Annoyed now, she planted her hands on her hips and glowered. “Johnny Magee is a wonderful, kindhearted man. Just because he’s a tinker doesn’t mean he’s not a worthy human being. He explained much about—about what goes on between men and women. I wouldn’t have known anything otherwise, so I’m grateful to him.”
“You needn’t defend him. Apart from his involvement with the smugglers, I liked him.”
Why must Cecil be so agreeable? She was used to arguing about senseless social rules, particularly the code of honor, which often led to duels over mere nothings. “Just because a gentleman and lady are alone together for a few minutes, it doesn’t mean they should be forced into a marriage they don’t want.”
“I concur—as long as nothing untoward has happened.”
She huffed. “Even a kiss or two?”
He grinned. “Kisses are relatively harmless.”
Did that mean her kisses hadn’t affected him much? It wasn’t fair, because she longed to kiss him again.
“It’s where they lead that’s a problem.” He tucked her arm in his again, and they headed toward the house.
Humph. She was a problem, was she? Then why wouldn’t he dispute with her? “What if the lady were trapped? What if the gentleman ravished her?”
“Then he’s no gentleman. Her male relatives should force them to wed, spirit her away before he gets his hands on her again, and knock him on the head and throw him in the Thames, thereby solving her problem. She’s no longer ruined and can eventually marry again.”
She gaped. “How very violent of you. I thought you would say it was her fault that he ravished her.”
“Definitely not! A gentleman should control himself,” he said austerely, “whether he wants to or not.”
Did that mean he didn’t want to control himself? Or didn’t want to seduce her? “So…a seduction is acceptable, according to your code of honor, if both parties intend to marry.”
He pondered. “Unwise, perhaps, but not dishonorable either.”
She bit her lip. She’d had enough of being wise, but unfortunately, a lady didn’t propose marriage.
That little voice inside her posed its usual question: Why not? But this time she just couldn’t.
He halted and took her hands. His gaze was full of tender understanding. Or maybe it was just kindness. She wished she didn’t want him so badly.
He leaned in with a smile. She put her hands on his shoulders and put everything in her heart into that kiss.
“Dorothea! Come indoors this instant!”
Chapter Ten
The inevitable interruption—Lady Darsington bellowing from her bedchamber window—was almost welcome, for much as Cecil wanted to propose marriage, he intended to do so in private, after disclosing his circumstances to Dorothea.
The place he’d claimed as home was his uncle’s estate, which he stood to inherit. He hadn’t spent much time there growing up, because of the estrangement between his father and uncle; now, he dwelled in London most of the time. After his father’s death a few years earlier, he’d inherited a small property not far from his uncle’s estate in Wales. Cecil had immediately reconciled with the old fellow; he was a decent sort, far more worthy of an honorable position than Cecil’s father had ever been.
Sooner rather than later, his secret must out. He just had to find the best way to reveal it without turning Dorothea against him. She might consider him a hypocrite for hiding his origins. For professing to believe in progress while he stood to benefit from the status quo.
Meanwhile, there was this damnable business of espionage requiring his attention.
He dressed for the evening celebration and left his bedchamber to see what he could do to help with the preparations. The Great Hall must be a-bustle with servants scurrying to and fro…
Utter silence reigned below. Then a furious female voice cried: “I shall marry a plain mister or no one!”
Good Lord. That was Dorothea.
“Now, now,” Lady Alice said, “it’s Christmastide.” Sharply, she added, “Back to work, all of you.”
Movement recommenced, subdued speech broke out, and Cecil proceeded down the stairs. Trestle tables had been set up, and a huge cauldron by the hearth would hold the lamb’s wool, a favorite wassail at Restive Manor.
Lady Alice ushered Lady Darsington away from the drawing room, with Mrs. Kelly following. “You must calm yourself,” she said. “If you cannot stay in the same room with Dorothea without indulging in a shouting match, then I suggest you help Mrs. Kelly serve the lamb’s wool.”
She noticed Cecil and said, “There you are, Mr. Hale. Please go to the drawing room and help Restive with his guests. There is brandy, and also ratafia, I believe, but I don’t have a footman to spare.”
“My pleasure,” Cecil said. She thanked him, but Lady Darsington glared with such hatred that even he was startled. With difficulty, he prevented himself from glaring right back. How dare she upset Dorothea?
In the drawing room, his darling stood next to the Contessa, fists clenched, her complexion blotchy, her eyes moist. She turned away from his concerned gaze. This was his fault; he shouldn’t have kissed her with such passion in full view of the house. Her mother must have given her the worst dressing down of her life.
If only he could sweep her off her feet and ride away with her over his saddle bow. Alas, duty required him to stay.
He helped Restive serve drinks to the vicar and Lord Wellough, and settled them comfortably by the fire. By this time, Dorothea seemed more composed.
“Did your mother scold you dreadfully?” He took her hands and uncurled those clenched fists. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you out there where she could see.”
“I wanted you to kiss me.” But she didn’t tighten her fists again. “I am used to her tirades, but never before has she shouted at me in public. I can’t believe I lost my temper and screamed at her. I’m so mortified.” She wiped away a tear.
“Why?” the Contessa asked. “It is natural to shout at one’s family. How else can one…how do you say it, clear the air?”
“It didn’t clear the air. It made matters worse. I wish she would just leave me be.”
“She cannot,” the Contessa said. “I have known women like her. It is proper for a mother to interfere, but she must also know when to stop.”
Dorothea nodded bleakly. “I’m getting so tired of it. Whichever way I turn, she tries to trap me into wedding a man of her choice—always a wealthy peer, no matter how stupid or ugly or depraved he may be.”
“She will have to stop once you actually do get married,” Cecil said.
“I believe you’re right,” she said with a tremulous smile. “The only way to—to get past this hurdle is to do so.” She took a deep breath. “Get married, I mean.”
“An excellent notion.” To hell with his expectations; he would put the question to her tonight, confess all, and hope for the best.
“I believe so,” she said. “I wish…”
“You wish…?”
Her eyes met his for a long moment. Then she took another deep breath. “I have an idea, Mr. Hale. Perhaps we should elope and get it over with.”