“I am not. I have on many occasions had very enjoyable conversations with the Prince, and while my father is not in his first circle, we always find our names on his invitation list. I think that he would be most amused.”
“You take a great risk. You wrote this book for the masses to read our secrets and laugh at our peccadilloes. A woman will not easily be forgiven what a man of rank and wealth would be allowed,” he said on a triumphant note.
“And still … I might be willing to risk it. Does that not tell you how desperate I am not to be your wife!” she snapped at him.
“You are being emotional. It is all well and good for you to risk your own comfort in society … must you also risk your
family’s?”
“I am not the one doing this to them! You are. In fact, you went out of your way to discover my secret and lay it bare. Do you think I will ever forgive you?”
“Your eyes … so dark and full with light … Do you not understand how I love you?”
“’Tis not love, Edward … love is sacrifice, love is caring more about the object of your affections than yourself. You want … you lust … you do not love.”
“You are wrong and too naïve to understand. We are meant to be together, and I will bring this about.”
Her gloved hand fluttered as it went to her heart. He caught it and held it to his own heart. “Do you feel that? It beats for you, my darling … it wants only you … would risk all to have you.”
“You are risking all. You are throwing your soul to the wind … What you are doing is wrong …”
***
The Duke of Barrington sat astride his fidgeting gelding and watched from a row of trees that lined the road. The breakers beating against the sand were at his back, and if blood ever raced and bubbled, it did so in his veins at that precise moment. He was riveted by the picture of what appeared to be two lovers in the throes of a quarrel.
His heart ached with doubts. His mind reeled against the vision. He could almost see Babs’ dark eyes flash, but then he did see something …
She looked like a caged kitten about to claw its way out of a corner.
What the deuce was going on?
He was already in a foul mood. He had just come from Sir Frederick’s lodgings and had endured Freddy’s chatter about the ride he’d had with Babs, Miss Bretton, and the dry-witted Lady Jane.
He had managed to inquire casually if Lady Babs seemed to be in spirits, and Freddy had answered, “Babs? Odd that you should ask that.”
“Oh, and why, may I ask?”
“Because I couldn’t put m’finger on it, but, Nick, she didn’t seem herself at all … and if I didn’t know better, I would swear her eyes were red from crying. I remarked on her eyes looking a bit red, and she said it was the flowers … but …”
“Perhaps she was a bit under the weather,” Nick had responded, but he hadn’t been able to banish the sick feeling that swept through him.
“Well, I asked Corry … Miss Bretton what was towards with Babs, for I tell you, though she tried damnably to hide it, something was wrong.”
“And what did Miss Bretton have to say?”
“Well, you see, Miss Bretton and I are, I hope, I believe, reaching an understanding and are therefore on … comfortable terms—”
“Damnation man, though I am pleased to hear it, do tell me what she thought about the Lady Babs!” snapped Lord Wildfire, losing the patience he had been trying desperately to maintain.
Freddy had eyed him curiously for a moment and said, “Aye … she told me that her cousin was suffering from a terribly tight situation, but before she could finish, we were interrupted, you see, and she was unable to tell me the rest.”
Freddy’s words had nagged at him, and now, here she was, looking as though she were about to cry and trying very hard not to do so. In fact, it appeared as though she were pleading for her life …
What a muddle he was in. What should he do?
Time to cut the couple off before Sir Edward took up the reins. Why not? Perhaps he would use this moment to pay his respects to the bride … and see what he could see.
One thing, however, nagged at his brain: the question of why.