Page 46 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘Then why did you accept my proposal?’ he said, at last. ‘A simple “no” would have seen me off, I assure you.’

Lydia snorted.

‘Decline you, the future duke?’ she said. ‘With my aunt and uncle present and barely two minutes to prepare for the moment? I could not.’

‘You most certainly could.’

‘They would have made my life miserable,’ Lydia went on, ‘and there was no telling what you would have done had I refused you.’

‘I would have done nothing!’ he protested. ‘I would have respected your decision; why would you possibly think I would do anything else?’

‘Perhaps because we never spoke of it,’ she snapped. ‘Why did you never think to speak privately to me first?’

‘When exactly do you suggest I should have done so?’ he said. ‘At one of the hundred-person events at which we met? In the middle of the dance floor, as we changed partners every other moment?’

‘Other gentlemen seem to manage it,’ Lydia said.

Ashford fished furiously in his pockets for his snuffbox. He opened it with a savage flick of his hand, as he always did – and a puddle of water came out. He let out a strangled noise of rage, and snapped it shut again.

‘You gave me every sign you wished to marry me,’ he said. ‘You danced with me, and spoke with me and walked with me …’

‘Consider the power you hold,’ she said. ‘I do not think there is a single young lady in London who could refuse a dance, or a conversation, or a walk with you – a future duke – without causing risk to her reputation. Accepting a dance does not, however, constitute consent to marriage.’

‘But you did consent!’ he said. ‘I asked if you wished to marry me, and you had every chance …’

‘I barely had a chance to think,’ she corrected. ‘Did you not notice I was not exactly dancing with happiness?’

‘I thought you were shy,’ he protested. ‘Your uncle informed me you welcomed my suit.’

‘They would have me marry a goat if it had a title!’

‘If you felt pressure from your family, then I am sorry,’ Ashford said. ‘But that is not my fault. You must admit that.’

‘You never thought to speak to me first,’ she said, ‘because you never imagined in a thousand years I would not fall over myself to marry you. You must admit that.’

Ashford flushed a slow, incriminating red. ‘And so, you came up with this scheme to humiliate me?’

‘No!’ she defended. ‘Merely to show you that you had been wrong in choosing me.’

He gave a savage shout of laughter.

‘Consider that very much achieved!’ he said. ‘I have never encountered such unfeeling malignance in all of my life – I can only thank God that I saw your true colours in time to avert such a colossal error.’

‘Thank me, not God.’ She folded her hands together demurely and gave him a sweet smile. ‘It is I who has brought this about, not He.’

‘You are monstrous,’ he said.

‘Oh, pish.’

‘Pish?!’

‘Your actions are preventing me from marrying my true love,’ she said. ‘I do not think my reaction so monstrous.’

Ashford stared. After a moment, he heaved out a sigh and ran a distracted hand through his hair.

‘You ought to have explained you had a prior attachment,’ he muttered.

Lydia faltered. Ought she to correct his assumption? She did not had have a specific gentleman in mind, after all. Though … ‘And you would have understood?’