To Lure a Proper Lady (26 page)

She moved to the side of the mattress opposite his injury, then gave in to an impulse and sat. Her hand trailed near his, not quite touching, but if he wished to take her up on the invitation and close the space, she would not protest.

“So tell me how you are.” She studied the line of his shoulder, the breadth of it, the way the muscle at the top bulged over his arm. In fifty years, she'd never grow tired of that view.

“I've been shot. It hurts like the devil.”

“But you'll get better.”

His fingers strayed toward hers. He picked up her hand and enlaced his with it. “Riggs says I'm healing well. He also tells me I was very lucky.”

She knew. God, she knew. She'd seen all the blood. She'd smelled it, the stink like the grave. But she could not force any kind of response past the lump in her throat.

“I've had so much laudanum,” he went on, his gaze fixed on their hands, “I feel like my head is full of fog.” Then he captured her gaze. “It got so bad, I swore I heard Snowley out there.”

“You did,” she whispered. Lord help her, she couldn't bring herself to lie.

“I find it hard to believe Snowley would venture all the way from Suffolk because he heard I was wounded.”

“You know he didn't. He came after me.”

“Because he proposed.”

At her nod, he dropped her hand.

His arms folded across his chest, a barrier against her. “Did you give him your answer?” he asked, low and lethal.

“Not yet,” she replied carefully.
Tell him,
an inner voice urged.
Tell him you can't steel yourself to do it. Tell him why.
But she could no more bring herself to do that than she could give Snowley the answer he desired. What was the use of a declaration neither could act on?

“Which means you're still considering.” That was nearly an accusation.

“Putting off the inevitable, really.” The part of herself that pressed her to confess her feelings gave a cheer at the admission.

Nothing about Dysart softened. “What does that mean?”

“I've no choice but to accept him now. Barrows has seen to that. Snowley doesn't possess the sense to turn the estate around.”

“How can you?” Such words ought to have exploded from him, for she knew he was referring to her accepting Snowley's offer of marriage. They didn't. He maintained that semblance of calm, a mere front if the tension in his arms meant anything. His biceps bulged.

“Duty.” The simple truth.

“How can you?” he repeated. This time, the end of his sentence hovered in the simmering air.
How can you go to his bed after the passion we've shared?

“Sacrifices must be made for the good of all.”

“Don't you dare tell me about sacrifice,” he growled. “It may make you feel morally superior for a time, but it won't ensure your happiness.”

She should be affronted that he'd bring up so personal a matter as her happiness. She ought to point out that it was none of his affair, but it had become so, not at the inn, but days before that. From the moment she'd responded to his kiss. At any rate, that warm sensation in the region of her heart was nothing like irritation. It felt much more like a blossom of hope.

He cares. Perhaps too much.

But that didn't change the hard truth. “This is about more than me. You are no stranger to the workings of a vast estate and how many depend on it for their livelihood. The tenants, the servants, and that's to say nothing of my papa and sisters.”

“You should not carry such a heavy burden as all that.”

“I've been asked to,” she whispered. “What kind of person would I be to coldly turn my back?”

He nodded, but with that assent, with that understanding, something shifted in him. His arm muscles relaxed, and his hands slid to his lap, but tightness lingered in his jaw and shoulders. The tension remained, but its nature had changed.

“What if you had another offer?” He pronounced the words quietly and carefully.

“What do you mean?” she asked just as carefully, while that blossom of hope inside her opened to full bloom.

“You don't have to marry your cousin to advise him.”

“That is true, but I think Papa believes he'll be more likely to listen to a wife than…well, a girl he grew up with.”

“I know all sorts of creative ways to make a man listen to reason.”

An incongruous laugh burst from her throat. “I don't think Snowley's planning on making you an offer.”

“Lizzie.” He reached for her hand again, his fingers slipping over her skin to entwine with hers. “After all that's happened between us, a gentleman would offer.”

Unable to peel her gaze away from the knot their hands formed, she caught her breath. “You've insisted to me over and over you're no gentleman.”

“At times like these, common decency is what dictates gentlemanly behavior.”

She met his eyes. In their dark depths burned a fire of strong emotion. “If I wanted to accept a proposal made out of obligation, I'd take Snowley's.”

“That's not the reason I'm proposing.”

“Go on.” Good heavens, was that her voice, all high and breathy like that? She sounded like some green chit, and she didn't care in the least.

His grip tightened. “What we have between us, I've never felt anything like it before. I never thought it possible. I want
more,
for the rest of my life. I know I'm not worthy of you, but I can't let you ruin your future by marrying some idiot. Not when there's another way.”

“You…you would have to rejoin society.”

“I can leave Bow Street.”

Another sacrifice there, only he'd be the one making it. He'd never said as much, but she knew his life as a Bow Street Runner had to give him a sense of purpose over and above whatever role he'd played as an earl's son. If he hadn't derived something from his current standing, he'd have returned to society when Sally died.

And society was much more forgiving of a man who flouted its dictates. He would have been accepted back.

“I've no right to ask that of you.”

“You've every right.” He raised their joined hands and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “I assure you, it's no sacrifice on my part. Not when I've fallen in love with you.”

A simple speech, but she would never expect a flowery declaration from this man. Her heart bursting, she reached for him, touching her fingertips to the stubble on his cheeks, reveling in the prickly texture, so like the man himself.

His palm against her nape, he drew her close for a lingering kiss. Whatever emotion he was unable to express in words poured into her through his lips and tongue, stealing the air from her lungs, and making her eyes burn. When he broke away, she was panting.

“I await your reply. I trust you won't consider overly long.”

There were a hundred details yet to discuss and work out, but for once, she pushed all that tedium aside. “I accept, fully, unconditionally, wholeheartedly. The same way that I love you. But you will have to convince Papa.”

S
HERRINGTON
M
ANOR, ONE MONTH LATER

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a daughter of a duke is raised to believe she can do as she dashed well pleases, which may lead her into all manner of difficulty.

Lizzie laid aside her pen and admired her opening line, but her mind wasn't really on her latest attempt at writing a novel. She was far more curious about the doings in Papa's study, where Dysart and her father were discussing not only her marriage settlement, but whether Papa would approve the match at all.

The click of the door handle set her heart racing. She looked across the small sitting room where Dysart had first shown her the depths of her passion. He entered, his countenance betraying nothing. Blast the man.

“Well?” she prompted.

A grin broke out over his face, an expression she'd seen often of late. “It's done.”

“He's agreed?” She stood, almost overturning her chair in her haste to rush to him.

“To everything.”

Everything included Sally's son coming to stay as Dysart's ward during the school holidays. Lizzie wasn't sure how she felt having an eleven-year-old boy about the place. He'd doubtless be interested in the same sort of disagreeable things Snowley liked at that age, but Caro had insisted she could divert his attention to the horses.

It also included the sale of the unentailed property Papa had set aside for her on her marriage. She would inject those proceeds back into the Sherrington estate to help make up for the funds Barrows had stolen.

Dysart placed his hands at her waist, fingers squeezing in affection. “Do you want to hear his conditions?”

She laced her fingers at the nape of his neck. “Go on.”

“He wishes you to oversee the estate, at least until Snowley inherits.”

“No shock there.”

“Indeed.” Dysart leaned close to press a kiss beneath her ear. “I suppose I shall have to allow you time in your day to see to those matters.”

She laughed, low and throaty, a sound she only seemed to make in his presence. “I'm sure Riggs will keep you busy enough.”

“As long as his assignments don't take me away from you for long periods of time.” He drew her earlobe between his teeth, biting gently. “Your father would also like you to interview candidates to take over Barrows's position. I think I'd like to help with that.”

“Surely you're not afraid one of them will steal me away from you.”

His expression grew serious for a moment. “I'm more concerned about hiring another man who plans to rob the estate blind. That's where my experience will come in handy.”

“Most definitely.”

“Lastly, he'd like you to choose Snowley's wife for him personally.”

Lizzie's stomach dropped along with her jaw. “Good Lord, has he learned nothing?”

“Clearly not. You're to pick a young lady with as much sense as you possess.” He pulled her against his chest, and she rested her head on his shoulder, relishing the comfort of his full embrace.

“You realize, don't you, that a young lady with sense will not wish to marry Snowley. His most redeeming feature is the fact he's Papa's heir, which means all the chits with their eyes on a title will be after him.”

“I've every confidence in your ability.”

“That is more than I have.” A sigh escaped her lips. “I expected to at least have a child or two before someone accused me of being a matchmaking mama.”

He chuckled, the sound wicked and enticing. “We can get started on that whenever you like.”

She pulled away to look at him. “You also realize we'll be returning to Town for the Season to oversee all this.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“I'll wager one thing hasn't crossed your mind.” She held his gaze, letting her feeling of mischief sparkle in her eyes.

“What?”

“Once we're married, to society I'll become Lady Gustave Childress.”

“Thank God you haven't seen the rest of the names on my baptismal certificate.” He winced but recovered in an instant. “But you'll still call me Dysart.”

“Oh, no. Now you have to tell me. It can't be worse than Snowley.”

“It can.” He brushed his lips over hers. “And I'm not about to tell you.”

She smiled. Broadly. “If I recall correctly, you still owe me a forfeit as a result of a certain game at a house party. I demand you tell me.”

“Just as soon as I'm finished kissing you. And since I never intend to stop, that will be a long, long time.” And with that, he set about proving his words.

To my sisters in the Secret Curtsey Society. You planted the seed for this entire series, but most especially this first book. Thank you for your support and inspiration.

Dear readers,

The first acknowledgment belongs to you. Thank you so much for reading Dysart and Lizzie's story. I hope you enjoyed it.

To find out what I have coming up next, please subscribe to my
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And now I hope you'll bear with me while I send out a few thank-yous.

As always, to my wonderful agent, Sara Megibow for being there and believing. To my amazing editor Junessa Viloria for the same.

To Caryl, Lizzie, Clemence, Carina, Matan, and Paula, thank you for putting up with my kvetching and for nagging me to keep going. To Caryl and Lizzie, especially for yelling at me to keep writing.

To Secret Curtsey Society and the Lalala Sisterhood for their moral support.

To my husband and daughters for putting up with the amount of time I spend living in my own little dreamworld.

Until next time!

Cheers!

Ashlyn Macnamara

xoxoxo

To Lure a Proper Lady

What a Lady Craves

What a Lady Demands

What a Lady Requires

A Most Scandalous Proposal

A Most Devilish Rogue

PHOTO: NICOLE MORISCO

A
SHLYN
M
ACNAMARA
is the author of
What a Lady Requires, What a Lady Demands, What a Lady Craves, A Most Devilish Rogue,
and
A Most Scandalous Proposal
. She lives in the wilds of suburbia outside of Montreal with her husband and two teenage daughters. When not writing, she looks for other excuses to neglect the housework, among them knitting, reading, and wasting time on the Internet in the guise of doing research.

ashlynmacnamara.net

Facebook.com/​AuthorAshlynMacnamara

@ashlyn_mac