Nothing But Scandal. Allegra GrayЧитать онлайн книгу.
She disappointed herself as well, for the secret joy she took in his presence. Decorum, she thought once more, but the mental reminder was drowned out by the pounding of her heart, which had doubled in pace when he stepped near.
“Well,” he said with a slow smile, “it appears you have a temporary reprieve from your many duties. Perhaps you will humor me with a stroll in the garden?”
“I’ve just recently come in from the garden,” she replied, trying to keep from sounding peevish.
“I see. Well, perhaps you’d allow me to show you the library?”
“What are you doing here?” she asked instead.
“I might ask the same of you.”
The deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. “You haven’t—” She swallowed and tried again. “You haven’t told anyone what I did?”
“No. Though I do believe I am owed some answers. I am—how shall I say?—concerned, with what I learned last night. To the library, then?”
She was caught. After all, she’d promised, sort of, not to avoid him. He knew her secrets. She needed to keep his good favor. In all the years she’d hoped Alex Bainbridge would seek her out, she’d never imagined it quite this way. The bright side, she told herself, was that she had been meaning to look at the library.
“I would be most pleased,” she acquiesced, trying not to think about what exact answers the lofty duke thought himself entitled to.
He gave her a satisfied grin and offered his arm, as though she were still Miss Medford, the baron’s daughter, and not Miss Medford, governess to the nobility.
Feeling it would be churlish not to accept the gesture, Elizabeth placed her hand in the crook of his arm and allowed him to escort her downstairs and to the library. She already knew its location, of course, and was quite capable of conveying herself there, but for just a moment she chose to forget the past several months, to forget the vaguely threatening note in the duke’s voice or the fact that he’d once rejected her utterly, and allow this fantasy to play itself out.
It was the middle of the day and there were servants about. Surely no harm could come of this.
“Ah, here we are,” Alex said as he led her into a large, well-appointed library. Bookshelves, each filled to capacity, lined three walls. On the fourth, large mullioned windows overlooked the lawns of the estate. The chairs and chaises scattered about the room were designed for comfort. It was the perfect place to lose oneself in a book, or even just in thought.
“’Tis a lovely room, Your Grace,” Elizabeth said. “Thank you for showing it to me.”
He shot her a knowing look. “You wouldn’t be anxious to be rid of me, would you, Miss Medford?”
“Of course not.” It was a lie, and he knew it as well as she. She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. “You said you wanted answers. Well, here is your answer, Your Grace. That moment in the park was folly. A rash and unwise move on my part. I have never done anything else like it, nor do I intend to.
“As for the man who fancies himself my fiancé, I have never agreed to marry him—or anyone else, for that matter. I need this position, and I will work hard to keep it. Again, I thank you for showing me the library.”
He threw her a grin and swept a gallant arm toward the many shelves. “You’re welcome. But I’ve hardly begun. Here, now, what shall we examine first?”
She sighed. There would be no getting rid of him. Worse, there was a wicked part of her soul that rejoiced with each moment he stayed.
He bypassed a wall full of scientific texts, then stopped suddenly before a shelf of Byron. “Ah! I know. You have a fondness for poetry, if I recall.”
Elizabeth was no budding poet, but she had attended a poetry recital held by the duke’s spinster cousin a couple months ago. The whole event had been awful, from the lackluster refreshments to the crowlike voice in which the duke’s cousin delivered what, presumably, were poems.
No doubt Alex remembered because, in Elizabeth’s haste to leave when the wretched event was over, she had tripped over a sagging flounce at the hem of her gown and stumbled into him. And while she’d seen any number of ladies swoon gracefully into the duke’s arms, she had landed there out of pure clumsiness.
She gazed up at him now and caught the telltale twinkle in the duke’s eyes. She grinned helplessly. “I do love a good poem.”
“Well, I cannot claim to share my cousin’s…ahem,…skill in recitation, but I can show you my sister’s fine collection of poets.”
“No performance?” Elizabeth feigned disappointment as Alex directed her to the shelf packed with leather-bound volumes. “Likely it’s for the best. If I recall, I was so carried away by the last one I attended, I lost my bearings and nearly ran you over.” She kept her tone light as she turned to look at the poetry books.
“Of course, I quite forgot. Perhaps I should steady you, then, as you peruse these tomes, in order to prevent a reoccurrence.”
Elizabeth sucked in her breath as his hands settled gently on either side of her waist. The temptation to lean back into him, absorb his scent and strength, was nearly overwhelming. She bit her lip, hard, in hopes the pain would distract her.
“I shouldn’t allow this,” she whispered.
“If I recall,” he countered, “you were willing to offer much more.”
“That was before.” But she closed her eyes as his thumbs gently stroked her sides. “I just told you—”
“Shh. You are an unusual woman, Elizabeth,” he murmured, his head bent so she could feel the warmth of his breath behind her ear. “I confess you have quite captured my interest.”
They were slipping into dangerous territory. Elizabeth knew it and tried to change course. She reached out to finger a volume of poetry, though by which poet, she had no idea. “You toy with me, Your Grace.”
“Nay, never that.”
“I know well you find me less than tempting.” Elizabeth spoke with more conviction than she felt.
“You’re wrong. I think you a temptress of the most dangerous sort.”
His breath tickled her ear, awakening a longing for him to touch that same spot with his lips. She tried to focus instead on how crushed she’d felt when he’d rejected her that morning in the park.
She turned to face him. “Forgive my skepticism, Your Grace. It’s only that I find it hard to believe that when I was a respectable member of the ton, when I offered myself to you with no strings attached, you found me lacking. And now here I stand, a mere governess, and your interest is piqued?”
He shrugged. “I don’t like Society women.”
The blunt tone made Elizabeth study him closely. “You toy with me, Your Grace,” she repeated.
“I assure you, I do not. Society women are cold and calculating. They measure and analyze everything, down to the slightest comment or the color of a person’s gloves, in their quest to rise to the top.”
Elizabeth tilted her head sideways. He had a point. Her own mother was one such woman.
“You, on the other hand, fascinate me, for you were willing to give all that up. And then, I’ve seen you with the children. You are so much more natural with them, and I’ve seen you show them real affection, even though they are not yours. Which Elizabeth is real? The brazen miss that concocted that outrageous, though sorely tempting, idea for her own ruination? Or”—he lightly touched her cheek—“the one who stands before me, a caregiver who puts others’ needs before her own?”
He drew her inexorably toward a nearby settee, until Elizabeth had no choice but to sit. He sat beside her and laid