Page 11 of A Marquess of No Importance (Inglorious Scoundrels #3)

Her tongue peeked out to touch the corner of her mouth, and then her face spread into a knowing smile. “I see. You must have been very busy, taking care of important… business.” Her eyes flicked toward his desk.

Rivendale swallowed, his cheeks heating even more. “Yes, very important.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” She was now grinning widely.

She was not just teasing; she was laughing at him, having caught him in a compromising position. However, he decided that if she were comfortable joking with him about it, he would do the same. “You can always make it worthwhile, Miss Monroe,” he said, his tone suggestive.

Her mouth opened slightly in surprise. She had not expected him to respond that way. But her confusion didn’t last long. Her eyes glinted with a wicked twinkle as she asked, “How can I be of service?”

Rivendale felt flustered again, as the only way he could envision her remedying the situation was by throwing off her clothes and sitting on his lap. Heat traveled simultaneously up his neck and down his cock.

He swallowed loudly, attempting to get his thoughts under control. “By telling me what you are doing here,” he answered hoarsely.

She chuckled, shaking her head. “My dear marquess, I was willing to do your every bidding, and all you ask for is an explanation of my arrival? Tsk-tsk, how very dull.”

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “I am very dull.”

Her tongue peeked out again to touch the corner of her mouth. Was it a nervous gesture or a method of seduction? Because it worked very well as the latter, making him imagine that tongue against his mouth.

“Somehow,” she said with a long sigh, “I very much doubt that.” She stepped closer, but instead of sitting in the chair across from him, she approached the desk, sliding her hands over the polished surface.

Rivendale shifted uncomfortably, moving his chair closer to the desk to hide himself from the waist down.

“I’ve found your locket,” she said, and his head snapped up, all his lascivious thoughts suddenly forgotten.

“You have?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Well, I think so. I found a locket. I traced the movement of your locket from the auction house in London, where it had been sold to a wealthy French collector. I don’t know if he still has it, but I know he currently has at least three different lockets in his possession.”

“Where is he?” Rivendale barked, ready to jump out of his chair and gallop toward the man’s house.

“In Calais.”

Oh. “Well, that’s easy enough. You should be able to verify whether the locket is mine quite easily, shouldn’t you?”

She grimaced. “It’s not as easy as it seems. This collector is a… what’s the word? A coxcomb. He doesn’t mind dealing with the demimonde on his own terms, but he never allows anyone of lowbred status to enter his home.”

“So? I’m sure you can charm some member of the French nobility to get you an invitation.”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged. “But it would take a long time for me to get to know them and find the right connections. It would be much easier to travel with someone who’d automatically be welcome to ensure my success.”

“I’m certain you know many aristocratic men who would chew off their arms for the chance to travel with you.”

Her brows arched in amusement. “To retrieve a jewel for someone else? Hardly. It has to be you.”

A bark of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. “That is never going to happen.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why, because I am beneath you?”

He wished she was beneath him… physically. Rivendale shook the stray thought out of his mind.

Did she think of him as a coxcomb as well? He frowned. “No, because I can’t go to France.”

“Oh, of course, because you have much more important things to do in your dark and empty townhouse,” she said with a huff. “Why must you always be so stubborn, arrogant, and conceited that you don’t even consider—”

Rivendale could no longer tolerate her preconceived notions of him.

Ignoring the fact that she could see him, and completely disregarding any semblance of propriety and decorum, he pushed off the desk, flapped his banyan open, tucked his cock into his breeches, and buttoned his falls.

All the while she stared directly at his crotch, her eyes wide.

Then, pushing off with his left foot and holding onto the edge of his desk with his right arm, he rolled himself out from behind it, the creak of the wheels of his chair filling the silence.

Her lips parted. Her breath stilled. The amusement drained from her face as shock took its place.

“Is it… Have you—? How did—?” She struggled to finish a single thought. She raised her eyes from the monstrosity that was his bath chair and met his gaze. “Did I do this?”

He shook his head. “No. It isn’t from the horse accident, though that certainly didn’t help. I have been a cripple for as long as I have been alive.”

She stood silent. For the first time since their acquaintance, she was completely speechless.

“Did you ever stop to think why I’ve been hiding in my estate all this time?

” he asked. “Why I never appear at balls, in Parliament, or anywhere people would expect a marquess to be? I don’t travel well.

It hurts. It’s difficult. It’s humiliating.

To ascend a flight of stairs, I need the help of footmen, unless I want it to take an hour.

With a cane, I can manage ten feet before I collapse.

The rest of the time… this.” He slapped the armrest of his chair.

“This bulky, uncomfortably heavy contraption that I can’t maneuver without assistance, even inside my own house. ”

Her throat worked, but no words came.

“Getting in and out of a carriage is a feat in itself, all for the pleasure of sitting on the uncomfortable, shallow benches. Sitting in the House of Lords for hours is even worse. That’s why I stopped attending.

” His mouth twisted. “That is why I never joined the marriage mart. I cannot dance. Not that I don’t know how; I physically cannot.

So no, Miss Monroe, I will not be traveling with you to France.

And frankly—” His voice faltered. “I don’t think you truly want me to. ”

Silence stretched.

Her face was a wealth of emotion: horror, pity, discomfort, shame, confusion. They flickered one after another as though she couldn’t decide which to land on. But none of those emotions were good. Not that he expected them to be.

Rivendale pushed away from the desk, rolling toward the bellpull with agonizing slowness. He yanked the servants’ bell, not looking at Miss Monroe anymore. He couldn’t bear to see all those emotions on her face.

Thomas appeared at the door rather swiftly. Rivendale beckoned him, and his valet rushed to stand behind him, wheeling his chair around and rolling him past Miss Monroe and toward the door.

“That’s it? You’re leaving just like that?” she snapped behind him.

Thomas paused.

Rivendale didn’t look back. “Is there anything more to say?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice was shaking. “But I expect more from you than just leaving me to stew in my own thoughts.”

“What would you like me to do?” he snapped.

“I’d like you to stay here and talk to me!”

He raised his hand, commanding Thomas to turn him around. “What more is there to say?” he barked, nostrils flaring as he stared directly into Miss Monroe’s eyes.

“A lot of things. For instance, how was I supposed to know that you’re crippled? Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

He shrugged. “I was under the impression you knew everything about everyone.”

“I was under that impression, too,” she replied, raising her hands by her sides. “Apparently, some information is buried deeper than shallow gossip. All I ever heard is that you never leave your estate.”

“Which is true,” he said flatly.

She paused, a frown marring her beautiful face. “But you came to London, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“So you are able to travel.”

He let out a short, mirthless laugh. “Slowly. Painfully.”

Miss Monroe crossed her arms, her eyes sparking. “Dover is a fraction of the distance of your journey from Rivendale to London. Crossing the Channel is the easiest part of the trip. Hell, even if we crawled, we’d still make it in half the time it took you to reach the city.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about traveling to Calais with you,” she said, as if they had been discussing the trip forever and he had simply forgotten.

“You’re still on that?”

“Of course I am. Did you think I’d abandon the idea the instant I learned you had limitations?

Please. I also happen to know about your abilities.

If you can drag yourself from Yorkshire to London, then you can make it to Calais.

If you can carry a halfway decent conversation with me”—her mouth quirked—“then you can gain us entry into the richest salons in France.”

He barked a bitter laugh. “In this bulky chair? I won’t be able to fit through half the doors in Paris.”

“Then you need a smaller chair,” she said promptly.

“Your journey will take twice as long with me,” he added.

“I enjoy taking in the scenery when I travel.”

“The recovery time in France will take longer as well.”

“Did you know they make the tastiest bread in France? I fully intend to eat it every morning. In fact, the more mornings I spend there, the better.”

He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I thought you wagered you’d retrieve the locket in two months.”

“I did.” She gave a careless shrug. “And I will. I like a challenge.”

His voice dropped, almost a growl. “You want to travel with a cripple?”

Her eyes sharpened, her retort as quick as a whip. “Do you want to wallow in self-pity while your life passes you by?”

He froze.

Miss Monroe stepped closer, her voice low but intense.

“I think you’re so used to hiding in your little corner that you’ve given up on the idea of stepping out of your own shadow.

You’ve given up on living, Rivendale. So you build excuses, stack barriers between yourself and the rest of the world, and then you sit behind them like a king on his throne, pretending it’s choice instead of fear. ”

Her hand lifted, hovering near his shoulder but not quite touching.

“Well, I don’t believe in barriers.” She touched his arm, her hand searing through the layers of his clothing.

“I never have. If I cared about hurdles, I wouldn’t have become the owner of a hell and the queen of the demimonde.

I wouldn’t be standing in front of you today.

You thought I looked at you and decided my plans were impossible because of your infirmity.

” Her gaze locked onto his, steady and unyielding.

“When in truth, it’s you who decided that.

The only person putting limitations on you… is you.”

The silence between them stretched taut. He searched her face, hunting for pity, for mockery. But all he saw was sincerity. And for the first time since he’d known her, there wasn’t even a hint of teasing.

She drew back and tied the cloak beneath her chin. “I am leaving for France with or without you, Rivendale. I never back down from a challenge.” She drew the hood over her head and swept past him. Pausing by the door, she glanced over her shoulder. “Will you?”