Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Caldwell, Christi Page 0,32

for him . . . before she’d grown tired of his thievery and his commitments to others. Before a harder, more cynical glint had replaced that innocence. “Yes, well, I’ve asked for what I’ve asked for.”

He’d be damned if she provided for only her brother and his sweetheart with those monies. “Will five thousand pounds be enough?”

She choked, and he patted her lightly on the back. “Th-that would b-be very fair,” she said when she was able to properly swallow.

Any other woman might have asked for more. “It is settled, then.”

“There is one more matter . . .”

He folded his arms. “Oh?”

“Chance’s love, my friend Gwynn. I’d have her join me, and she’s agreed to serve in the role of lady’s maid. Not that I’ll treat her as a servant,” she said on a rush. “But rather I’d have her close so that she might see my brother more frequently than she does now.”

In their time apart, she’d found a friend. And even while there came a peace and joy in knowing there’d been someone there for her, there was also regret at the reminder of how much time had passed. Of how little he knew her . . . and what had become of her. And also . . . a reminder that he’d been replaced. She, the one friend he’d allowed himself, had found another.

Her brow dipped. “I didn’t expect that would be a problem?”

There was a question there.

“It is not a problem.” She’d misunderstood the reason for his silence. “Your friend—?”

“Gwynn Armitage.”

“She may join us. If there is nothing else?”

Temperance shook her head. “There isn’t.”

He gathered his reins. “We’ll leave today.”

Her eyebrows shot up, and Temperance raced over. “So soon?” she squeaked.

“I left London without informing”—he couldn’t get his tongue or lips to make out the words for that old pair who’d presented him with a possible fortune—“them, and there is business I have to see to. Contracts that will finalize the terms laid out.” Is it really about that meeting? Or is it that you fear if she has more time to think on it, she’ll back out of the agreement?

She eyed him suspiciously. “Are they . . . also of the nobility?”

Very briefly, he considered a lie lest she, like him, decide she wanted no part of a contract with the peerage.

“Dare?”

“You might say . . . a duke.”

She strangled on another swallow and, this time, waved him off when he made to hit her on the back.

Her horse tossed its head and danced nervously about.

Dare stroked the creature’s neck, calming her. “Didn’t I say as much?”

“No, you didn’t. Not before this.”

“I’m sure I did. He is my late mother’s father.”

Temperance gave him a hard look. “I’m beyond certain I would recall those details, Dare.”

“Does it really matter?” Why, all of a sudden, must it make a difference that he was a lord or that his kin were lofty? And that he despised it?

“Of course it does.” She thumped him in the arm with her fist.

He grunted and rubbed at the offended area. “I mean, they are nobility, and regardless of what their title is, they’re still all the same. The same class. The same power and—”

“Enough.” She gave him another—this time, gentler—tap. “You aren’t helping.”

He made himself silent.

“Furthermore, it matters, very much. They’re of the peerage, and they’re your grandparents.”

He squirmed. “Yes, well, either way, they’re the ones who’ve put these requirements to me, and I had a meeting on the morrow with my man-of-affairs to work through the details.” Dare awkwardly gestured between them. “The details being us . . . and the monies that will come to me”—she gave him a pointed look—“us,” he corrected.

“And do you truly believe they are simply going to accept that you’ve tied yourself to a drunkard’s daughter? A commoner from the Rookeries?”

God, how he despised that low opinion she’d always carried of herself. She’d always deserved more. “That isn’t all you are,” he said quietly.

She waved his words off. “No. That’s right. I’m also a seamstress, which, to them, will mark me no different from a woman on the streets. Lords and ladies don’t simply accept common street rats into their fold.”

His mouth hardened. “Whether they approve or not, the fact remains, you are my wife. And I’ll not allow anyone to speak ill of you.” Including Temperance herself. Her past didn’t matter. It never had. Only in that he’d admired her so deeply for surviving the abusive bastard who’d put her through a hell that