Francis seemed to realize he had done something wrong. “I don’t understand what is wrong with you. This is a side of you I haven’t seen before, and I must say I don’t care for it much. Is it the influence of my cousin?”
“The only thing your cousin has done is point out that you only want to marry me for my dowry. A statement I begin to believe.”
“That’s not true. I love you.”
Lorrie raised her brows. “Prove it.”
“How am I supposed to prove it? Eloping and causing a scandal and pain to both of our families will not prove anything except that I can behave rashly. I love you enough to wait for you.”
“Do you love me enough to go to my father and beg for my hand?”
“The duke agreed to consider my proposal.”
“Because I begged and cried. Perhaps it is time the duke heard from you again. This time with more passion.”
“You want me to beg for your hand?”
“Yes.”
“Like some sort of dog?”
“Like a man in love.”
Francis merely stared at her.
“Unless you aren’t in love.”
“Good question,” came the voice to her right. The Viking stepped forward and Francis stepped back.
“You.” Francis pointed a finger at his cousin. “Stay away from me.”
“Stay away from Lady Lorraine. The next time you pay a woman to command my attention, choose a lady with more personality than a brick.”
“You think to criticize her for dullness?”
“I’d criticize you, but then I’d receive another scolding from my father. You should run and tattle to him now, like you did when we were children.”
“I had to protect myself.”
“I fear you hit your head one time too many when you were a child. You suffer from delusions.”
Lorrie covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Francis was not fooled. “And you? You do not defend me?”
Lorrie shrugged. “I will fight for you when you fight for me.” She glanced up and up at the Viking. “I’m feeling rather parched. Would you escort me to the refreshments?”
The Viking offered his arm as though he had escorted a thousand women in this manner. She put her arm through it and left Francis in her wake.
*
Ewan did not know why he should feel so on edge. It wasn’t nerves exactly. He knew what those felt like. He’d experienced the anxiety mixed with anticipation often enough under Draven’s command. The troop had been given the impossible missions. They were not expected to succeed, much less live. Ewan hadn’t expected to live, and he had a sense of peace and resignation about dying for King and country.
But his body still feared death. Thus, the nerves.
He hadn’t felt them in some time now. Not since he’d been back in London long enough to believe the end of the war wasn’t merely a dream from which he’d wake. It really was over. He was safe. He had no reason for anxiety.
Until tonight.
He’d escorted Lady Lorraine to the refreshment table and handed her a cup of lemon water. He would have rather drunk piss than the weak broth, but his mother had always said “Suum cuique,” which was a fancy way of saying “To each his own.”
Before the lady had finished her cup and departed, she’d whispered, “Meet me tonight in the library.”
Now Ewan stood at the door of his bedchamber—the Duke of Ridlington’s chamber, really, for it was the duke’s house—and listened to the silence of the house. It had been silent for more than three quarters of an hour, and Lady Lorraine was probably waiting for him.
And he hadn’t yet joined her because of the nerves. He didn’t fear he’d lose control and take her on the desk as he’d imagined ever since he’d pushed her down and enjoyed the sight of her rounded bottom wriggling in the air. He could control his impulses.
He didn’t fear death. If the duke discovered them and thought the worst, well, dying in a duel would be a far better death than many he had faced.
He feared the words on the page.
When he’d returned from the war, Ewan had confidence enough to stand up when called stupid. If he’d been stupid, he wouldn’t have survived the war. No one without courage and cunning had survived. And he’d had plenty of both. He was not a stupid man.
The trouble seemed to be the boy still inside him. That boy was not convinced. That boy still felt stupid. That boy still wondered if perhaps the man hadn’t fooled everyone, including himself.
Trying to read again would prove how stupid he was once and for all. And perhaps Ewan did not want to face the ugly truth.
And perhaps he was a bloody coward.
He lifted the file of papers he had been trying unsuccessfully to make sense of, pulled the door open, and stalked to the library. The door there was already ajar, and Lady Lorraine looked up when he entered. She sat behind her father’s desk, looking quite small and feminine in her white dressing gown with its high neck. The dog was in her arms, sleeping peacefully with his chin on one paw. She’d lit a lamp and set it on the desk, and shadows flickered over the books’ spines.
“I was beginning to wonder if you would come.”
“We should do this another night. It’s late.” Coward.
“It’s only a little after two. This might be the earliest we are home for several more nights.”
“You must be tired.” Yellow-bellied coward.
“No. Are you?”
He wanted to say yes, but exactly how afraid was he? It was words on a page, not a man with a musket. Act like a man, he told himself. “No.” Abruptly, he sat in the chair opposite her, his papers on the desk. The little fur ball raised his head, then went back to snoring softly.
Lady Lorraine gestured to several books she’d laid out on the desk. “I found these primers in my—”
“What did you and my cousin speak of tonight?” he asked. He was obviously desperate if he was, one, initiating conversation and, two, discussing his cousin.
“I think you heard the most salient part of the conversation,” she said.
“You want him to prove he loves you.”
She frowned at him as though confused by his sudden chattiness. “I suppose some of what you said made me think. Perhaps I’ve been too trusting.” Her gaze lowered to the books on the desk, and she laid a hand on one.
“Go on,” Ewan said before she could open the book. “What else did you discuss?”
She took a breath and sat back in her chair. “I don’t wish to speak of it. Nothing untoward, I assure you. But he said…several of his comments made me…if not suspicious, curious.”
He nodded as though to encourage her to keep talking. The bloody woman was always talking and talking. Why did she have to choose tonight to act close-lipped?
“Mr. Mostyn, are you trying to avoid our purpose here?”
“No.” Liar.
“Then why don’t we begin? I have this primer I used when I first learned to read.”
Ewan recognized the book. He’d had the same book. For years he’d struggled with it, never able to move to the next level.
“Not that one,” he said, his hands growing damp. He rubbed them on his trousers.
“Why not?” she asked.
He stood, and the dog jumped up with a sleepy yip of alarm. “This was a mistake. I have to go to bed.”
“What?”