“Why two weeks, then?” She struggled to infuse her voice with steel. “Why not pose the ultimatum now?”
“Because two weeks gives you time to prepare.”
She stared at him in astonishment. “You think I’m going to agree, don’t you?”
“Of course you’re going to bloody well agree,” Alexander said, a muscle throbbing in his jaw. “You will be my wife.”
“I will not.”
Anger and something else—desperation?—split through his expression like lightning. “For God’s sake, I’m heir to an earl, you foolish woman.”
“I am well aware.”
“We’ve weathered scandal, yes, but my fortune alone is considerable.”
“That alone is not reason to marry you.”
“I’ve told you you’ll have plenty of freedom, funds, time. You’ll continue your work, do whatever you want during the day.”
He moved closer, his eyes burning into hers and filled with remembrances of past lusty encounters… and promises of many more. His hot breath brushed her lips.
“And at night,” he said, the words almost a growl, “you will be mine, wholly and utterly. Without reservation.”
Lydia’s arousal heightened, pulsing against her skin, between her legs. Her cheeks darkened with a flush, her chest rising with increased breaths. “I don’t mean to imply that sounds unacceptable—”
A trace of amusement flashed in his expression. “Of course it’s not unacceptable. It’s a goddamned paradise.”
Hardly a poetic sentiment, and yet a deep happiness flowered in her soul because he believed—he knew—a marriage between them would be a thing of glory.
Lydia stared at the beautiful, strong column of his throat, the damp hollow where she had tasted the salt of his skin. She rested a trembling hand against his chest, felt his heart pound against her palm and reverberate through her arm. His fingers closed around her wrist.
All the hopes and dreams and wishes of her life flooded through her—the goals realized, the opportunities missed, the chances taken. The strange combination of happiness and despair that pulsed through her blood.
The deep-seated knowledge that she would change nothing about her life, nothing, not even if it meant possessing the freedom to accept his proposal, to embrace all the glorious advantages of being Alexander Hall’s wife.
“If I were ever to marry,” she said, “I would wish for no other husband except you.”
“Then say yes.”
Frustration slammed hard against Alexander when Lydia didn’t respond. He tightened his grip on her wrist until her wince made him realize he was hurting her.
Muttering a curse, he released her and stepped back. He felt her gaze on him. He fought the urge to pace. Instead he picked up the poker again and stabbed at the burning logs. He reined in his anger, knowing it was hardly the most effective way to convince her to accept him.
Lydia sank into a chair beside the fire, wrapping her arms around her knees.
Silence fell between them for what seemed a very long time before she spoke.
“It’s required of you, isn’t it?” she asked. “That you marry well. I can see why the daughter of a baron would have been an excellent match for you.”
Alexander tightened his fist on the poker.
“She was nothing of the sort,” he said. “And you are not the daughter of a baron, but I still—”
“Exactly,” Lydia interrupted.
“What?”
“There are vast differences between your former intended and myself.” She rubbed her hand over the arm of the chair and studied the pattern of the upholstery. “I know nothing about society, Alexander. I’ve not the faintest notion what style of dress is fashionable or how to conduct an afternoon tea.”
“Talia can assist you with that sort of thing, if it’s a concern.”
“But that’s not enough.” She lifted her head to look at him. “I would not be an asset to either you or the earldom. Can you not see that?”
“You’re wrong. You’re well regarded, Lydia, as your father was before you. I learned that shortly after meeting you. Your talent for mathematics is cause for fascination rather than disapproval.” He took a step toward her, willing her to believe in his sincerity. “And you would be an asset to me. Yes, I’ve a duty to marry well, but beyond that we are undeniably compatible. Never have I met a woman like you. A woman with whom I wish to spend my life.”
An unbearable sorrow darkened Lydia’s eyes. A sorrow Alexander had seen before. One whose source he could not fathom.
She ran her forefinger over the floral design of the upholstery, tracing the leaves up to the open flower. Her