C*cky Marquess by Annabelle Anders

Chapter 23

The sharp edges of the stone digging into Diana’s back ought to have been enough to bring her back into the present—into reality.

No lady would do this.

No lady would even think about doing what she’d just done. Even worse, any other lady who made the questionable decision to welcome a gentleman into her bodybetween sets at the most elaborate ball of the season, no lesswould have the decency to feel guilty about it.

Which she… did not.

Because she had wanted this. If she could be neither his mistress nor his wife, she would at least have the memory of these moments as his lover.

“Diana—"

“So, help me, Zeke, if you apologize for this, I’ll—”

“No.” His breath sounded ragged as he held onto her, her back pressed against the wall.

“Marry me.” Her hair and the damp skin of her neck and shoulders muffled his voice.

“Must we discuss this now?”

“I’m sure there are better circumstances for a gentleman to propose marriage.” He shifted, adjusting his arms under the weight of her thighs. “But, I imagine, I assume there are also worse.”

Diana dropped her hands from around his neck and cradled his face. “But marrying me goes against everything you’ve believed most of your life. And I don’t want to be a marchioness. Those two things are quite a lot for two people to overcome.” She surprised even herself for not refusing him outright.

He drew back, and she could just make out the beginnings of a victorious light in his eyes. “A marriage consists of two people. We’ll determine our own destiny.”

“What about those ghosts and those who’ll eventually succeed you?”

“They aren’t real,” he lowered her so she was standing and leaned his forehead against hers. “You are.”

Diana wanted so desperately to believe what he was telling her, but she couldn’t.

Bethany had promised that she and Collette would be accepted but the ton, but they hadn’t really, not by most, and only authentically by a few. She couldn’t trust something she didn’t understand. And she most definitely did not understand society, nor did she comprehend the workings of an aristocratic marriage. Diana dropped her hands and smoothed down her skirt.

* * *

Greys was generally a verypatient man.

Before that was, he’d become enamored of Diana. And only moments after making love with him, he felt her pulling away.

Today, he’d sat waiting for her in Chaswick’s drawing-room for over an hour. He’d be damned if she’d get away from him tonight.

Not allowing himself to think, Zeke abruptly dropped to one knee, clasped her hands in his and pinned his gaze to her startled one. “Diana Winifred Jones, will you please, make me the happiest of men? Become my marchioness?”

She blinked. And then she blinked some more. Had she not heard him?

“Be my wife,” he added.

“I do not know how to be a marchioness.” Greys took very small encouragement in that she had not told him “no.”

He squeezed her hand. Convincing Chaswick had been the easy part. He simply needed to convince this woman now. He inhaled. The scent of their desire was a heady drug. “You’ll never lack for anything. Gowns, bonnets, frivolities… dancing masters?” He raised his brow. Surely, that ought to convince her.

“I told you…” She squirmed where she stood, and moonlight revealed that she’d caught her bottom lip with her teeth.”

“Tell me what you want, Diana, and I’ll make it happen. But marry me.”

“What I want,” she touched the side of his head, stroking her fingers along the line of his jaw. “Is not to be an aristocrat’s wife.”

It was his turn to blink. She’d been telling him this all along. Surely, she didn’t really mean it?

He’d expected her to resist the notion, to argue with him and negotiate. He’d not expected her to refuse him outright.

“I would think that you, more than anyone, would see the benefits of securing a title for yourself.” He enunciated his words carefully.

“And why is that?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Because…” His eyes drifted to her bodice, which she’d not yet returned to rights. He cleared his throat, momentarily distracted.

“Do, please, take a moment to explain.” Diana’s sarcasm carried a nasty bite.

He pushed himself off the ground with a groan. He’d prefer not to spell it out for her, but since she did not seem to understand, he would make himself perfectly clear.

“You would realize this importance because of the circumstances surrounding your very existence—Because of who your mother was. Because of what your mother was. Don’t you think she would have been more content as Baroness Chaswick? If she’d been your father’s wife? Do you genuinely believe she preferred being Mrs. Jones, not only to him, but to the world?” It wasn’t even her real name. And as far as he knew, she’d never come close to being anyone’s missus.

“Have you met my brother’s mother? Have you spent more than a moment in her company?” Diana returned. “My mother, even in her weakest moments, finds joy in life. She has always been content knowing the man she loved returned the sentiment. In contrast, the dowager Chaswick has so separated herself from reality she believes Collette and I are her sister’s children. In the grief of her husband’s betrayal, she’s lost her sanity. Why would I ever choose a life such as that?”

Diana was breathing hard, her eyes bright, and the roses in her cheeks darkened in her argument.

“The Dowager baroness has never had to worry about having a roof over her head.” Greys didn’t mean for his words to come out in such clipped tones, but was she seriously trying to convince him she’d rather be a mistress than a marchioness?

“Neither has my mother,” Diana said. But they both knew she was lying.

Greys folded his arms across his chest. “Lady Chaswick’s existence has never been kept secret, and her child is the legitimate heir to his father. All your mother had was the delusion that a man who paid for her services loved her.”

Diana jerked backward as though he’d struck her. That delightful pink drained out of her face, leaving her complexion an almost startling white.

He was almost of a mind to take it all back, but he did not. They were words she needed to hear.

She stared at him as though he’d turned into some sort of monster. And then. “Stop,” she said. “I’ve heard enough.”

“Diana—”

“No more.” She stared straight ahead, not meeting his eyes now.

Diana herself had told him the late baron had not provided for his second family after his death. So she could not seriously believe she’d prefer to be a kept woman.

“I cannot take you to be my mistress.” He pointed out. “I will not.”

“We are in perfect agreement there.” She closed her eyes before opening them again to meet his gaze. “Because you and I are finished. Good day, My Lord.”

She swept around him, holding herself with the bearing of a queen, but before she could march away from him, a menacing but familiar voice sounded from behind her.

“What the hell is going on here?” Chaswick brushed forward, baring his teeth. In all the time Greys had known the man, the baron had never looked so furious.

Stunned by this sudden turn of events, Greys failed to see the fist that came flying out of the darkness.

He felt it, though. And the last thought he had as his knees gave out beneath him was that marriage proposals were not the walk in the park he’d imagined they would be.