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Suddenly, he reached his hand up to my face, seizing my chin in his strong, soft grip. Staring into his eyes, I felt paralyzed and vulnerable – as if he could see right into my very soul.
And then, he leaned back against the carriage wall and laughed.
“While I’d love to be able to say that we made passionate love, right there on the library floor, we did not.Obviously. Nothing happened. I carried you upstairs and put you in your bed. End of story.”
I froze, feeling as if I had just been through whiplash. Only moments before, his hand had been against my skin… and now he was laughing at me.
I should have been relieved. And part of me was; I could tell he was being genuine. My virtue was not yet destroyed.
But, absurdly, another part of me was… upset.
He said thatobviouslynothing had happened. Was it so crazy for me to assume that something could have occurred between us? He had seduced many women, had he not?
Was I really too plain and unimportant for him?
I knew I was no Juliana Pembroke. But the idea that I wasn’t even worth a midnight, drunken encounter in the Rosehill library… it kind of stung.
“What’s wrong now?” He said, giving me a confused look.
I grimaced, knowing full well I would never tell him.
“Nothing, my Lord.”
He suddenly glared at me.
“I told you not to call me that. Around the Radcliffes, I can allow it. But not in private.”
Allow it.Was he really commanding me to call him by his given name? Ugh.
“Fine,William.” I responded, looking back out the window.
He laughed, clearly enjoying my annoyance.
We continued on our journey in silence. I tried to keep my eyes focused on the window, but after the sun fully set, there was nothing to keep me occupied. And, to my great chagrin, I found myself stealing glances at the Lord, over and over again.
In the dim candlelight of the carriage, I could tell that his Hessian boots were polished to a shine. His fine embroidered jacket must have cost a fortune… more money than I had ever had in my possession.
Overall, his appearance made my own attire, well-made yet plain, feel extremely lacking.
When we were children, the differences in our class had not been as apparent, perhaps because we had yet to understand how the world around us worked. But now, the fact that he was a Lord, and I a mere commoner – and a poor, orphan one, at that – was glaringly obvious. You only had to take one look at us to see the difference.
Even hisflasklooked expensive.
Speaking of which, he must have taken swigs from the ornate, metal container once every five minutes. I imagined that soon, it would be empty.
I was reminded of the words my uncle Nicholas had told me in his London home…
Lord Marsden’s parents passed from liquor.
Had I ever seen the Lord without a drink? The smell of liquor was constantly on his breath, so much so that I had begun to ignore it, as if it were just the way that he smelled. I knew that many of the ton partook in drinking, especially the noblemen, but still… was this not excessive?
Finally, my curiosity, and perhaps, concern, got the better of me. I gained the courage to speak.
“Will?” I asked, my voice quieter than I’d hoped.
The Lord looked up at me. I almost expected him to be too drunk to converse, but he seemed perfectly lucid. His own tolerance to drink was likely far greater than my own, of course.
“Yes, Amelia?” He responded.
