would ask for her hand during such an occasion, but they would likely press their potential courtships.

She told herself that was fine. Better than fine. Either would be an excellent match, and Dawson had certainly laid out his advantages yesterday.

The mystery lay with Titus. Only there really wasn’t a mystery at all. They’d enjoyed a spectacular evening together where no promises were exchanged. She ought to continue as if it had never happened.

She practically choked at the thought.

Another option had skipped into her brain last night as she’d tried to fall asleep. What if she didn’t marry anyone? What if she worked as a companion as she’d intended and saved her pennies so that she could afford to retire to the country by herself? Granted, it would take years. And years. But what else did she have to do?

However, on her own she couldn’t look forward to a repeat of what she’d experienced with Titus. Which led her back to her choices of husband and the conclusion that she didn’t trust that any other man could give her what Titus had. It went far beyond the physical sensations he’d aroused. He’d gifted her with a sense of empowerment, something she’d never even conceived of.

She’d lost everything that mattered nine years ago—her reputation, her ability to secure her future, her ability to secure her sister’s future. Two nights ago, she’d realized that she’d actually lost far more: her self-respect. Titus had shown her that she’d regained it and so much more.

Nora walked into the drawing room as Lady Satterfield checked over a table laden with delicate cakes and neat sandwiches. She glanced sideways at Nora. “There you are. Just in time.” She straightened, inclining her head toward the door. “They are arriving.”

Over the next quarter hour, Nora greeted guests, including Lady Dunn, whose company she’d come to enjoy. The older woman was quite pleased to see that Nora was enjoying a surge in popularity. She clearly took a small amount of credit, since she’d championed Nora from the start.

Lady Dunn nodded toward the doorway. “Your Mr. Dawson is here.”

Nora bit her tongue before she said he wasn’t
her
Mr. Dawson. She turned in her chair and made eye contact. He instantly smiled and cut toward her.

He took her hand and dropped a kiss to the back. “Good afternoon, Miss Lockhart. You are lovelier than the sun.”

“Thank you. I’m delighted you could come today.”

He looked at her expectantly. “Might I take you for a turn about the room?”

Nora preferred to continue visiting with Lady Dunn but didn’t wish to be rude. “Certainly.”

At the precise moment Nora turned to thank Lady Dunn for coming, there was a stir. Conversation picked up in both speed and volume about the room. A woman whose name Nora couldn’t quite recall came toward her. Her eyes were wide and animated, her lips curved into an expectant smile.

“May I offer my congratulations to you both,” she said, beaming at Nora and Dawson.

Nora looked at Mr. Dawson and saw that he was grinning. What did he have to grin about? Something to do with this mysterious congratulations. A knot formed in Nora’s chest.

Dawson sidled closer, his smile appearing perhaps a bit forced upon closer inspection. He looked at Nora intently, his gaze piercing as if he were trying to impart some dire piece of information without saying a word. Then he turned his attention to the woman. “Thank you, Lady Faversham.”

“Have you set a wedding date?” Lady Faversham asked.

“What’s this?” Lady Dunn asked. She looked between Nora and Dawson. “There’s to be a wedding?” Her gaze fixed on Nora, and there was a bit of an accusation in its depths. “I didn’t realize you were betrothed.” She was angry that Nora hadn’t told her. But there hadn’t been anything to tell.

Nora opened her mouth, but Dawson’s elbow grazed her side as he rushed to answer, “Yes, a wedding. Thank you for your felicitations.” He tipped his head down to address Lady Dunn. “Yes, we became betrothed yesterday.”

They had done no such thing! Did he somehow think an agreement had been reached when they’d walked around the garden? He couldn’t have. She’d given him no assurances, let alone an answer to a proposal he hadn’t uttered.

She turned her head to glare at him and saw something in his eyes that gave her pause—fear. What was going on here? Why was he doing this?

Dawson took her hand, and she instinctively tried to snatch it away. He squeezed her fingers, tugging until she looked at him. He leaned slightly forward and whispered, “Please just go along with me. I promise it will all turn out right. Trust me.”

Trust him? All the power she’d felt last night leached away, leaving her cold and hopeless. People clamored around them, and the chatter in the drawing room had reached a near-deafening crescendo.

And then it quite simply stopped.

Heads swiveled to the doorway. Standing on the threshold, his face as dark as a storm cloud, was Titus.

The knot in Nora’s chest loosened upon seeing him, but then promptly tightened again as she registered his anger. He knew about the betrothal. Which wasn’t even real.

She stared at him, hoping to do what Dawson had tried—communicate without saying anything. She tried to convey that she wasn’t betrothed, that she didn’t want Dawson. Yes, she knew in that moment that she wouldn’t accept him or Markham or anyone else. Not when she wanted Titus. She pulled her hand from Dawson’s grip and edged away from him.

Titus didn’t break eye contact as he strode slowly into the room. People backed away from his path, and still no one spoke. He didn’t stop until he was about three feet in front of Nora.

Dawson tried to take her hand again and whispered, “Let’s take a walk.”

She kept her gaze locked with Titus, urging him to do something. Say
something
.