He blew a resigned breath. No, losing his fortune was not an option. He had to do what was best for everyone, personal preferences aside. Not that he felt especially noble about it at the moment. This was simply his duty, and he would live up to the obligations imposed upon him by tradition and birth. No matter how dreadful it—she—might be.
The door opened and the soon-to-be Lady Pennington stepped into the room.
Marcus’s heart thudded.
Her gown was out of fashion, ill-fitting, of a faded gray color, but could not hide the promise of a shapely figure. Her hair was a dark red, the color of fine mahogany, bound up in an untidy knot as if it were desperate to break free. The top of her head would reach just to his chin. Her gaze met his. Her cheeks flushed and her blue eyes widened in shocked recognition that mirrored his own.
He stared for a long moment, and a feeling that was entirely too giddy for a man of his studied sophistication swept through him. It was an odd mix of amusement and irony and relief and…gratitude. And far too powerful to fight.
And he couldn’t stop the spread across his face of a grin of truly foolish proportions.
“Good Lord, it’s you!” Gwen stared in disbelief. This was Lord Pennington? The arrogant, sarcastic, and admittedly somewhat handsome man on the stairs was Lord Pennington? Her Lord Pennington?
Not that she had given him a second thought, of course.
Besides, at the moment, he appeared more insane than attractive.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she said cautiously, wondering if it was too late to retreat to the corridor. “And why are you grinning like a lunatic?”
“It is only that I feel quite mad with relief.” He strode to her, took her hand, and raised it to his lips. His gaze never left hers. It was most disconcerting. “It is a true pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Townsend.”
“Is it?” She pulled her hand away. “Why?”
“Why?” He raised a brow. “I should think that would be obvious.”
She shook her head. “Apparently not.”
“Forgive me.” The earl’s forehead furrowed. “I assumed Mr. Whiting had informed you as to our connection.”
“He told me of an arrangement between our fathers,” she said slowly.
“Excellent.” He nodded, and the grin returned to his face. It was somewhat crooked, and if his dark hair were a bit ruffled instead of perfectly in place, he would look more like a mischievous schoolboy than a gentleman of nearly thirty. She suspected it could be quite engaging under other circumstances. This, however, was not one of them.
“Then we can proceed with the arrangements at once. I will secure a special license, and we can be wed by the end of the week.”
Shock stole her voice, and for a moment she could do nothing but stare. The man was indeed every bit as arrogant as she’d thought at their first meeting and far more high-handed than she’d ever expected. She had no intention of marrying any man let alone this one. And even if she were interested in marriage, she would much prefer to be asked rather than issued a command.
“Miss Townsend?”
“I fear you have me at a disadvantage, my lord.” She fixed him with a steady stare, the kind she’d perfected to intimidate children even if it had never especially worked. “I cannot be certain from your words but is this a proposal of marriage?”
“A proposal?” Confusion colored his face, then his expression cleared. “Of course. How could I have been so thoughtless? You would expect that. Any woman would, regardless of the circumstances. I simply assumed…Well, it scarcely matters now, I suppose, but I do apologize. Allow me to start over.”
He took her hands in his and looked slightly ill at ease. “I suppose I didn’t think of it because, well, I am not especially polished at this sort of thing. I have never been in this position before. This is my first offer of marriage.”
“How delightful to know you do not suggest marriage to every stranger you bump into.”
“Indeed I do not.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “My dear Miss Townsend.” He cleared his throat and met her gaze. “Would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
His eyes were the darkest shade of green, cool and inviting like the depths of an endless garden pool, and for the briefest fraction of a moment, Gwen wanted nothing more than to fall into the promise they offered. Nothing more than to stare into those eyes forever. An odd fluttering settled in her stomach, as unsettling as the feel of his warm fingers wrapped around hers.
“Thank you.” She drew a deep breath and pulled her hands from his. “But I must regretfully decline.”
“Decline?” He stared as if she were speaking in a foreign tongue. “What do mean, decline?”
“I mean”—she clasped her hands together primly—“unless I am mistaken about the definition of the word, what I mean is, well, no.”
“No?”
“No.” She cast him her most pleasant smile. “But I do appreciate the offer.”
“You may well appreciate it, Miss Townsend, but perhaps you do not fully understand it.” His eyes narrowed, and a shiver of apprehension skated down her spine. Between his intense expression and the way he towered over her, he appeared just a bit dangerous and surprisingly more attractive. “I am not proposing an illicit arrangement, nor am I suggesting some temporary liaison. I am offering you my name, my title, my fortune, and my property. In truth, I am offering you a future.”
“Why?” she said without thinking.
“Because of the arrangement between our fathers, that’s why. Promises were made and should be kept. My father gave his word, and I have no recourse but to honor and abide by it.”
“How very flattering.” Her tone was dry.
“Obviously I did not phrase that well. It seems I am not phrasing much of anything well today.” He drew a deep breath. “I wish to abide by it. Very much so.”
“Really? You wish to wed a woman you don’t know? How unusual.”
He ignored her. “Nonetheless—”
“Your sense of honor is impressive, my lord. But regardless of your feelings, I feel under no obligation to abide by an agreement that was made without my consent. However, I do applaud your willingness to do so.” She smiled dismissively. “Now then, you may consider your responsibility to your father and mine discharged, and you may resume your life without guilt. Good day.”
Gwen nodded and started toward the door, at once relieved and a bit deflated. Not that she wanted to marry him, of course. She’d never even met the man. Still, aside from that guilt-spurred request from Albert, she’d never had an offer of marriage before either and suspected she would never have another. Besides, in spite of his arrogance, the earl was rather more pleasant, in manner and appearance, than she’d anticipated. And not at all what she’d expected in a man who could not find his own bride.
She reached the door and turned. He stood exactly where she had left him.
“My lord?” She waved toward the opening. “I believe our discussion is at an end.”
“On the contrary, Miss Townsend, our discussion is just beginning,” he said mildly.
“I don’t see that there is anything more to talk about. You asked me a question. I answered said question. Therefore”—she gestured once again, a bit more vehemently—“good day.”
“A few minutes ago I thought it had become a very good day indeed. Now I see I was mistaken.” He strode past her to the door and closed it firmly.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She straightened her shoulders and stared up at him, determined to stand her ground even if it left her entirely too close to him. “Open that door at once. It is not at all proper for us—”
“For a woman who flits around London unaccompanied, I am surprised to hear that particular protest from you.”
“I most certainly do not…” She paused. “If you are referring to our last meeting, I had a carriage waiting. Therefore I was not unaccompanied.”
“There was no one with you when we met.” H
is pointed words belied his casual manner. He strolled past her as if he had nothing of significance on his mind beyond the perusal of Madame’s overly feminine parlor. “Regardless of how many carriages you had waiting, your behavior was most improper. Even scandalous.”
“I would hardly call it scandalous. I am quite used to being unaccompanied.”
“Perhaps in America such lack of decorum is acceptable,” he said coolly. “Here, however, it is not.”
She resisted the urge to snap at him. “I scarcely think it matters. No one knows me here. My father was not active in society, and he died before I could have a season. I have been out of England for a considerable length of time, and only a handful of people in London are even aware of my existence. I have no family to shelter, no position to protect.”
“Ah, but you soon will have. As the Countess of Pennington, you will have no end of social obligations and responsibilities, and through them all, your every move will be watched and remarked upon.” He picked up the figurine of an ugly pug dog and studied it. “In the beginning, of course, there will be a great deal of curiosity about you for the very reasons you have mentioned: in spite of your parentage, you are a virtual unknown. Friend and foe alike will be alert for any hint of impropriety, any modicum of inappropriate behavior.”
She stared for a moment, then laughed in spite of herself. “Simply as a point of information, you should know my behavior is always impeccably proper. I pride myself on it. However, if you are trying to further your suit, this is not the way to do it. And it scarcely seems worth the effort, especially as I have no desire for position or—”
“What of family?” He looked at her sharply. “Do you not want family of your own? A husband and children?”
The sister she never knew and the nieces she’d never met immediately came to mind, and she pushed the thought firmly aside. She had not yet decided what, if anything, she should do in their regard, and as for children in general…“I am not particularly enamored of children, nor do they seem especially fond of me.”
“Well, we do not have to have more than a handful,” he said blithely. “In truth, two will be sufficient, both male, of course.”
“Of course.” She should have expected as much. In this he was no different from any other man with a title. “And no doubt they would be as stubborn as their father.” She crossed her arms over her chest and studied him. “I have turned down your ever so gracious proposal. An offer that absolved you of any further responsibility, as even the most stalwart advocate of arcane principles of honor would agree, yet you persist in believing a marriage between us is possible.”
“Not merely possible”—he flashed her a knowing grin—“but inevitable.”
“Nothing is inevitable, my lord, beyond the rise and set of the sun, the change of seasons, and other attributes of nature.”
“And what makes you think that you and I are not as inevitable as nature? That we are not as fated to spend our lives together as the stars are fated to light the night sky. Or as the day is destined to follow the dawn?” His words were as offhand as if he were speaking of nothing of any consequence, but there was an intriguing gleam in his eye.
“I would scarcely call a plot hatched by our fathers to ensure the continuation of our—or more specifically your—family line to be fate.” Still, it was a surprisingly lovely idea, the possibility that he and she could be destined for each other. Lovely and completely farfetched.
“Really? You do not think the fact that you quite literally fell into my arms before we even knew of this arrangement to be an indication of destiny?”
“Oh, that is good, my lord.” She applauded with polite sarcasm. “Excellent strategy. Taking what is essentially no more personal than a business arrangement between misguided fathers and molding it into something mysterious and romantic. How did it go again? Ah yes.” She rested the back of her hand against her forehead and adopted a dramatic tone. “My dear Miss Townsend, we are fated to be together. Our destiny is written in the stars. It is…inevitable.” She straightened. “Well done indeed.”
Thank you,” he said modestly. “I thought it was quite good myself.”
“Still, I must point out I did not fall into your arms. You walked into me and nearly knocked me off my feet.”
“Knocked you off your feet?” He raised a knowing brow. “And does that not say fate to you?”
“It says only that you were not paying attention to where you were going. It is nothing more than mere coincidence that we both chose to visit Mr. Whiting on the same day at the same hour—”
“Some would say there is no such thing as mere coincidence.”
“—and chanced to cross each other’s path.”
“No such thing as chance.”
“That’s utter nonsense and you know it.” She shook her head. “Honestly, my lord, I do not know why you persist—”
“Why won’t you marry me?” he said abruptly.
“Surely that is obvious.”
“Not to me.”
“Then I shall add obtuse as well as stubborn to your list of character flaws. Very well.” She heaved a long suffering sigh and counted off the reasons on her fingers. “First—I don’t know you. Second—I resent having my future determined by men, especially men long in their graves. And third—I have no desire to wed.”
“Ever?” He raised a brow. “Or just not to me?”
“Both.” She braced herself. Mr. Whiting certainly showed no understanding of her desire to remain unmarried. She didn’t doubt Pennington would share the solicitor’s opinion. “If a woman is not interested in children—”
“And you are not interested in children?”
She hesitated and he pounced.
“Aha!” He smiled in a smug manner, and she added infuriating to the list. “All women want children. It is a facet of their nature.”
“Perhaps.” Gwen was willing to concede this particular point, as she had often wondered if her dislike of children had more to do with those she had had in her charge than any lack of maternal instincts on her part. Still, the desire to procreate had yet to stir within her, and she was not certain it ever would. “Children aside, I do not see marriage as a desirable state for a woman.”
“Why on earth not?” His tone was indignant, as if her distaste for marriage was a personal insult.
Impatience swept through her. “I scarcely need explain my reasoning to you.”
“As your intended, I believe I have a right to know,” he said in a lofty manner.
“What I intend toward you at the moment has nothing whatsoever to do with marriage but is indeed just as permanent.” She tried to keep her tone firm, but his persistence was as amusing as it was irritating. She had never matched wits with a gentleman before and it was remarkably stimulating. “Lord Pennington, the only true benefit of marriage to a woman is financial. I have no need of marriage as I have a modest income, nowhere near yours, I imagine, but sufficient for my needs.”
His gaze flicked over her gown. “Extremely modest it would appear.”
Any sense of amusement vanished. “I have just learned of my financial state and have not yet had the opportunity to put any of my funding to good use in the purchase of a suitable wardrobe.”
“That too is a relief.”
“Too?” She studied him carefully. “What do you mean, too?”
“Well, I simply meant…” He paused, obviously searching for the right words. He looked exceedingly uncomfortable, and she hadn’t so much as a twinge of sympathy for him.
“Yes?” she prompted.
“Come now, Miss Townsend, you know full well what I meant.” His gaze roamed over her once again. Entirely too intimate and speculative and approving. For a moment she had the most disconcerting feeling he saw her entirely without the benefit of clothing. “I was prepared for someone not the least bit attractive. Someone rather overbearing in appearance. You are a most pleasant surprise. I am extremely fond of red hair.”
She
ignored the rush of heat to her cheeks. “As flattering as that is, my lord, it’s neither here nor there. Now then, we were speaking of the reasons why women choose to—”
“What of love, Miss Townsend?” His tone was mild but his gaze was intense. “Affection? The sort of emotion that keeps poets putting pen to paper. Surely you believe there are woman who marry for benefits far more esoteric than finances?”
“Certainly.” She raised her chin and met his gaze directly. “I simply think love, affection, emotion are ridiculous reasons to tie yourself to a man for the rest of your days. Marriage is a cage, and love is nothing more than a baited trap.”
“Really?” He studied her intently. “You have given this a great deal of thought, then?”
“Some.” She shrugged. It had long ago dawned on her that it wasn’t simply marriage that destroyed women’s lives but love. Love that made them follow a man to the ends of the earth or destroy their health in pursuit of a son or ignore infidelities by spouses who had sworn to love them forever and ignore as well the pain they wrought. “Enough to know I have no desire for it.”
“Then this is perfect.” He grinned. “You do not love me. I do not love you. Oh, admittedly I fully expect to experience a certain amount of lust toward my new wife. Toward you. Indeed, even now—”
“Stop it at once!” In spite of herself, she wanted to laugh. He was most amusing. “You are incorrigible. Do you never take no for an answer?”
“Never.” He moved toward her.
“What are you doing now?” She stepped back.
He stopped in front of her, a scant few inches away. His gaze slipped from her eyes to her lips then back, and she could have sworn he’d physically touched her. “As you are not interested in love or fortune I thought I should demonstrate the benefits of lust in a marriage.”
“Surely you do not intend to…to…” She swallowed hard and stared up at him. “Kiss me?”
“No, of course not,” he said softly. Once again his gaze lingered on her lips. “I had not even considered it.”
“You’re lying.”
“I most certainly am not,” he murmured, but she would have wagered her entire inheritance he was. “My dear Miss Townsend, when I intend to kiss you there will be no doubt in your mind.”
Love with the Proper Husband Page 5