The dear girl blushed red, her entire face taking the shade of a polished apple. Her gaze focused on his evening slippers. She was enchanting. “I am aware you know more about such matters than I. But if you know it is not your child, then why –-?”
“Why would I offer to marry you?”
“Yes.” It was little more than a mumbled whisper. Her eyes darted up, caught his then fled again. “This is not what I planned. I cannot marry you.”
He stopped, pondered. Marriage was a momentous step – even for such a cause. Why was he so willing to marry her when he had never been ready to marry before? No matter the cause, he had always balked at this final gate.
Halt the horses.
This he had never considered.
She wouldn’t marry him.
Was she insane?
A sane woman wouldn’t show up on his doorstep interrupting his guests, wouldn’t look up at him with clear blue eyes that had his every protective instinct clamoring and then refuse his proposal.
She’d said “no.”
No one said “no” to him. Why, he was famous for his ability to persuade. He pulled his shoulders back and stood to his full height. He let his voice ring full and clear. “Nonetheless, it is what I offer.”
“I do not understand.”
He could hardly hear her.
“Let’s see,” he began, letting his instincts run free. He remembered her sweetness, her beauty, the innocence she wore draped about her even now. He had been drawn to her on their previous meetings, never been irritated in her presence. He would have claimed her before if it had not been against every principle he held dear. But if he wed her – and a wife would be very useful at the moment – then he could make her his own and do right by her also. It was all so straightforward, if he would just let it be. Now that the plan had formed, coolly, collectedly he must win through. He moved closer to her. “According to you I promised to help you if you ever needed me. Yes?”
“Yes, at Rose’s wedding.”
“And, being a gentleman, I must trust the word of a lady. Don’t you agree? And, being an honorable man, I must do all within my capability to fulfill a promise. Is that not enough reason?”
“Well –”
“No, you’re right. It might suffice in a Minerva Press novel. But not in reality.”
“Then?”
He strode over and stared out the window. He pitched his voice lower – that always worked with women, drew them closer. “Maybe I am overcome by your beauty and by memories of our walk together in the garden, and simply cannot wait another moment to make you mine.”
He turned back toward her. If only she’d lift her eyes from the floorboards and look back at him. He knew he could persuade her. He focused on the perfect shell of her ear, imagined nibbling it. His desire cascaded through his words. “You are very beautiful. I have no doubt I shall relish making you mine.”
Was that a snort? It couldn’t be –- still, part of laying a trap was knowing when to pull back.
“No, I rather suppose that won’t work,” he continued. “I made it a little too obvious – did I not? – that I wasn’t sure who you were at first. And a lovesick swain would hardly wait a year to propose.”
Her pale blue eyes opened wide. She sniffled. The blush had faded from her skin and she looked unhealthily wan. He strode towards her and stood near, ready in case she should faint. She continued to stare at him with wide, seeking eyes – eyes undisturbed by the promised passion of his tone.
“What other reason could I have for asking you to be my bride? Maybe I am really a spy, and my profligate life has all been a cover. Now, for some secret reason of my own, I need a wife, and respectability. If she is with child and I can convince my more –- questionable -– acquaintances that I am forced to the altar, so much the better.”
Marguerite only stared at him in confusion.
“No? You don’t believe that one. I’ll have to do better.”
He sat beside her on the settee, careful to keep their bodies from touching. “What about this, then? I am tired of being pestered by my mother, my aunts, and my younger brother to marry and produce an heir. Poor Peter, my brother, is terrified I am going to meet my demise and leave him the