Selina smiled. “You may show him in. I’m sure we can accommodate one more guest.”
The girl looked frightened. “I’m sorry, my lady, but he said he would not come inside. He is waiting for you in the gardens. He…”
At last, Selina understood what had made the girl so afraid. Serving girls in country inns did not often encounter dukes. When they did, the prospect of offending one was surely terrifying.
“I understand,” said Selina. She sighed inwardly. What she wanted to do was to send the girl back to Malcolm with a curt dismissal. She had spent long enough standing about in the cold to hear the speech.
But she could not put the helpless serving girl through the ordeal of defying a duke, and in any case…
She wanted to see Malcolm again. To make him sorry, of course. To accuse him of lying to her, of cheating in order to win, and watching him writhe in the glare of her anger.
And also – she could not deny it – to feel again, just once more, the deep pleasure of being in his presence. To let her eyes linger on the strong, masculine lines of his face. To breathe him in, just for a moment, in the hopes that some of the pain that had wracked her since he left Lady Aldershot’s might be relieved.
The relief would be temporary, of course, but like everything else about Malcolm, it was too tempting to resist.
She followed the serving girl to the inn’s back door and stepped out into a small courtyard garden. Malcolm was waiting for her, leaning against a wall with his hands thrust into his pockets. There was something about him of a schoolboy waiting for a thrashing, and something of the careless rake, and something of the angry duke, all mixed into one.
She was afraid that the sight of him would make her lose her self-possession, so she spoke quickly, seizing what little control she could. “I take it you are not here to congratulate me on Mr Forrester’s excellent speech.”
His mouth twisted into something that was not at all a smile. “It was excellent. I’m proud, not mentally deficient. I recognise brilliance when I see it.”
“How generous of you.” She stayed in the doorway, refusing to take a single step towards him. It was difficult. His nearness exerted a physical pull on her chest. If she did not concentrate, she would fall towards him as apples fell to earth. “But winners can afford to be generous, can’t they?”
“The election’s not over yet.”
“Yes, it is. You’ve seen to that.”
His eyes flashed, lightning in the blue. “Would you believe that I didn’t know what Sir Roderick was doing until that moment, at the Whitbys’ ball? Would you believe that I told him to put a stop to it?”
“I’d be a fool to believe anything you told me ever again.”
“Yes.” There was an agony in his voice that she had not expected. He removed his hat, turned it over in his hands once or twice, his jaw clenched tight. “But all is not lost, Selina. You need not accept defeat. Not unless you want it.”
She cocked her head to the side, trying not to let her intrigue show. “I am not inclined to stoop to Sir Roderick’s level, if that’s what you are going to say.”
“No. Not that.” Malcolm set the hat back on his head, a sharp, forceful gesture, like a soldier donning his helmet before battle. He took a step towards Selina, and she realised, at last, that he was battling some deep inner passion. His chest heaved with each breath. His eyes were bright and burning. “Marry me, and the election ceases to matter. Forrester or Roddy, either one will take their direction from us.”
She was so shocked that for a long moment she did not know what to say. As her mind raced through words, her mouth part open, she saw all too clearly the flare of hope in Malcolm’s eyes.
That, she could not allow. “I have told you many times before. I do not wish to marry.”
“You kissed me like a woman who does.”
“That was a mistake.” She swallowed. She could not know for certain whether, beneath all the bluster about power and politics, she was hurting him with her refusal. She simply had to hope that she truly had been mistaken. That there was no man, only the duke. “I apologise for giving you the wrong impression.”
“The wrong – ha!” Malcolm raised a hand to his mouth, clenched into a tight fist, as though he could tear away the memory of her lips on his. “What more must I do to persuade you, Selina? We’d be the most powerful pair in London. You’d have all the influence you could possibly desire. I’d buy you anything you wished for. I’d – I’d –” He stuttered to a halt, seeing that she was unmoved, and the façade of the arrogant duke began to crack. He looked wild, hopeless, desperate. “I’d give you all you wanted,” he said hoarsely. “If you’d only let me.”
Now she knew she was truly hurting him, but there was nothing else to do. “I don’t think you can give me what I want, Malcolm. Not like this. Not if you think you can persuade me to marry you by talking of money and power.” She gave in to his inexorable gravity and took his hand, pressing it between both of hers. “You are only proving that you don’t understand me. It isn’t power for myself that I want. I support Mr Forrester because he is a talented man who will do great things for this country. That’s the heart of it.” She bit her lip, sadness overwhelming her.
Saying no to a man had never been as difficult as it was now.
Malcolm was studying her face as though she were a secret code to which he had almost discovered the key. “You think you’re happy,” he said. “But you are not. You’re feigning contentment, helping
