A Lesson in Pride (26 page)

Grant looked away again, as if considering his next words carefully. “That is what is done. Surely she had no notions of a love match.”

“It seems she did. Now, she has to settle for you.”

Grant gifted her with a look of pure derision. “It is how things are done, Alysanne. You, of all people, should know that.”

A half-smile beamed back at him. “Oh, I do, Grant. I do.”

Confused by her agreement, Grant coughed into his hand. “Well, I should be off. I will notify you if I learn anything.”

“Thank you.”

“You are very welcome,” Grant responded as he stood before her and kissed her knuckles. He left quickly, closing the door behind him.

Ginny sat quietly for a few minutes before picking up her book again. She could agonize over decisions for the next half hour or she could read her book. Since she'd learned that thinking too much only caused more problems, Ginny picked up her novel and began to read instead.

Chapter 33

The cloudy sky was in perfect concert with her mood. Charlotte watched as Hope sorted through stacks of fabrics looking for just the perfect shade of pink. Some of society thought they should still be in at least half-mourning for their father, but most would never say it out loud. There were few of the ton who didn't know what a wretch Franklin Drake had been, so they could hardly blame his daughters for getting over his death quickly.

There was no use denying to herself that Braydon was pursuing her. After the theater, he had practically stated that he wished to marry her. He did apologize for the kiss, which was the gentlemanly thing to do. Then why had it vexed her so much? Did he regret it or did he think she did?

It was hard to regret something so enjoyable. It was the joys of life that made it worth living. Of course, over-indulgence was a danger as well. If she partook of too many sweets, she would grow fat. If she allowed Braydon too many liberties, she would... what? The natural conclusion would be that she might become pregnant, but Charlotte didn't think Braydon would attempt anything that far. Though there was a time in the greenhouse when Charlotte could imagine herself doing “that.”

“What do you think of this one, Lottie?” Hope asked, not turning to see what she was doing.

“I like it,” Charlotte replied without even looking at the bolt of fabric. Experience had taught her that her opinion was not necessary, only her agreement.

Hope took the fabric and went off to speak to a shop girl, leaving Charlotte to her musings once again. She did get a chance to speak to Braydon the previous night. It was obvious that they were compatible. Braydon wanted to live in the country, only coming to town when he lectured. He was writing a book on his agricultural findings that he was certain would be wildly popular. What he never mentioned was how he would be capable of supporting himself, a wife, and a family. Charlotte couldn't imagine his income to be that much.

She liked him, but whenever she thought of committing herself to a man who might not be able to help her sisters, her stomach clenched uneasily. It wasn't that Charlotte required much, but she couldn't imagine turning away her siblings when they needed her most. If only her father hadn't been such a tyrant. There was no point to what ifs and she knew it.

That left her with a man who wanted her. Judging by his excitement in the greenhouse, he wanted her a lot. It felt good to be desired, but it was hardly a reason to base a lifelong commitment. At that, Charlotte recognized that she'd come full circle. Thankfully, her sister was done with her purchase and it forced Charlotte to exit the store.

As they walked along the street, Hope said, “I like Mr. Pierce. I think you two would be good together.”

Like a hot poker between her eyes, Charlotte's head began to pound. The last thing she wanted was to talk about Braydon with Hope. She loved her sister dearly, but there was little Hope could contribute. The girl had done nothing but complain about almost every man she'd met so far.

“He is very kind,” Charlotte replied. She thought her tone stated that Hope should let the topic go, but of course, she didn't.

“He was very kind to me last night. It is so rare to meet a real gentleman these days. You should grab hold with both hands and never let go.”

“You think so? What about his lack of wealth or title?”

“As if I ever cared about a title. Father had a title and it did little to improve his demeanor. As far as wealth, why do you think he is poor?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “He is an academic, Hope. He works for a living. I cannot imagine an agriculturalist making a decent wage.”

Hope stopped her sister and gave her a shrewd look. “I would not know, Charlotte, but I do know this. The clothing he wears is finely made and well tailored. He is always immaculate, from his polished shoes to his well-tied neck cloth. He either has a valet or he is the most fastidious man in England.”

Charlotte opened her mouth to refute what her sister had said, but stopped herself. She had not paid much attention to his attire, but Hope was correct. The man did wear well-made clothes. He was always immaculately groomed.

“Maybe his benefactor provides him with a man servant.”

“But surely not the clothing,” Hope stated. “Why do you not just ask him?”

“Ask him about his wealth?” Charlotte was appalled.

“Ask if he can take care of you. That is a most reasonable question to ask a man who wishes to marry you.”

“What makes you think he means to marry me?” It annoyed Charlotte that her sister was so perceptive. So much more than she ever was.

“Oh, you must be joking, Lottie. The two times I have seen you two together, he would not take his eyes off you. I am not completely ignorant of what men think.”

“How would you know anything of men? You are just as sheltered as I.” A bitterness crept into her tone that vexed her even more. She hated her sister for knowing better and for being correct.

“Unlike you, Lottie, I went about the neighborhood. You always felt a need to watch over the little ones like a mother hen. It allowed me the freedom to meet the neighbors.”

The weight of Hope's words sunk in. Charlotte had stayed behind, even as a child. She was always so concerned about her sisters, even when Hope's mother was still alive. The woman had always been so fragile, most likely from having to endure Drake. Charlotte had given up her childhood. It was one sacrifice of hundreds. It was the only thing she knew.

Hope asked in a gentle voice, “Do you like him?”

Still peeved, Charlotte asked sarcastically, “What do you think?”

Hope smiled. “I know. I was wondering if you did.” With her package under her arm, Hope entered the milliner's shop.

Charlotte watched her go, knowing that she was not the best company. What was she to do now? She did like him. She liked him very much. She knew that he was attracted to her; the greenhouse said that much. She needed to talk to Ally. As perceptive as Hope was, Ally was ten times more so. Maybe all she needed was someone to tell her what to do.

No, she would not think that way. Braydon had allowed her small liberties with the stolen champagne and the private kisses. She was old enough to make her own decisions. Her father was dead and would be of no help even if he still lived. Her mother had died so long ago. It was time she stood on her own two feet. It was time she decided on something that affected only her.

********

When Ginny heard the door open, she figured her stepdaughters were finally home. As she had predicted, home soon had meant several hours. Walking to the foyer, she stopped short when she saw it was not Hope and Charlotte, but Lord Hood holding a ridiculously large bouquet of flowers. He didn't notice her standing there, but asked Mr. Frommer if she was in.

The butler gave his pat answer of “I shall see if she is receiving,” when both men turned and saw her standing not six feet away.

“Lord Hood, what a pleasure,” Ginny gushed insincerely. It wasn't that she wasn't glad to see him; it was just that she wanted to sound like all her contemporaries, without a shred of sincerity. It was a bad habit that she had picked up from living in a bunch of romance novels. Only her sarcasm had not suffered, as she had honed that to a fine point.

“Please join me in the parlor.” Ginny turned and began walking down the hall without waiting for him to follow. A couple rustling sounds, followed by his footsteps, met her ears as she made her way to the back of the house. She entered the parlor and took her seat, seeing that Morgan was right on her heels. Mr. Frommer was directly behind him.

“Shall I order a tea tray, my lady?” he muttered, clearly put out, but not in a position to complain.

Ginny looked at Morgan, who shook his head. Turning back to the butler, she answered, “No, thank you, Mr. Frommer.”

The man departed the room, but kept the door open. At his retreated footsteps, Ginny rose and closed the doors. Turning around, she saw Morgan standing, waiting for her to return to her chair.

Instead, she walked to the sidebar and asked, “Would you care for something to drink? Other than tea, that is.”

She watched his face as he debated with himself. Laughing, she poured two whiskeys and handed one to him. She took her seat and waited for him to take his.

When everyone was comfortable, Ginny said, “It is so nice to see you, my lord.”

“Is it?” he asked, his half-smile making him all the more heartbreakingly gorgeous. This one had a face that was so male, so virile, and so perfect, Ginny's heart was skipping beats just looking at it. In her time, the man would undoubtedly be a movie actor, even if he couldn't put two words together. Women would pay just to watch him stand in the background.

“I see you don't appreciate my 'ton' attitude. I have to make everything sound insincere in order for people to appreciate me more.”

“So true,” he stated, taking a sip of the whiskey. “I cannot appreciate it at all.”

Ginny smiled as parts of her anatomy warmed pleasantly. Some due to the whiskey, most due to the man sitting across from her.

“What happened last night? It took you some time to return to your box. I have to admit that I almost went looking for you.”

Oh, he was worried. The warmness increased. “I bumped into my brother and Lord Grant.”

After saying Lord Grant's name, the kindness in his eyes dimmed subtly. Ginny had no problem playing one man off the other, especially with this storyline at stake. She wasn't going to marry Grant, so she had better find a replacement, and quick. God knew how long it would take to move on at the rate she was going.

“No problems, I hope.”

“No, not really,” she answered cryptically.

“I have the notion that Lord Grant is very protective of you.”

“He can be - at times,” Ginny said, thinking that he did nothing to protect her from Drake. When her face fell, he must have noted it.

“At times?” he asked. “It is a shame if he is only a protector at times.”

A flash of ire came over her. She didn't think that Morgan should share his opinions so quickly, especially when he had no idea of the particulars. Suppressing her first thought, she instead stated, “I'm not in need of a protector, my lord. I can take care of myself.”

Sensing he'd made some faux pas, Morgan quickly said, “I meant no offense, my lady. I sensed that you were not pleased. I apologize for reading the situation incorrectly.”

This guy was good. The only question that remained was whether she should sleep with him sooner or later. If there was one thing Ginny knew, it was that she wanted to sleep with him. She wanted him in her bed because every fiber of her being screamed that he would be the hands-down winner of all things sexual. He would make her orgasm feel like she was landing on the sun. She would burn up in ecstasy. The earth would cease to rotate and gravity would reverse itself.

Ginny took a sip of her whiskey to cover up the smile over her naughtiness. “Apology accepted. Have you adjusted to life in England, my lord?”

“Please, no more 'my lord.' My name is Morgan.”

“Morgan,” she said, emphasizing both syllables, “are you happy here?”

“I am not certain yet. I think I could be. If given the proper motivation, that is.”

Everything solid inside Ginny melted into a pool at her feet. She was more than happy to provide some motivation.

“Good,” she squeaked and saw him smile. Instead of attempting more words, she took another sip of the whiskey.

“Alysanne, you are a widow. That must afford you some freedom.”

Yes, she thought but instead continued to stare.

“I should like to... explore a relationship with you.”

Explore? That sounded promising. There were quite a few things she wanted to explore on him too.

“Perhaps you could join me at my home one evening. My cook makes an excellent vol au vent.”

Ginny blinked. She had no idea what he was talking about and she didn't care. The evening he was proposing had far less to do with food than it did with something else. Taking a small breath, Ginny said, “That sounds... delicious.”

His smile grew at her words, for he was no stranger to the double entendre. Ginny watched as he rose and seated himself next to her. She made no move as his hand reached over and cupped her cheek. She was still frozen as he pulled her gently toward his waiting lips. She closed her eyes and opened her lips. His mouth found hers and he began to kiss her. All the fire that had been building up inside her suddenly disappeared.