Page 82 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
“You are on the verge of proposing to…” Lord, she couldn’t say Harriet’s name out loud right now. “…someone who will make the perfect duchess.”
The words “perfect duchess” made him recoil as if she’d punched him. He dropped his arms from her waist, and she dropped her arms from his. Both of them stepped back.
His eyes were open now, his gaze empty. His shoulders straightened. “You are correct, of course. You always are.”
Oddly, she felt like apologizing for being correct. But that was not something to apologize for. She’d only spoken truths that they both knew, yet they both needed to be reminded of.
She swallowed through a throat that was suddenly parched. “In fact, it is a mystery why you haven’t proposed yet,” she said. “You intended to do it last week.”
He nodded. “Yes, I did. I will ask her soon. Within the next few days, I’m sure.”
She nodded.Nowthings were stilted, with them parroting nods at each other like awkward strangers as he discussed his upcoming proposal to one woman with another woman he’d just taken to his bed.
“I can’t do this anymore. My heart can’t take it, Matthew.” She pressed a palm to her chest as if it could stop that organ from leaking its heartbreak all over his gleaming wood floor. Her voice dropped to a strangled whisper. “It really can’t.”
She turned to leave, a sudden, blinding urge to escape overwhelming her, but he stopped her by grabbing her forearm.
“Jo…”
She turned back to look at him, to decipher why her name sounded as if it had been wrenched from his chest by a sharp hook.
But the desperation—was it desperation or something else?—faded from his expression as soon as his gaze met hers.
“Don’t walk home alone. It’s not safe.”
She didn’t have the energy to argue that she’d walked here alone and had been perfectly safe doing it.
“I’ll have my carriage brought round.”
She gave a tired sigh. “Very well.” While people would see the duke’s crest on his carriage, she’d pull the curtain closed. No one would see her, probably not even when she slipped from the carriage and back into her office. “I’ll enter it from the mews, though, so no one sees me emerging from your house alone.”
He nodded in understanding.
“Thank you.”
They returned to the library, and he called for his carriage. While they waited, they talked about the weather, which was growing more summery by the day.
When the footman came to tell them the carriage was ready, they rose, and Matthew walked her downstairs, where he gave his coachman instructions. Then he opened the door for her and bowed formally. “Good afternoon, Miss Porter. I’ll see you soon.”
She nodded.Goodbye, Matthew, she thought as he helped her inside. As the carriage drew away, she watched him through the window, his solitary form growing smaller until they turned and she could no longer see him, and she closed the curtain against curious eyes.
Of course he’d see her soon. Within the next few days, he’d come to her office, bearing the news of his engagement to Miss Harriet Cherrington.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Although his body was singing with a kind of satisfaction he hadn’t experienced in a long while—perhaps ever—Matthew spent the remainder of the afternoon alone, brooding in his library.
He should have proposed to Miss Cherrington last week at Vauxhall Gardens as he’d intended. Then, this afternoon would never have happened, and he wouldn’t have all these deucedfeelingsto contend with.
But if this afternoon had never happened, he never would have experienced Jo raw and open to him. He never would have felt her silky skin or the tight clasp of her body or heard her cries of pleasure.
He would never regret those things. Yet they had burrowed so deep into him that they wouldn’t be easy to discount or forget. And now, when he thought of seeing Harriet Cherrington, his stomach twisted with distaste.
Which was definitelynothow one should feel when considering proposing to their future bride.
The impending task loomed over him, an undesirable chore that he needed to rush through and get over with, not something he anticipated with relish. He should see it as a door opening to a perfect life with his perfect duchess, but it felt more like a door slamming in his face.
And yet, he still wanted it. He could still imagine Harriet Cherrington standing at his side, smiling, welcoming stylishly dressed guests to their spring ball or their summer house party. He could imagine her playing the pianoforte for a large group of thebeau monde, who loudly applauded with appreciation for her talent. He could imagine them in a more intimate group, her singing for them in her clear, lovely voice.
