Her eyes sprang open, annoyance deepening in her gaze the moment it settled on him. Next thing he knew, he was dodging a missile. The tiny cushion she’d hurled at him barely glanced off his shoulder before tumbling onto the floor with a gentle thud.
“You!”
George executed a flamboyant bow. “At your service, Miss Hollyoak.”
She glared at him so ferociously, he believed she’d have leapt upon him with every intention of seeing to his immediate demise had it not been for the massive book in her lap. “I was sleeping.”
“I know.”
“And yet you decided to wake me. Why?”
“Because I missed your delightful smile.”
The twitch of her lips was almost imperceptible, and yet he did not miss it. In spite of her best effort to the contrary, she found him amusing. “That’s not an acceptable excuse.”
“Very well. I missed you as a whole. And besides, there’s something I’d like to show you. Something that really can’t wait.”
“I really don’t—”
He snatched the massive book from her lap, set it aside, and pulled her upright. “Come on. We have to hurry.”
“Mr. Townsbridge!” Heedless of her protest, George drew her along expeditiously. They left the library and made their way to the stairs. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“Mr. Townsbridge, I really must protest.”
“Must you?”
She huffed a breath. “Your behavior borders on the improper.”
“Then I’m living up to my reputation, am I not?” He glanced over his shoulder at her and winked. “Or at the very least the reputation you believe must be mine.”
“Reputations are based on action. What people do, how they behave, will invariably determine how others see them.”
“Has it never occurred to you that this view may be skewed?” Having reached the top of the stairs, he led her down the hallway to the right, toward the door at the end. “I’m sure there are plenty of people who do abominable things behind closed doors while appearing as paragons of Society when in public.”
“Possibly.”
“Similarly, I’m sure there are those Society would brand disreputable even though they might in fact be deserving of praise.”
“And I suppose you consider yourself to be one such individual?”
“All I’m saying,” he told her as he opened the door and ushered her up the steps beyond, “is that when it comes to Society, one should be cautious about passing judgment, one way or the other.”
HE HAD A FAIR POINT. There was no denying that. It was the conclusion she herself had arrived at that afternoon. For although the evidence would suggest he was a cad, it would be wrong of her not to let him defend his position. Not only because every person deserved such a chance, but also because a corner of her heart had been disappointed to learn he’d not only gotten a woman with child out of wedlock, but was trying to woo Margaret into marriage at the same time. She wanted nothing to do with Mr. Townsbridge if this was what he was truly like. But what if it wasn’t? What if she’d leapt to the wrong conclusion?
Margaret stepped up onto a squeaky floorboard and frowned. “This is the attic.”
“A keen observation, Miss Hollyoak. Bravo.”
That did it. Intent on getting him back for first tickling her awake and then treating her like an infant, she jammed her fist into his shoulder as hard as she could.
The rogue merely grinned. And then he was tugging her through the dimly lit space, past old furniture and several boxes, trunks, and artwork. The evenings were getting longer, so while it was already nearing nine o’ clock and the visibility was decreasing, it was still possible to see thanks to the pale rays of sunlight spilling through four round windows.
Mr. Townsbridge stopped when he reached a wooden door with louvers designed for the purpose of ventilation. He unlatched it and pulled it open, then swept his arm in a gesture inviting Margaret to step out onto a balcony.
She gave him a hesitant glance, then did as he bade, and was instantly rendered speechless. Vibrant shades of orange, pink, and purple were smeared across the sky, tinting the clouds in a stunning display of luminescent color.
“Isn’t it pretty?”
His low murmur stirred the air and vibrated through her. She nodded. “It is, indeed.”
An easy silence followed before he confided, “I never miss a sunset when I’m here. I’ve been watching them since my governess brought me up here for the first time when I was a boy. I believe I was seven or eight. My parents were arguing, which upset me since it destroyed the illusion I’d had of their being in love. Miss Penwood showed me that even when the world looks harsh and ugly, there is endless beauty to be found. She said that no matter how painful life can be, I would always be able to seek solace in the perfection God has created.”
“Your governess was kind and wise. I think I would have liked her.”
“We still keep in touch, she and I.” Margaret glanced at him and saw he was smiling, not with pleasure exactly, but with a fond sort of sentimentality brought on by wonderful memories. He dropped his gaze to hers. “She lives in Kent now where she runs a small bookshop with her sister.”
“Does she know you’ve become a rake?” Although she knew the question might ruin the mood, Margaret could not help but ask it. She needed to figure out who he really was.
“That word again.” Mr. Townsbridge returned his attention to the view. The colors were starting to darken now as the sun crept lower. He shook his head. “I don’t think you know what a rake actually is if you believe me to be one.”
“The rumors—”
“Are merely that. Rumors. Mostly begun by jealous men, I’d imagine, or women I’ve turned away.”
“You didn’t deny having lovers.” Heat filled her cheeks as she spoke the word.
“Few men live like monks, Miss Hollyoak. I will admit that I am one such man. I’ll not tell you otherwise. But that does not make me a rake.”
“No?”
“No.” He turned more fully toward her. The sun was almost gone now, the lack of light casting his face in shadow. “Rakes look out only for their own self-interest. They seduce and lie their way into the beds of unsuspecting women and don’t give a fig for the consequences.”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly?”
Margaret raised her chin. Her heart hammered wildly against her breast. “I know about Miss Granger.”
“Forgive me, but I’m having some trouble with following your logic.” He paused, gave Margaret a pensive look. “How does your misguided belief about my character relate to Miss Granger, and how do you know about her, anyway?”
Determined to press him for answers, Margaret straightened her spine, fought the urge to end this uncomfortable conversation, and forced herself to be blunt. “I fear she may be a...a victim of your lascivious ways.”
“Why the hell would you suppose such a thing?”
Stunned by his clipped tone, Margaret hesitated. She’d expected him to be shocked by her question, perhaps even apologetic or ready with some explanation. Instead, the levity he’d given way to earlier was stripped away in a second, leaving only condemnation for her in its place.