She had made a terrible mistake. Not just the kissing, though that was certainly part of it. Perhaps her mistake had been dancing with Samuel beforehand. Guilt tinged the memory of all her actions as Lulu attempted to calculate when she had stepped onto this terrible road that would lead to such humiliation. Was it agreeing to come with him to Lady Romeril’s ball in the first place?

  Or was it earlier than that? Was it permitting his curiosity, something which should have made her run from him rather than allow him to grow closer?

  Lulu’s mind was whirling with so many thoughts, it was difficult to separate them. And through it all, through the murmurs from the ballroom, Lady Romeril’s rambling critique, through her scattered breathing and the wild sense this was happening to another—

  There stood Samuel. Right before her, her breasts still pushed against him. He had not moved, said nothing, and . . . and had not met her eye.

  Lulu swallowed. “I—”

  “I don’t want to hear a single word from you, Miss Finch,” Lady Romeril snapped. “The very idea of losing all sense of decorum to such an extent you would permit a duke to kiss you!”

  Lulu flushed. The duke had assumed she was a courtesan, and she had certainly done nothing to dissuade him from that misunderstanding. In truth, she would have permitted Samuel to do far more than kiss her.

  Little did he know that he had given her something truly precious: her first kiss.

  “What do you have to say for yourself, you rogue?” Lady Romeril demanded.

  Lulu glanced at Samuel, but he still would not meet her eye. His gaze was drifting, almost as though the column were not there and he was seeing something else entirely. His face was pale, his left hand still on her waist though no longer clinging to it as though she were the only thing he wanted in the world.

  Dread started to pour through her. “Samuel?”

  “—never seen such an outrageous display—”

  “Move the ladies along, there, they can’t see such an immoral—”

  Slam!

  Lulu started as Lady Romeril slammed the door behind her, blocking out the appalled mutterings.

  “That’s enough of that,” their hostess said forcefully. “They have more than enough fodder for their scandal sheets now.”

  Lulu closed her eyes, just for a moment, and tried not to think about what she had done to Samuel’s reputation. She had warned him, hadn’t she?

  “It’s not a good idea to get too close to me.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. In fact, I am rather enjoying it.”

  True, she had not expected the danger to come from this particular direction. She had been certain his continued fraternizing with her would bring him to the attention of the ruffians she was forced to associate with—Gillingham and Gregory. She had never dreamed it would be his reputation that would be killed.

  “Samuel,” Lulu whispered, desperate to hear him speak. “Samuel?”

  Yet the duke did not meet her gaze. He did not step away, true, but neither did he look at her.

  A sinking, desperate feeling was hollowing out her chest. Regret. That was the expression on the man’s face. She did not need him to say it to—

  “I regret this,” Samuel said stiffly, removing his hand finally and stepping back.

  It was fortunate indeed that Lulu had the column to lean against. Without it, she was almost certain she would fall, her legs no longer able to support her.

  Their moment of passion, of connection, their moment that had meant more to her than anything—of course he regretted it.

  She just hadn’t expected it to hurt so much.

  Lulu stared in horror as Samuel hung his head. If only Lady Romeril weren’t here, she would directly ask the man what in God’s name he thought he was doing! But the presence of the doyenne of Society gave her pause. She couldn’t demand an explanation from a duke!

  Oh, how she wished Lady Romeril would disappear. Then Samuel could explain—he could tell her what the kiss meant, why he would lie to Lady Romeril and say he regretted—

  “Well,” Lady Romeril said with a heavy sigh.

  Samuel nodded.

  Lulu could not understand why. She reached out a hand instinctively to take his own, but he shifted ever so slightly on his feet, leaning away.

  Ashamed, Lulu allowed her hand to fall to her side. She should have expected this. She should have known any connection with a duke was bound to lead to trouble—but it was not her reputation that was sullied now.

  “You know what you have to do,” said Lady Romeril severely.

  Lulu swallowed. Yes, she knew. She would have to leave Edinburgh; she had no choice. The Duke of Chantmarle could not be expected to live down a scandal of this nature. If his reputation was ever to be recovered, she would have to go.

  Where, she did not know. She had no family, no friends. No relations upon whom she could lean. London, perhaps. Returning there had never felt right while her brother was alive, but now Malcolm was dead . . .

  It would be a difficult road, but Lulu knew she had to take it. For Samuel’s sake.

  Oh, if only her curiosity, her desperate need to know what it was like to kiss a duke, had not killed the duke’s reputation!

  “I will pack immediately,” Lulu croaked. She swallowed, her throat dry. “I—”

  “Not you, you little—” Lady Romeril took a deep breath as she glared at Lulu, then turned back to Samuel. “You know what is expected of you.”

  Lulu glanced at the man who was standing simultaneously three feet away and a mile distant.

  What was expected of him? Of Samuel?

  It did not make sense. He was a duke: his reputation, such as it was, would remain intact. It was never gentlemen who paid the price for such indelicacies. It was always—

  Samuel nodded. “I know, and I will meet those expectations.”

  Lulu had never heard him speak so dully. When he had pretended to have little intellect and no wit, he had been cheerful. Almost radiant.

  But this? Samuel’s face was still pale, his expression drawn. He appeared to be staring at the door behind Lady Romeril, and there was no warmth in his gaze, no interest in his look.

  Lulu could not understand it. What were they talking about?

  Lady Romeril sighed, shaking her head ruefully. “And under my roof, too! To think, another scandal!”

  Now that was a statement which could not be ignored. “Another scandal? What—”

  “I do not think I gave you permission to speak to me, Miss Finch,” said Lady Romeril, cutting across her with a sharp look. “You have already done enough damage, I think. Perhaps it would be best if you just remained sile—”

  “Perhaps it would be best,” said Samuel quietly in that same quiet, dull voice, “if you returned to your guests.”

  Lulu watched, bemused, as a strange look passed between the older woman and the man who had, but ten minutes ago, been kissing her as though his life depended on it. It was a look she had never seen before. Resolute understanding in his eyes, and dark sympathy in hers.

  “I suppose you are right,” Lady Romeril said with a sigh. “And you will need to speak with Miss Finch.”

  Lulu’s gaze darted to the older woman. “Why—”

  “Yes, I think that would be appropriate,” Samuel said in a low voice.

  If the situation had not been so bizarre, Lulu would have laughed. Appropriate! Nothing in their connection had been appropriate, and it felt ridiculous to start attempting it now, after they had just been caught kissing at Lady Romeril’s ball!

  Lady Romeril curtseyed low to Samuel, then gave her a cursory glance. “I will expect to hear all about it tomorrow. Good evening, Your Grace.”

  “Lady Romeril,” he murmured, inclining his head.

  Lulu watched with bemusement as the woman left the vestibule through a different door. Only when the sound of Lady Romeril’s footsteps disappeared did she turn to Samuel.

  Finally, they were alone. Finally, he could explain precisely what was meant by—

  “Well, damn,” Samuel breathed heavily.

  Lulu laughed awkwardly, hoping it would dissipate the tension. “My word! I have no idea what Lady Romeril was speaking about, but—”

  “She meant there was only one thing I can do to fix this,” he said quietly.

  Taking a step forward, Lulu was hurt to see the man she cared for so deeply take a step back. Had he lost interest in her that swiftly? Was one kiss enough? Was one moment of passion enough to rid his system of her? Lulu’s heart constricted. Was that it? Did the man she had thought could be something wonderful already find her dull?

  “I . . . I don’t understand,” she said helplessly.

  It appeared Samuel did, though the knowledge clearly injured him as well. Lulu had never seen him look so utterly bereft of joy. As though all hopes for the future, all plans, were lost.

  What was going on?

  Samuel’s deep breath echoed around the room. “I am a gentleman. That affords me one option, and one only. It was my own curiosity that did it, of course. I had to find out—”

  “Samuel, you’re not speaking any sense,” Lulu said softly, this time stepping forward so swiftly that the man could not retreat from her.

  His hands were clammy, even through her gloves.

  And finally, for the first time since Lady Romeril had so shockingly interrupted them, Samuel met her gaze.

  Lulu almost dropped his hands in surprise. There was such a medley of odd emotions in his gaze, she hardly knew what to do with herself.

  Not disappointment. Not quite—but something similar. Something that made it almost impossible to look at her. Yet he did. And she could see how it pained him.

  Oh, the thought that merely looking at her was injurious!

  “I don’t understand,” said Lulu helplessly. Perhaps she should try to inject merriment into the moment. Distract him. “I mean, it’s not as though I am a lady of the ton, not really. If I were, I suppose you would have to marry me!”

  Her laughter sounded false in the large echoing room.

  Samuel did not smile. But he did not drop his gaze.

  Lulu’s laughter faltered, trapped in her lungs as her smile faded.

  No. No, it was not possible. That happened to lords and ladies! It occurred rarely, to be sure, though every now and again she was almost certain a marriage announced in the newspapers had been a little too rushed, even for an arranged marriage.

  But this—a marriage of convenience? One intended only to avoid scandal?

  “No,” she breathed.

  Samuel nodded curtly. “A marriage of convenience is the only way to—”

  “Absolutely not,” Lulu said, staring as though he were mad. “Samuel, no!”

  “You have been brought to Lady Romeril’s Scottish May Day Ball,” Samuel said steadily, his voice firm. “You were introduced, as though you were a member of Society—”

  “B-But I’m not!” Lulu stammered, hardly able to get her words out as her mind whirled. “I’m not!”

  “It will take a great deal of convincing to persuade the hundred or so people who just watched us dance and kiss that you are not,” quipped Samuel dryly, turning away to pace.

  Lulu could not have followed him if she had tried.

  A marriage of convenience? Her and Samuel?

  She could not deny, in the privacy of her own heart, that it had leapt for joy at the mere thought. But, though she had teased him about becoming his mistress, marrying Samuel had never been something she had truly considered.

  “What would it take? To make you marry me?”

  “A scandal. I would only marry you, Samuel, if absolutely necessary.”

  Lulu’s cheeks flushed. But she was not that sort of woman. She was not one to entrap a man into matrimony merely because it suited her!

  “No,” she said, her voice surprisingly hoarse as she watched Samuel pace. “No, this is ridiculous!”

  “This is what Society is,” Samuel said as he paced. “Rules, restrictions, regulations—we may not like them, Lulu, but without them, what would Society be?”

  “Far more enjoyable, I suppose—”

  “You are being deliberately facetious,” he snapped.

  Anger rose. “And you are being deliberately dense!” she shot back. “Have you, even for a moment, thought this through? Considered that by marrying me, you will be removing for yourself any chance of finding a woman to whom you are better suited?”

  “I do not think I have ever found a woman better suited to my character,” Samuel said with a dry smile as he halted his pacing and shook his head ruefully.

  Lulu swallowed. It was a compliment, given at the strangest of times. And here she was, arguing with a duke at a ball hosted by Lady Romeril, because he wanted to marry her!

  Well. Not entirely. Perhaps that was what was grating on her heart: the fact that if not for their discovery, this conversation would not be occurring. Samuel would not wish to marry her—he had no wish to marry her.

  The thought strengthened her resolve. “You deserve to marry well, to marry within your station!”

  “I suppose so, but that is of little consequence,” said Samuel dryly. “I will marry you.”

  “Samuel—why do you keep saying that?” Lulu breathed.

  Her pulse was fluttering, inconsistent and painful. He could not seriously be thinking of going through with it. Surely he just said that to Lady Romeril to keep her quiet?

  “Because you do not understand!” he said with a dry laugh. “How could you? Lulu, this is the only thing that will save my reputation.”

  She stared. No. Surely not. Surely it was the woman’s—

  “I am a duke, there are certain things expected of me, and comporting myself according to Society’s rules is one of them,” Samuel said with a sigh. “You think I would be welcome anywhere if I did not do what was expected? Do you think anyone will respect me if I do not show you, the woman I have ruined, the ultimate respect?”

  Lulu’s heart was in her mouth. Every word he was saying made sense—and perhaps if they were speaking about two other people, people wholly unconnected to her, she would agree with him.

  But this was their lives they were talking about! Irrevocable changes to who they were, what they could do with their futures!

  “You wouldn’t allow my reputation to be destroyed, would you?”

  Lulu started. She had hardly noticed Samuel move to her, standing only feet away.

  Instinct pushed her forward. “You’re saying you would marry me out of duty?”

  She hated how her words quivered, but she had to know.

  A wry smile slipped across Samuel’s face. “Not purely. I have to admit, the moment we shared, pushed against that column has shown me that there will be . . . compensations.”

  Lulu’s cheeks burned, but she did not look away. “I-I suppose so.”

  And she could not deny, being married to a duke would certainly be an interesting way to escape the mess she had managed to find herself in.

  Lulu swallowed. That was not why she was doing this, she told herself firmly. She truly liked Samuel. Admired him. Desired him, certainly. What was all that, if not love?

  The fact he could remove her from Mr. Gregory and Mr. Gillingham’s blackmail . . .

  Well. That was just a convenient coincidence.

  “You are a kind man,” Lulu said hesitantly.

  Samuel snorted as he took her hands. “God, don’t talk to me like I’m an archbishop!”

  “And handsome, I suppose,” she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

  His eyes sparkled. “Could still be an archbishop.”

  “And you kiss like the devil—”

  “That’s better!”

  “And you’re sure?” Lulu said, her voice lowering, trembling at the importance of her words. “You are truly sure you wish to marry me—to restore your reputation, and . . . and enjoy a few compensations?”

  What answer she wished for, Lulu hardly knew. How they had managed to get into this situation, she could not understand. But as she stood here, holding Samuel’s hands tight, she knew if she made vows to him, she would never break them. Here was a good man, a joyful man. One whose curiosity had certainly managed to land him into a mess, but a man who would do the honorable thing to escape it, rather than abandon her to her fate.

  Samuel smiled, and Lulu’s stomach turned over as warmth pooled between her legs.

  “Lulu Finch,” Samuel said softly. “I will marry you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  2 May 1811

  “Ouch!” Samuel glared at his own thumb. “What is that doing there?”

  “I did say, Your Grace, that the barrel knot is far more difficult than it looks,” said his valet reprovingly. “If you would just wait—”

  “I can tie my own cravat, man!” Samuel snapped, looking at the monstrosity around his neck which rather suggested the opposite. “I just need to—how on earth did I manage to tie my own thumb into it?”

  “Lack of practice, Your Grace,” Morris muttered.

  At least, that’s what Samuel thought he said, but he was hardly sure. His mind had been whirling from the moment he’d awoken that morning. The instant the light had hit his eyes, he had looked at his ceiling and realized it was today.

  “Truly, Your Grace, I am almost finished with—”

  “You worry about getting my collar points nice and sharp, I’ll worry about the damned cravat,” said Samuel with what he hoped was a grin. “I just need a looking glass, that’s all.”

  The dressing room was bathed with light. His valet had helped him into his breeches and shirt minutes ago, and his waistcoat was carefully laid on a chair. His collar was being carefully prepared by Morris, and Samuel was determined to do something with his hands while he waited.

  He couldn’t just stand here, knowing that at any moment . . .

  Samuel swallowed. He had an hour yet. Maybe just over an hour before he was expected in the church.

  The church. Where he would be getting married.

  “Have a care, Your Grace!”