She gasped, staring up at him with obvious suspicion. “B-But why?”
Ludo dared to move closer to her, encouraged when she didn’t take to her heels, but watched him come to her. To his chagrin, he realised his hand was shaking as he raised it to touch her cheek, the back of his fingers sliding against satin.
“So beautiful,” he said, reverence in his voice.
Her mouth fell open in shock and he could not resist. He lent down and kissed her. She didn’t move so much as a muscle and, when he pulled away, she was still staring at him. He wasn’t certain if it was shock or horror in her eyes, and took a hasty step back.
“May I call on you again tomorrow?”
She nodded, silent, still staring at him.
Ludo looked around as her father returned to the room.
“Until tomorrow, then,” he said, bowing to her, and leaving her alone.
8th December 1820. London.
Bunty sat by the window, watching the road. Then she got up and paced for a bit. Then she ran back to the window and stared at the road a bit more.
“Do stop acting like such a ninny,” she scolded herself, yet there didn’t seem to be any choice in the matter. Not since he had kissed her.
For the hundredth time since that extraordinary event, she raised her fingers to her lips, tracing the place his mouth had been. It had been such a gentle kiss: tender, and not what she had expected of such a man. Well, she had not expected to be kissed at all. She had expected fury, disgust, and recriminations at having been so ill used. If she were perfectly honest, she had not expected him to pursue her. She assumed he would have been relieved that she would not hold him to marrying her, and take to his heels. It had to be the dowry, said the sensible voice in her head, the one that would not let her get her hopes up. Her hopes had been crushed too many times for her to believe in them again, and yet….
He had said she was beautiful.
Why would he say such a thing to her? He had chosen to act the gentleman and marry her, and he would have her dowry. There was no need to woo her to secure her money. It would be his, to do with as he pleased, for Papa had warned her his finances were not what one would hope for. Not that she cared. If she could believe for a moment that he might like her, that he might even come to care for her, she would not pine for a fortune.
Who said such a thing to you?
The anger in his voice as he’d demanded who had insulted her had been a shock, too. It had been instantaneous, and she had believed it to be genuine. Yet it seemed so odd. Lord Courtenay was known to be seen in the company of all the most beautiful of the Cyprians. He might not have money, but he was so big, handsome, and obviously virile that even the exclusive highflyers sought him out. She could not make him out at all.
The sound of horses outside the door had her looking up, and there he was. He had sent a note earlier to inform her he would take her for a drive, and to wrap up warm. It was a bright, sunny winter’s day, but still chilly, and Bunty had dressed in deep plum velvet carriage dress. Hoping she looked as well as she might, she snatched up her reticule and hurried to the front door.
“Miss Bunting,” he said, giving her a formal bow. He paused, a slow smile curving over his mouth. “How lovely you look.”
Bunty searched his face for any sign that he was mocking her, yet she found nothing but pleasure in his eyes. Heavens, she’d never seen eyes as blue as his before.
“Good day, my lord,” she said, wishing she could still the erratic thumping of her heart.
She was being idiotic.
He offered her his arm and led her outside, where a smart yellow-and-black Phaeton awaited them. One of her father’s footmen held the horses, two glossy bays who tossed their heads impatiently.
“How lovely,” she said as he handed her up.
Lord Courtenay settled beside her, and Bunty felt a jolt of surprise as his strong thigh pressed against hers. He was a large man and took up a deal of space. So large, in fact, that for the first time in her life, Bunty did not feel as though the rest of the world had been made in miniature. In comparison, she could almost believe herself dainty.
He nodded to the groom who released the horses. They set off at a smart trot and Bunty dared a glance at him, only to see he was regarding her in turn.
“I’m afraid they’re not mine,” he said, and she was struck by how awkward he appeared. “The horses and… all of it.”
He shrugged his massive shoulders and Bunty’s mouth went dry.
“I expect your father told you I’m no catch,” he added, and there was a defensive note in his voice which surprised her.
“And yet,” she said, “I’ve no doubt there are women a-plenty who would cut off their right arm to be sitting where I am.”
He snorted in disgust. “No one like you, Miss Bunting.”
She frowned at him and he shook his head, looking vaguely bewildered.
“You still don’t believe me, do you?” he said. “You think I’m bamming you, flattering you for no good reason.”
It was Bunty’s turn to shrug, and she looked away, unable to hold his piercing gaze.
“Why would I do that?” he asked. “I did not have to marry you, I chose to. If I only wanted your money… well, it will soon be mine. What reason could I have to say such things to you?”
It was everything she had told herself, and it sounded so reasonable as he echoed her thoughts. Bunty forced herself to look back at him.
“Then perhaps it is simply that you are kind, my lord. I have often believed it of you. You always smiled at me with such… warmth, but I cannot believe you are content with this arrangement.”
Something dark flashed in his eyes and she knew she was right. Oh well, better to have the truth unvarnished than live a lie. She tried to make herself believe that, but her heart ached all the same.
“No. I was not happy to discover it was not me you intended for your trap, but Lord Stanthorpe. Not that I could blame you for that.”
Was that regret in his voice?
“Tommy is the best of fellows. Kind and funny and good-natured. Rich, too, and an earl, to boot. I don’t suppose that hurts,” he added bitterly.
Bunty gaped at him. Was he… jealous? No. That was utterly ridiculous.
“But I didn’t mean to trap Tommy,” she said in a rush, her heart thudding even though she refused to believe what she was hearing.
He narrowed his eyes and her breath caught at being the object of his scrutiny. “Miss Bunting, you told me so yourself.”
“No!” Bunty shook her head. “Oh, you’ve got it all wrong.”
He was silent for a moment as he navigated a busy stretch of road, but then Hyde Park stretched before them, quiet now on a chill winter’s day.
“Well then, Miss Bunting,” he said, once he could return his attention to her. “I wish you would explain it to me.”
“Please, call me Bunty. Everyone does.”
He nodded but said nothing, and Bunty explained just what had happened last night. She told him of the Ratched sisters’ plans, of how she had warned Tommy and then gone back to confront Sylvia.
He was silent throughout her explanation until he drew up in a copse of trees, a secluded spot ideal for an illicit rendezvous. Bunty shifted nervously in her seat.
“So, in fact, you were not in the market for a husband at all,” he said, and she could not read his expression, nor his tone of voice.