Page 121

“Indeed.”

There, that was certainly a suitable reply.

By the further narrowing of her eyes, however, the young woman remainedsuitablyunimpressed.

Malcom shifted on the bench, and stole a hopeful look at the door. Alas, rescue would not be coming from Verity.

“And do you know why my sister believes I’m an idiot?”

“I couldn’t even begin to imagine.” There, that much was true.

“Because Verity believes that I believe that you’re really married.”

The ticking of the clock was inordinately loud.

“And as you seem to think that I believe that, as well, Lord Maxwell”—Livvie ceased tapping her fingers—“then on the matter of my intelligence, that would mean you are of a like opinion as Verity.”

He’d danced through knife battles in the street less precarious than this exchange. “I would never presume to question your intelligence; however, I feel this might be a discussion—”

“Better reserved for my sister?” She shot a brow up. “Never tell me you think you can be free of this discussion that easily? If that’s the case ...” She muttered the remaining something under her breath that sounded a good deal like“You’re, in fact, the lackwit.”“And do you know why I have no intention of leaving?”

“Because you’re stubborn?”

“Because of my sister.”

“I ... see ...” And he saw not at all.

“No, you don’t. Don’t simply say you do so that you’ve some reply. You’re better off saying nothing.”

Aye, Verity’s sister was clever, after all. Even more clever than he’d credited at the start of their dialogue.

“Either way, I’ve not the time to lecture you on how to have a proper conversation. I was the one who insisted Verity go to you, and do you know why I did that?”

“Because you are a romantic?”

Unlike Verity, who’d bristled at having that descriptor applied to her, Livvie Lovelace preened. She sat up all the straighter in her chair. “Precisely. As such, when she recounted what happened that night you met, I heard what she didn’t hear. And I was the one who believed if you could be heroic, then you’d be the one to help us.”

Us.

That was what had set Verity apart from him and how he’d lived his existence. It had marked him different from her or her sister. They saw themselves as a family; they never divorced themselves from that connection.

While Malcom had taken more than fifteen years to own up to such a bond with his own ... kin.

And with her faith in him, he’d failed to meet those expectations she’d had. Instead, Verity had come to him, and he’d turned her away. Shame pitted his belly.

“Well, do you have anything to say? Speak up.”

Aye, terrifying now, she was going to rule England should she so wish it, come ten years from now.

“What I am trying to sort through, Mr. North, is whether you are actually a good man or not ... so which is it?”

Decidedly notwas the immediate and accurate answer that sprang to his mouth. Mayhap he was getting weak through the years, that he could not bring himself to snarl or even utter that response at the young woman. While they sat, tensely studying one another, Malcom considered his response. In the end, he settled for raw truth. “I’ve not been a good person,” he said quietly. “I’m trying to be better.”

“Hmm,”she said noncommittally. With that she hopped up, and he was saved from any further questioning. Or, he almost was. Livvie lingered at the doorway. “Do you care about Verity?”

That blunt, unexpected question hit him square between the eyes. “I ...”

“It is just that I never knew my mother. Verity has been the only one I’ve known. As long as I’ve been alive, she’s worked to support me. And she’s always soothed my hurts and allowed me my dreams. She’s protected me.” A warning glint sparked in Livvie’s eyes. “And I’ll not see her hurt by anyone. And certainly not by you. So if you think you can’t care about her, or that you don’t love her, then we’re done here.” She paused. “All of us.”