Page 79 of The Mistletoe Dare

The earl seemed oblivious to his growing tension. “My Pa was a wicked auld bastard. He hated me more than anything else in life. Beat the living daylights out of me too, whenever he could lay hands on me, though he never left a permanent reminder. Of course, I wasnae his get but the earl’s bastard son. Not that he could bear for anyone to know that, so he acknowledged me publicly as his own.”

Rochford stared, uncomfortable with the confession and uncertain of what to do with it.

“I was hateful to my wife,” Morven continued. “I married her for her money. Reckoned as soon as she was with child, I’d send her back to England and be done with her.”

Rochford felt his mouth drop open.

“A fine prize I was, aye?” the earl said with a mocking smile. “I did all I could to make her hate me, to hate this place and want to leave it, but I did nae reckon with her strength, her compassion, and a will like bloody iron. I had nae choice but to love her. I still fought it tooth and nail for everything I had mind, because I’m a thick-headed gowk, and I nearly lost her because of it.”

The earl sipped his whisky, staring up at the stag’s head and its pink ribbons. “Ye see those ribbons, aye?”

“I… er… yes,” Rochford said, increasingly eager to get out of the earl’s company. This talk was not going as he’d expected.

“They serve as a reminder to me, of everything I have, of everything I could lose if I’m a damned idiot again, and of the punishment in store for me should I be so bloody stupid as to let my wife down.”

Thoroughly bewildered, Rochford could do nothing but wait for the rest.

“I deserted her after our first night of marriage. I was scared, ye see… out o’ my bloody wits, truth be told. I’d not expected to… to feel so much, so quickly. So I ran away like a coward. For weeks, mind. And when I got back, this room was pink.”

“Pink?” Rochford repeated uncertainly.

Morven nodded, grinning now. “From skirting to ceiling, everything in here was pink, and not just any pink, a violent, megrim-inducing pink. Every inch of wall was lined with animal heads like the stag there, staring at me with glassy eyes, and every neck, every ear and every bloody antler had a shiny pink ribbon. It was horrifying.”

“Good God,” Rochford said faintly, suppressing a shudder.

“Aye,” Morven said thoughtfully. “I learned my lesson though…. Eventually.”

Rochford stared up at the pink satin ribbons with dawning respect.

“Aye, you take a good look at them, duke,” Morven said, clapping him on his back. “But ye’ll not propose to my Georgie unless ye mean to love her, because she’s her mother’s daughter, and ye’ll have nowhere to hide when she’s your wife. Besides which, I’ll have yer balls as a table ornament if ye make her unhappy. Don’t say I did nae warn ye.”

Rochford turned, only realising the earl had left him alone as he heard the door close behind him.

“Alden, are you well? You seem… agitated.” Georgie watched him with concern. The duke had seemed somewhat distracted throughout dinner, and less attentive than she’d grown used to of late.

Rochford looked up from the fire he’d been staring into the past five minutes. He stood by the fireplace, his arm resting on the mantelpiece, his head bowed as he stared at the flames. They had been left alone in the parlour mercifully, though only on condition they left the door open, and someone checked on them from time to time.

“I’m fine,” he said, though his expression was grave.

He’s changed his mind, Georgie thought in despair. After all of this, after courting her and making her see that he wanted to change, that he could change if he tried, he had changed so much he’d decided he didn’t want her. Perhaps he’d realised what was possible now? For a rich duke, one that could socialise and—

“Georgie.”

She looked up, her heart beating too fast and her eyes blurring.

“Georgie? What is it?” He moved at once, kneeling in front of her, taking her hands in his. “What’s wrong? Your hands are freezing. Are you sick, love? Can I get you anything?”

Georgie shook her head, staring into his eyes, into the uncompromising face that so many found ugly, but that had become so dear to her.

“Then why do you look so unhappy? Oh,” he said. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Georgie repeated, truly panicked now. “Oh, what?”

“You’ve changed your mind.”

“Of course I’ve changed my mind!” she wailed. “You’ve spent the past weeks doing everything you can to change it haven’t you, you great lummox, and now you’ve changed yours!”

Rochford stared at her, looking utterly bewildered. He shook his head as if to clear it. “Can we start over? I seem to have missed the thread of this conversation.”