Page 56 of Better Than a Duke
“Because you’re planning to marry a very proper lady who wouldn’t like it if she discovered you were funding a widow’s life. Especially one who’s been your neighbor, and one who has a young son. You know what the gossips would say about that.”
“That he’s mine?” Beckett scowled. “No one who can do simple addition would believe that.”
“And what would Lady Pauline say about you lending me moneyandescorting me all about London?”
“Jealousy, you mean? The union between Pauline and me is to be a partnership. Not a love—”
“It’s to be a marriage.” She lifted an eyebrow at him.
He opened and shut his mouth again. “We’re friends, Iris. I’d like to help you.”
“We’re friends who keep meeting at the garden wall and kissing each other,” she reminded him, keeping her voice low. “And youarehelping. Look how happy Edmund is.”
“That isn’t…” Beckett trailed off. “You are so damned stubborn.”
“I’ve learned that good will and good intentions are very unreliable things, and often come with obligations and conditions.”
“You think I would strip a boardinghouse from beneath you if you, oh, hypothetically, got strawberry cream on my evening wear?”
“No. But I didn’t think Thomas would sell my dishes to settle a debt with a stranger, either. And don’t tell me it would simply be business, because I do recall where your hands were last night.”
“Y—”
“And how much I wanted them there,” she finished, lowering her voice to a barely audible whisper. “No.”
“Wanting you has nothing to do with wanting to aid you.”
“I doubt either of us can be certain of that. And we both have prospective spouses, whether anyone’s offered for anyone or not,” she retorted, trying to ignore the way his words made heat swirl down her spine.He wanted her. Heaven knew she wanted him. But whatever silly, useless thoughts might flit through her mind, she did not have a future with Beckett Raines.
Iris watched him as they reached Rotten Row. He encouraged her son with the same patience and humor he showed his own daughter. Even if there’d been nothing else to recommend him, the Marquis of Hentrose was an excellent father.
And there was far more to him than that, but the moment she caught herself thinking that she shouldn’t have ruined his coat sleeves eleven years ago, she turned Delilah to take a brisk walk about the edge of the track. No daydreams.
“Mrs. Silbern.”
She looked up to see her uncle’s godson, Michael Agnew, riding up on a large black horse that looked as haughty as its rider.Damnation. “Good morning,” she said, putting a smile on her faceand setting her jaw to keep it there. Whatever he said, she could not afford to punch him again.
“You’re yet again in the company of Hentrose,” the viscount’s son commented. “Isn’t he courting Lady Pauline Grenedy?”
“Lord Hentrose and I are neighbors, Mr. Agnew. Our children are friends.” She made herself take a breath. “I hadn’t realized you belonged to the society of tongue-waggers, sir. That is what you do, isn’t it? Wander about collecting and distributing gossip?”
His jaw jumped. “It takes no effort to notice you and Hentrose together nearly daily. You’ve been seen dancing with him, as well—and you can’t put that on your youngsters. Does the marquis know you’re also chasing the Duke of Trent? Another chit trying to outlive the old goat, eh? Very bold of you to set your cap at two aristocrats at the same time, especially with you being… used, and all.”
Accusing him of gossip had been satisfying, but it hadn’t helped anything.Keep your blasted mouth shut, Iris. “I have nothing further to say to you,” she managed through her clenched teeth.
“No? Perhaps I’ll go chat with your aunt and uncle, then.”
She glared at him.That was enough of that. “Very well. If you want to chat, let’s chat. I haven’t been in London long,” she said, keeping her voice as cheery as she could manage, “but I must congratulate you. I’ve heard nothing about you whatsoever. No scandal, no praise—it’s almost as if no one has noticed you at all. If you crave attention so badly, then by all means peck at me again. Being the man a chit punched in the nose twice in the same week would get you noticed.” She curved her mouth into a smile and her fingers into a fist.
His horse shifted beneath him. “Ha. You’re not worth my time, Mrs. Silbern. Good day.”
“Go away, you toad.”
As he rode away, his spine stiff, she turned to find Beckett a few feet away, gazing at her. “That—”
“Don’t say anything,” she interrupted, and sent Delilah back toward the children. “We’ve already established that I am not proper. If I were a man, I imagine I’d be out in some meadow every other morning, dueling foes who insulted me.”
Beckett wheeled Charles to fall in beside her. “If you’d let me finish,” he commented, his voice mild, “I was about to say that that was spectacular. I’m ashamed of myself for thinking you needed a rescue.”
