Page 23 of A Marquess of No Importance (Inglorious Scoundrels #3)

“Oh.” He’d completely forgotten he’d even mentioned that story, so lost was he in the sensation of her hands on his skin.

And he wished he hadn’t brought it up at all.

A wave of embarrassment washed over him.

Or perhaps it was best to recount his most humiliating stories.

Perhaps they would tamp down the feelings her touch evoked—though so far, nothing seemed capable of dampening his desire for her.

“Upon seeing me take a few steps, she started to cry. In fact, she cried so long it caused her to have conniptions.”

Melissande paused, her face twisted in disgust or unease. “She did not.”

“Yes, she did. Then my parents invited another young woman. She feigned politeness in my presence, but my servants overheard her telling her sister how hideous she found me and how embarrassed she would be to attend a ball with me. Luckily, Thomas shared the gossip, and I narrowly avoided matrimony with her. However, those two experiences certainly dispelled any desire I had to marry.”

“What absolute fools,” she said with such vehemence that it surprised him. “Those could not have been your only options.”

“They weren’t,” he agreed. “But as you can imagine, they didn’t bolster my already shaken confidence, so I decided I didn’t want to continue looking for more. However, my mother convinced me that fortune is often kinder on the third attempt, and I agreed to meet one more young lady.”

“Was the luck kinder?” she asked, with a slight wince, as if expecting more heartache.

“In a way,” he said. “She was a rather lovely young lady. She was kind, generous, and carefree. She didn’t seem to care about my affliction one bit, or at least was polite enough not to gossip about it out loud in my house.”

“And did you find her suitable as well?”

“Quite.” He nodded. “She was beautiful, well-mannered, and a rather interesting conversationalist.” He felt Melissande’s hands tighten slightly on his thigh and wondered if it was jealousy or if she was bracing herself for another humiliating end to the story.

“Except in the three weeks she spent on our estate, she managed to fall in love with my younger brother.”

“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “How unfortunate.” But her hands seemed to relax against his skin.

“Not for my brother. He is very fortunate, and so is she. My brother is a good man. They’ve been happily married for five years now, with three babes in tow and a fourth on the way.”

She smiled at that. Her entire demeanor softened, and her touch became gentler, more caressing than medicinal. “How lovely. You were an unwitting matchmaker for your brother, it seems.”

“I was,” he agreed, a smile touching his lips at the memory. His brother hadn’t been looking to marry at all at the time, yet he became completely smitten with the woman.

A pause. “So in all your thirty-some years—”

“Thirty-seven,” he corrected.

“Right, so in your thirty-seven years, you haven’t found a single woman worthy of your regard?”

“No, I did not say that.”

“Hmm…” Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “So there was a woman you were willing to marry?”

He nodded. “There was.”

“Then why didn’t you marry her?” she insisted.

He let out a sigh. “She was a barmaid at the local tavern.”

“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. She knew the implications. A commoner and a gentleman were not meant to be.

Ever , he reminded himself. Not then, not now.

But he liked to remember those carefree days when he knew her.

That local tavern he used to visit every evening…

He could still smell the whisky and the scent of wooden benches, could recall how Laura’s laughter had filled the common room like music.

He didn’t much care for a drink; he just wanted to sit and look at her.

“I used to frequent it as a young lad, and Laura was… She was the most beautiful woman I’d seen up to that point.

She was friendly, kind, and lovely. She didn’t seem to care about my gait, the way I looked or spoke, or my poor temper…

” He paused. “I really used to have trouble with my temper.”

“Used to?” She raised a brow playfully. Having given up on rubbing his muscles, her fingers now rested on his thigh as she seemed engrossed in his story.

He let out a snort. “Yes, I’ve become rather mellow in my old age.”

She smiled. “Did she love you?” The question was asked quietly, and something in her tone made him study her face more carefully.

“I thought so.” He nodded. “That’s why I proposed to her.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You did? A marquess proposed to a barmaid?”

“I wasn’t a marquess then, and I thought I would die long before inheriting. I never believed I would live a long life. The doctors had been saying so since my birth.

“My childhood was not a happy one, and she was the only person who seemed to care about me, aside from my younger brother and my vale. I wanted to spend the rest of what I thought would be my short life with her. So I proposed. My parents would never have approved, but at the time, I didn’t care. I was willing to elope if I had to.”

He paused, and her jaw tightened slightly as she deduced, “She refused you.”

He nodded. “She did. Not because of my limitations, however. Because of hers. She said she wasn’t fit to be a marchioness.” The rejection still stung, even after all these years, though he understood it.

“And what did you think?”

“I thought it didn’t matter. I believed we could live a quiet, secluded life until the day I died.

I was never prepared to run a marquessate.

My brother was. So when I inherited, I floundered.

A lot. I was angry. At my parents for not teaching me anything, for not believing I would outlive them, and for doubting my abilities to be a proper marquess.

I was angry at my peers who laughed at my stuttering attempts to deliver speeches in the House of Lords and at my inability to stand for long periods.

I was angry at Laura for refusing me and marrying a curate’s son.

“I held onto that anger for a long time.

So I withdrew from London, managed my estates from home, and wrote letters to Parliament instead of attending in person.

I hired tutors to teach me everything I missed out on at university.

I proved everyone who doubted and laughed at me all those years wrong.

“Everyone except for her. Because, at the end of the day, Laura was right. Even as a peer, I had to work extremely hard to be accepted. As a commoner, she had no chance.”