Never Judge a Lady by Her Cover
“I was happy that you felt you owed me a penance.”
The laughter in his eyes disappeared at the reminder of their deal – of his promise to help her marry. She hated herself for bringing it up.
“Once I was Duncan West” – he looked back to the ball – “I suppose I should have expected Tremley to find me once he inherited the title and took his place in Parliament. But once he did, he owned me.”
She understood, immediately. “He holds your secrets. And they are more valuable to him in private, where he can use you for news, than in public, where you end up in prison.”
“Horse stealing is a hanging offense,” he reminded her, all macabre. “As is fraud.”
Her brow knit. “Fraud.”
“Duncan West does not exist.” He looked down at his feet, and she saw a glimpse of the bruised boy he’d once been. “There was another boy who saw us leaving,” he said, the words soft and full of memory. “He tried to follow.
“But he was younger, and he wasn’t strong enough, and I already had Cynthia. I made him take his own horse.” Dread pooled in Georgiana’s stomach. “It was dark, and his horse balked at a jump. He was thrown. Died.” He shook his head. “I left him. I got him killed, and I left him.”
She placed her hand to his face. “You hadn’t a choice.”
He still did not look at her. “His name was Duncan.”
She closed her eyes at the words. At the trust he must have for her in order to confess it.
A trust she had not shown him.
“What was yours?”
“James,” he said. “Jamie. Croft.”
She pulled his face down to hers, letting their foreheads touch. “Jamie,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “Gone now. Forever.”
That word, promise and weapon at once.
“And Cynthia?” she asked.
A cloud crossed over his face. “Cynthia does not remember anything before the innkeeper and his wife. She doesn’t remember our mother. She thinks we shared a father. Thinks his name was West.” He shook his head. “I didn’t want her to know the truth.”
“That her father was a monster? Of course you didn’t.”
He met her eyes. “I took her from that life. She had no choice.”
“You did what was best.”
“She is half aristocrat.”
“And all West.” She refused to let him be ashamed of it. “You chose that for yourself?”
“I chose it for her,” he said, and she understood that more than he could ever know. “When we left Tremley Manor, it was dusk. We rode toward the sunset.”
“West.”
She lifted herself onto her toes and kissed him, long and slow and deep, as though they had all the time in the world. As though their secrets weren’t thundering toward them at breakneck speed.
His hands were at her jaw, cradling her with such care, that she thought she might weep – if she did not want him so very much. She sighed into his mouth as he kissed her again and again, pulling her tight against him, fitting them together in a way that made her wish they were somewhere else. Somewhere indoors. Somewhere with a bed.
He pulled back finally, and said, “So, you see, I keep Tremley’s secrets for Cynthia. But now that they are with Chase…”
Of course, now that Chase knew Tremley’s secrets, Duncan and Cynthia were under threat. And there it was, the reason he had pressed her for Chase’s identity. The reason he had threatened her.
And now Georgiana knew Duncan’s secrets, she would do anything to protect them. To protect him.
Tremley had asked her to choose – Chase or West. And there was no question anymore.
She might not be able to have him with her forever, but she could ensure that his forever was happy, and long, and without fear.
He was so noble. There was so much about this man that she adored. He was deeply, undeniably worthy of this world. Of life. Of love. She came up on her toes and pressed her forehead to his. “What if we married?”
It was not meant in seriousness. It was a strange dream in this quiet moment. And still, he felt he should answer her honestly. He shook his head. “I cannot marry you.”
The words shocked her. “What?”
He saw immediately what he had done. “I cannot – I would never saddle you with my secrets. If my past were revealed, my wife would be destroyed. My family. I would absolutely go to prison. And I would likely hang. And you would suffer with me. And Caroline.”
“If we keep Tremley quiet.”
He shook his head. “As long as Tremley lives, my secrets live with him.” He paused. “And besides, I can’t give you the title.”
“Hang the title.”
He smiled, and there was sadness in the expression. “You don’t mean it.”
She didn’t. This whole life – everything she had ever done for the last decade – had been for Caroline.
“I wish…”
She trailed off as his arms came around her. “Tell me.”
“I wish we were other people,” she said, quietly. “I wish we were simple, and all we cared about was food on our table and roofs over our heads.”
“And love,” he added.
She did not hesitate. “And love,” she agreed.
“If we were other people,” he asked, “would you marry me?”
It was her turn to look to the sky, to imagine that instead of here – in Mayfair, by the light of a glittering ballroom, wearing a gown worth more than most people made in a year – she was in the country, children pulling on her apron strings as she pointed out the constellations.