of my own. You’ve proven you’re capable of conceiving, so you can furnish me with my own children once we’re married. But rest assured, I’d never refer to your child as a bastard. Not even when we are alone.”
His words, spoken with cold practicality, struck a frost in her heart. He lifted her hand to his lips. “I love you, Delilah,” he said, “enough to forgive your past indiscretions.”
“I don’t know…” she hesitated.
“Well, I do,” he said. “Think about your family. Your brother’s position in society depends on your marrying well. Despite your not insubstantial fortune, do you think you’ll secure another offer of marriage now you’re a fallen woman?”
“Ah, my fortune,” she said. “Are you offering me respectability in exchange for cash?”
“Dearest Delilah, I’m not marrying you for your fortune. If you had nothing, I would still want you. What other man could possibly compete with that?”
Her life stretched before her, split into two paths. The first led toward ruination where she found herself alone, unloved, and with an illegitimate child in tow, her family’s reputation ground in the dirt, and her brother’s hopes dashed. The second led to a marriage of convenience to a man she didn’t love but who would give her respectability and her child a title.
Determined not to look back or to regret the paths which were now closed to her, Lilah curled her fingers round Sir Thomas’s hand and nodded.
“Very well,” she said quietly. “I’ll marry you.”
The words were like chains, securing her imprisonment in a society marriage. But it was the least reprehensible course open to her.
“Dearest, Delilah!” he cried. “You make me the happiest of men!” He took her face in his hands and pulled her close for a kiss, but she pushed him away. A flash of irritation sparked in his eyes.
“I’ll give myself to you once we’re married,” she said, “but I’d ask you to respect my wish to be left alone until then.”
His lips thinned, and he nodded, the benign smile returning.
“Of course, my love,” he said. “I shall look forward to it. But you must, at least, grant me leave to announce our betrothal in the newspapers. I shan’t leave until you agree.”
He pouted in the manner of a small boy. Perhaps he thought it endearing, but it only rendered him petulant. But if it rid her of him today, she’d agree to whatever he asked.
“Very well.”
“Capital!” he cried. He jumped to his feet and opened the door, and after a suspiciously short time, Thea and Anna appeared. But while Delilah held her betrothed’s hand and weathered their congratulations, her mind could not help but wander north to the Highlands.
To Beinn Mo Chridhe and the man she loved.
Chapter Thirty
“Miss Delilah! What the devil are you doing here?”
Mr. Payton, Dexter’s partner, stood in the office doorway. “Is your brother expecting you?” he asked. “He’s rather busy, I’m afraid.” He glanced at the longcase clock by the window. “In fact, he’s due to meet a client now.”
“A Mr. Samson?” she asked. “To discuss an investment proposition?”
“You’re Samson?”
“How else can I see my brother?” she asked. “He always refuses my requests to visit him here.”
“He’s a busy man, Miss Hart,” Peyton said. “He won’t appreciate a social call.”
She snorted. “I know Dexter well enough to understand that. But I’m here on a matter of business.”
“I don’t know…”
“My fortune is invested with the bank, Mr. Peyton,” she said. “It is unentailed. I am of age. I can do what I want with it—including withdrawing it in its entirety.”
Peyton smiled, warmth in his eyes. “Then I shall hinder you no more and wish you good luck,” he said, “though perhaps it’s your brother who needs it.”
He led her to a thick oak-paneled door and knocked.
“Come in!”
The voice on the other side reeked of authority. Peyton gave Lilah an apologetic smile, then opened it.
“Mr.—er—Samson, to see you.”
“Bring him in.”
Sunlight streamed from the office window, leaving the room’s occupant in what must be an almost permanent shadow.
He moved into the light, and his clear blue gaze fixed on her.
“What are you doing here, Delilah? I’m busy.”
“I’m here on business.”
“I’m expecting a Mr. Samson. Not you.”
“Think about it, brother,” she said. “Haven’t you read the Book of Judges?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ve no time for riddles.”
“Aren’t you going to invite me to sit, Dex?” she asked.
“In my place of work, I’m addressed as Mr. Hart.”
Mr. Peyton cleared his throat, and Dexter gestured to the chair opposite the desk.
“Sit,” he said, “before Peyton here accuses me of