Chapter 9

9

C arver had never felt so awkward.

Then again, he'd never been so awkward.

He was all the more aware of his own awkwardness as he studied Meg's profile, so serene and sweet beside him in the landau.

They passed one curious onlooker after another in Hyde Park, and he resented her maid's presence, even though he knew he ought to be grateful.

She wasn't just maintaining propriety with her presence this afternoon. The maid was most likely keeping him from uttering something completely foolish while she was at it.

His words from the day before came back to him anew. I want the world to know I'm in love with you!

Had he really blurted it out like that?

And, far more worrisome…had he meant it? Was that what this sensation was? Was it love that had him blundering his words and acting so rashly?

She turned to face him, and Carver's heart went wild.

Her smile was small and winsome. "It's a lovely day for a ride in the park."

You're lovely. He swallowed the words. "Indeed."

"And as there are so many others with the same intent, it works well for your agenda, I should say," she added.

Again. This was the third time since he'd come to collect her for their ride that she'd reminded him of the reason they were there.

He hated it more every time she mentioned it.

Her gaze swept over the others out for a ride. "Surely all of the ton will be wagging their tongues after seeing us together today."

He made a noise of agreement, but his muscles tensed as he watched her fingers curl into her skirts before releasing the material just as quickly.

Was she as uncomfortable as he was?

If so, she was doing a better job of hiding it. Just as she'd been doing a better job of keeping up a steady stream of light chatter, and as she'd done a better job of navigating their conversation the day before.

It had been she who'd sketched out a list of…well, rules , he supposed. How long this farce would last. How it would end.

It was the ending that had seemed to concern her the most. Particularly how they would explain to her father that he hadn't been in earnest.

Because this wasn't real…

For her.

But he understood her concerns, and the last thing he wanted was for her to feel pressured into marrying him when the whole point of this was to ensure that she had options.

His chest constricted at the thought of her choosing another.

But that was the price he would pay. It was only fitting after the horrid way he'd treated her.

He cast a quick look in her direction.

But if he could use this time to convince her that he truly deserved a chance to woo her…

She met his gaze with a frown. "What is it?"

"Pardon?"

She lifted a hand and tentatively touched her silken brown hair that artfully piled atop her head and falling around her shoulders. "Is there something on my face?"

A chuckle escaped before he could stop it. "No, I was just…admiring you."

Her gaze was wary.

Fair enough. He deserved that.

"I'm being sincere, Miss Taylor," he said, hoping against hope that the next time she glanced his way, the wariness would be gone.

But she didn't glance his way again.

She turned her head to scan the group picnicking in the distance, and he wasn't even certain she'd heard him. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Miss Taylor?—"

"Meg, please," she said.

He hesitated, and finally she turned to him with a smile.

"Call me Meg. Everyone does. If we truly are…becoming better acquainted," she hedged. "Then surely you'd be using my given name, would you not?"

"I hope we are truly becoming better acquainted," he said. "And please, you must call me Ian."

"Ian," she repeated it as if trying it out, and his silly heart flipped and flopped at the sound of his given name on her lips. "That's what your friends call you?"

"No." And then, when he realized perhaps he was saying too much without saying anything at all, he added, "But I'd like it if you called me by my given name."

She tilted her head to the side. "Even your cousin who you're so close with…"

"Kal? He calls me Carver. Everyone does."

"I see."

He fidgeted, and some part of him felt like…she really did see. "I don't mind. The title is…well, it's who I am. It's who I've been since my father and brother died on the same day, in the same carriage accident."

"I'm so sorry," she murmured.

"It was a long time ago."

"Still sad though."

"Yes. I suppose so."

"You suppose?"

Why was he telling her all this?

It was the way she looked at him. The same way she had that first fateful day when he'd asked her to dance.

And again when he'd held her in his arms.

There was no cowardice and no ingratiating fawning. She looked him straight in the eye like he was a man. Like he was…

Well, like he was Ian, and not The Duke of Carver.

And because of that he felt like he could talk to her like he would a friend, which was so frightfully rare, he wondered if she had any notion how grateful he was to her. "I was not close with my father. Or my brother, for that matter."

Her brows hitched, but only slightly. She didn't seem overly alarmed that he was bearing his soul to her, and that was encouraging. After a heartbeat, she finally asked, "Why weren't you close?"

"My father was not a kind man. He had a well-earned reputation for being…" Ian swallowed hard as memories surfaced. "Cruel."

She winced. "I'm sorry."

"My brother was much older than me, and as he was the heir and I was the spare, well…"

She nodded when he trailed off. "Yes, I understand that."

He regarded her with a new interest. Of course she did.

"At least you weren't born a girl." Her eyes shimmered with laughter. "And a disappointing one at that." She glanced down meaningfully as she said it.

"You are not a disappointment, Meg."

"Am I not?" Her voice was light with laughter and she shocked him by leaning over to gently bump her shoulder against his. "It's all right, Your Grace—er, Ian." Her smile spread into a full grin that stole his breath and made the air feel hot despite the early spring breeze. "You mustn't look so serious. I've had many years to become accustomed to my lot in life, and I no longer feel sorry for myself."

"But you did," he said.

"Of course I did," she laughed. "I am no saint. Of course, when I fell ill I was only a child, so I wasn't quite aware of just how badly my illness would affect my future, but even then I understood that I'd disappointed my family by not being as healthy as I ought to be." She shrugged, and he found himself drowning in her eyes.

The way she looked at him so directly, and saw so much. And that way she had of showing everything she was feeling in return.

Her heart was right there in her eyes for him to see…

And it was intoxicating. Her honesty, her vulnerability, her strength…

He'd never known anyone like her, and he knew he'd never meet anyone like her again. She was one of a kind. A true gem hidden amongst a world full of sparkling paste jewelry.

"A physical ailment is not your fault," he argued. "How can anyone be disappointed?—"

"It's fine," she interjected with another laugh. "Truly, there are so many who are worse off than I am. I do not mind that I cannot run and…and dance."

There it was. The reminder of that first interaction had her glancing away.

"Meg, I must apologize?—"

"You already have."

"No, you don't understand?—"

"I assure you, I do?—"

"But you don't," he argued.

Her cheeks flushed, and he wasn't sure if it was with embarrassment or anger.

He shifted to face her fully. "Meg, there is something I need to tell you."

Her brows hitched and he could feel the maid's sidelong glance.

"I…" He drew in a deep breath. "I cannot dance."

Meg's eyes widened, and then her gaze met his and?—

And then she burst out laughing.