Lady Priscilla’s Shameful Secret. Christine Merrill
But rather than scolding her for her rudeness during the ride home, both her father and Veronica had seemed inordinately pleased with the turn events had taken. It was as though they’d shared some bit of information between them that she was not privy to.
Please do not let it be the duke. Because what would she do with the man, should he persist? ‘Tell whoever it is that I am indisposed.’
Her bedroom door opened and Veronica poked in her head. ‘I certainly will not. Reighland is in the sitting room, and you are going to see him.’ She crossed the room, seized Priss by the arm and pulled her to her feet, brushing the wrinkles from her gown and smoothing a hand over her hair to rearrange the flattened curls.
‘I am not prepared. I do not wish to see him.’ And I do not wish to marry him. She doubted pleading with Ronnie would help, but neither would it hurt.
‘You are unprepared because you spend your days hiding in bed with your Minerva novels, feigning illness to avoid company. Now come downstairs.’
‘Send him away.’
‘I certainly will not.’ Ronnie was pushing her out into the hall and put a firm hand in her back to hurry her along. ‘If you mean to put him off, you must do it yourself. And if you do, you will suffer the consequences for it. Your father will not be pleased.’ She said it in a dark tone to remind her that there were worse things awaiting her than social ostracism, should she fail.
Priss gave her a mutinous look. ‘Do not be so melodramatic. Father will do nothing worse to me than shout and sulk, as he has done the whole of my life. Perhaps he will banish me from the house, as he did Dru. Although how that is a punishment, I do not know. It is clear to all of London that she is the better for it.’
‘It is not your father who should worry you, dear,’ Ronnie replied, voice cold and venomous. ‘You should know, after spending several months under the same roof with me, I will be far less forgiving. If you will not go to the duke, I will bring him to you and lock the bedroom door behind him until the matter is settled.’
The image of being so trapped with such a forbidding man made Priss a little sick, and she thanked the fates that she had not been caught en déshabillé today. While her father might view this as an alliance with a powerful man, she had no doubt that Ronnie would engineer her total disgrace with any man available, simply to have her out of the house. The woman was all but thrusting her through the door of the salon where her guest awaited.
But she showed no sign of following. Priss grabbed her arm, trying to pull her into the room as well. ‘You are going to sit with us, of course,’ she said hopefully. ‘For surely a chaperon—’
‘He is a duke,’ the other woman whispered. ‘He does not require a chaperon.’
‘It is not for him,’ Priss snapped back, embarrassed that the duke could likely overhear this interchange, for he was scant feet across the room. Could they not at least pretend that she had some honour left?
‘You were happy enough to escape the care of your sister, while she was still here. It makes no sense, a year later, that you are having a fit of the vapours over a few minutes alone with a man.’ Her stepmother pushed harder. ‘He is a duke. He wishes to speak to you alone. Benbridge said he was most specific on that point. I do not mean to be the one to argue.’
‘My father is allowing this?’ Priss felt another small bit of her world crumbling. She had received continual signs from Ronnie that her presence was an inconvenience. But usually Papa was more subtle with his displeasure.
‘Your father thinks that Reighland is an excellent catch. He is amenable to certain laxities if it smoothes the way for an offer.’
‘But what if Reighland is not as honourable as he seems? What if he takes advantage?’ Priss whispered back, directly into Veronica’s ear.
The other woman’s eyes narrowed and she pulled her head away. ‘Do not play the sweet-and-innocent miss with me, Priscilla. If he takes advantage, then you are to do as he says and come to me afterwards. We will tell your father of it and the duke will be forced to offer with no more nonsense. But whatever you do, do not ruin the opportunity, for I doubt you will have a better one.’
Priss’s heart sank. It was plain what her father expected of her. Society expected it as well. But knowing what she did, she could not imagine how she would manage it. If Reighland offered today, she would have to say no. The skies might open and hell might rain down on her if she disobeyed, but then perhaps Papa would see she was in earnest and she would have some peace. She disentangled herself from Ronnie and glanced into the mirror on the hall wall, touching her hair and straightening her skirts. Then she turned and went into the salon, where Reighland awaited her.
The footman announced her and she waved him away with a flick of her hand, trying not to flinch as she heard the door closing behind her. She focused all her attention on the man in front of her, muttering, ‘Your Grace’, and dropping a curtsy letting her eyes travel up from the floor until they met his face.
And it was such a long way for her gaze to travel. He was well over six feet. She noticed the sprinkling of dark hair on the backs of his hands and up his wrists, disappearing into his shirt cuffs. It made her wonder what the rest of him would be like, without his clothes.
She quickly stifled the thought, for it only made her more frightened. There was a harmony to him, as though nature had sought to make an animal both intimidating and powerful. In the bedroom he would be just as large as he had been in the ballroom.
‘Please, Lady Priscilla, if we are to be friends, let us not stand on ceremony. You must call me Robert.’ His voice matched the rest of him. Deep, growling, with just a taste of a rasp that made the hairs on her neck stand to attention.
He was examining her now, top to bottom, as she had him. There was no hint of lust in it, which was just as well. If she’d thought that that was the first thing on his mind, she’d probably have run from the room in terror. This was more clinical, as though he was wondering about sound teeth, good wind and strong limbs.
But the desire that she use his first name was a very bad sign.
‘Has your father explained the purpose for my visit?’
‘No, your Grace,’ she said, avoiding the offered intimacy. ‘But I am not so dim that I cannot guess it.’
‘And what say you to it?’
She searched her mind for a response that did not use the word that came most easily to mind: trapped. ‘I thought I made it clear to you yesterday evening.’
He gave her the same blank look as he had on the previous evening. ‘You merely said you would not be agreeing with me. I do not see that as an impediment to matrimony.’ No talk of wooing at all. The man did like to cut to the chase.
He thought for a moment. ‘You would have to agree at the altar, of course. But after that …’
Was he joking? It almost seemed that he might be. But his expression was so closed that it was impossible to tell. ‘Are you sure you are quite sane?’ she asked. For madness was the only other explanation.
‘Is it necessary to be so?’ he asked innocently. ‘I was given to understand that my title was hereditary. From what I have seen of others in the peerage, you are the only one concerned with my sanity. If you mean to ask next if I am stupid, I will admit that I am not as quick as some. But in my brief stay in London, I have found many who were greater dullards.’
He was joking, then. But did he expect her to laugh? He seemed most sober. Perhaps he was seeking a mate who would be amused by him. More likely, she would be the butt of the joke, once he knew her better. His dry comments would seem innocent enough when he spoke them in public, but she would know the true meaning and would be left burning with shame.
And she could not abide a lifetime of that. ‘May I be frank with you, your Grace?’
‘It shall be an exciting change from the hesitant sentiments