The Duchess War
Page 47

Duchesses went to parties—great big crushes with hundreds of people present. When they went walking in parks, people pointed them out and watched. And Minnie…Minnie began to panic if more than a handful of people looked her way. She’d fainted when twenty people surrounded her.
“Oh God,” she said, moving away from him, pulling her arms about herself. “This really isn’t going to work.”
“Minnie?”
She turned back to him. “What do you suppose happened out there?”
He blinked. “Out there? There is an out there?”
“Why do you think I fainted?”
“Um.” He scrubbed his hair through his hands. “The goats?”
“I live on a farm, Robert. I’m used to goats.”
He frowned. “You’re right. It was after the goats had been driven off. Everyone was crowded around you.”
She usually tried not to remember those moments that sent her into spiraling terror; she’d put it out of her mind as soon as she’d woken. But she could see them now, a wall of faces and fabric, all jeering at her. Her stomach cramped just recalling it. Her heart pounded with a cold intensity.
“I’m afraid of crowds.” The words squeaked out, but she’d said them. “No, not afraid—terrified.”
He took hold of her hand.
“Especially crowds where everyone looks at me. I was caught in a mob once when I was twelve.” She touched her cheek. “That’s where this came from. They were throwing rocks.”
He raised his hand to her face. His gloves were black leather; she could smell them, so close to her. He set his fingertips against her scar, traced it down her face, first lightly, and then with a little more force.
She had left off the last two words of her sentence. They hadn’t just been throwing rocks. They were throwing rocks at her.
“That was a vicious throw.”
She nodded.
He traced her scar again, this time pressing.
“I can actually feel a fracture in your skull. So close to your eye…”
“For the first few days, when I was all bruised all over, there was some question over whether I would be able to see out of that eye when it healed.”
He hadn’t moved his hand from her cheek.
“And so now I can’t abide large groups of people. If they’re all looking at me, it becomes impossible. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I want only to escape.”
“So you stay quiet. You hide every good thing about you and hope that nobody looks.”
Minnie stared at her skirts. “Yes.” The word was anguished. She curled up smaller.
For the longest time, he didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, he tilted her head up. “Too bad,” he murmured. “I’ve already seen you.”
His lips brushed hers. It wasn’t a kiss. Not really. Kisses would be more than just a light meeting of mouths, an exchange of scents. If it were a kiss, he wouldn’t have pulled away so quickly.
She found herself looking up at him. His hand cupped her cheek.
“What was that?” she asked.
“If you couldn’t tell, I must have done it wrong.” And then, more slowly, more deliberately, he leaned in. This time, his lips didn’t just brush hers; they met hers. His mouth was warm and dry; instead of a brief pressure, he nibbled at her. His hand cupped her cheek, pulling her closer, and that kiss…
Minnie turned away, but that only brought her forehead in contact with his shoulder. She leaned against him, learning how to breathe once more.
“I can’t marry you,” she said. “How could I be a duchess?”
“It’s easy,” he said. “You say yes. I get my lawyers to draw up the settlements. That will take three or four days, and by then, the special license will have arrived.”
Oh, God. His version of marriage started with attorneys. If she’d needed proof of how far apart they stood, how different were the worlds in which they lived…
His hand rested on hers, and every muscle in her body came to a standstill—her lungs ceased to draw air; her mouth froze half-open. And her fingers—well, she didn’t dare move her fingers, not one inch. Only her heart continued to pound in her chest, one staccato beat after another.
“After that,” he said, “I get to take you to bed.”
That, at least, was the same. Despite herself, Minnie smiled.
He drew his thumb along the side of her hand in a caress. “What am I going to do with you, Minnie?” he asked idly.
She jerked her hand away, her heart stinging with some emotion she couldn’t identify. “Stop. Stop doing anything.”
He tilted his head toward her. His profile was crisp and perfect. The lamplight kissed the tip of his nose, and Minnie felt an irrational surge of jealousy—that the light could touch him so indiscriminately, and she could hardly withstand the pressure of his fingertips.
“Your Grace,” she said distinctly, “I must be more clear. I told you there was something in my past. Something I didn’t want to come to light.”
He didn’t stop toying with her hand. “I can guess what you’re about to say,” he said mildly. “And I really don’t give a fig about that.”
Minnie’s palms had begun to sweat. She was beginning to feel the first stirrings of nausea. It had been so long since she told anyone, so long since she’d said the words aloud.
“Until I was twelve years old—” She was beginning to tremble, and he sat up and looked at her with concern. There was nothing for it but to get it out quickly. “Until I was twelve years old,” she said in a rush, “my father dressed me in trousers and introduced me to everyone as a boy.”
He blinked, his eyes widening in surprise. “I was…definitely not going to guess that.”
“It came out, of course,” she said. “It came out badly.” She rubbed her hands together, trying to stop them from shaking. “All of London knew. It was in the papers. That mob I told you about? They were after me. Wanting to punish me for daring to pretend so much. For being so unnatural.”
“Huh.” He had a small frown on his face as he looked at her. His eyes traveled over her, as if seeing her again, this time as a thing that had not come out right. Maybe he had read about the scandal at the time. Maybe he was trying to recall details. Maybe he’d been part of the crowd, part of the group throwing rocks.
No. Not that. He hadn’t let go of her hand, and she couldn’t imagine him hurling stones at anyone, let alone a child.