Then Comes Seduction

“This is why he did it, then, is it not?” she said. “Sir Clarence Forester, I mean. He did it so that Mr. Wrayburn would have no choice but to grant custody of Miss Wrayburn to his mother.”

“Charlotte is very rich,” he said, “or will be on her marriage. And Clarrie is very poor and very single.”

“He means to marry her.” Her voice was flat. And then she laughed suddenly, though there was no hint of amusement in the sound. “I always imagined that when I finally gave serious consideration to a marriage proposal, I would have only myself to consider-and the man who was making the proposal. Did I like and respect him? Did I have an affection for him? Did he like and respect and have an affection for me? Would I have a reasonable expectation that we could be happy together for the rest of our lives? Was there-oh, was there that extra spark of… of what? Of romance, of magic, of… of… of love?”

“And you ca

She shook her head slowly.

Double damnation! He did not need this. But then, neither did she.

“I am being asked,” she said, “to think of what other people will think of me-some of them people I do not even know, all of them people I do not even care about. I am being asked to think about the good name of my sisters and brother, of my niece and nephew. I am being asked to save your sister from a fate that seems quite unthinkable. I am being asked to marry, not for something, but to prevent a whole lot of things. Marriage ought to be about only the two people concerned and their feelings for each other. Instead it is about a whole society. Society does not care if we will be happy or miserable, does it? It does not care that we will certainly be miserable.”

Will be? As opposed to would be?

“Are you so sure,” he asked her, “that we would be miserable together, Miss Huxtable?”

Suddenly she was hurrying across the room toward him. She stopped when she was no more than a foot away and glared directly into his eyes. Her hands, he noticed, had balled into fists at her sides.

“It is a mask,” she said. “It is how you hide from the world. Open your eyes. Look fully at me. And tell me we would be happy together-for a lifetime.”

He felt jolted by her sudden anger. And rather shaken by her accusation that he wore a mask, that he was afraid, perhaps, to face the world with wide-open eyes.

He obliged her and gazed steadily back at her.

“I want you,” he said curtly. If it was honesty she was asking for, then by God she would have it. “And you want me. You ca

She laughed again-that harsh sound that was not really a laugh at all.

“You want to go to bed with me,” she said, and suddenly her pale cheeks flamed with color. “And I want to go to bed with you. Very well, I will not deny it. It is a fine recommendation indeed to marriage, Lord Montford. We are certain to be blissfully happy for the rest of our lives. We will be married. We may go to bed with each other as often as we please without incurring any future scandal. Thank you. All my misgivings have been blown away.”

He had not been feeling even one faint spark of amusement since walking into the house-not since he had stepped into White’s this morning, in fact. But he smiled now-slowly and with genuine amusement.

He wondered how often in the future she would be tortured with embarrassment at the memory of talking so explicitly of going to bed with him.

“It would be one consolation for being forced into marriage, you must confess,” he said. “Making love at night, during rainy mornings, during the sleepy afternoons, out in the woods at any time of the day or night, in the bottom of a boat, underneath-”

“Stop it!” she commanded. “Stop it this minute. And open your eyes. Marriage is not sex, Lord Montford.”

Roses bloomed in her cheeks again. Scarlet ones. And they flamed rather than bloomed.

He smiled again and said nothing. He did not open his eyes.

“You do not understand, do you?” she said. “You do not understand about friendship and companionship and mutual respect and togetherness and affection and-and l-love. It is inconceivable to you that a man and a woman can share any of those things and need them all if the marriage is to be a decent one. You think it is nothing but s-” She lost her courage with the second mention of the word.

“-ex,” he completed for her. “Is a marriage only friendship and respect and affection, then? It sounds yawningly dull to me. How are children to be begotten?”

Roses turned into flames in her cheeks and she swallowed awkwardly.

“You just do not understand,” she said.

And he supposed he did not. Except that he did like her-it was not all lust he felt for her. He even-yes, he did-felt a certain affection for her. He certainly liked her better than any other woman he had ever met. Perhaps even as well as he liked and was fond of Charlotte. But was not the fact that they wanted to bed each other the best consolation they could find for being forced into marrying each other?

Apparently not.

You just do not understand.

“Then perhaps,” he said abjectly, “you can make it your mission in life to make me understand, Katherine.”

Her eyes widened.

“I have not given you permission to make free with my name,” she said.

He let his eyes smile alone this time.

“And yet,” he said, “you speak of our marriage as something that will happen. Am I to address you for the rest of our lives, then, as Lady Montford?”

He watched her swallow again.

“I have not said I will marry you,” she said.

“Indeed,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “I do not believe I have even asked you, Miss Huxtable. May I, though? Ask, that is?”

Something happened to her eyes. They grew larger and deeper and bluer, and for a moment he had the sensation of falling into them. Then they filled with tears and she lowered her eyelids over them and looked down at the carpet between them.

“I do not want to marry you,” she said, “and you do not want to marry me. Why should we be forced into what neither of us wants? No, do not answer that. We have dealt with all the reasons why and will start to talk ourselves in circles if we continue.”

He heard her inhale slowly.

“Very well, then,” she said, “you may ask.”

He took her right hand in both of his. It was limp and cold. He warmed it in his own.

“It will not be so bad,” he said, trying to console himself as well as her, “if we choose not to let it be. The expectations of society and our concern for the well-being of our family may force us into marrying, Miss Huxtable, but they ca

Good Lord, where were the words coming from? What the devil did he know about making a woman happy? What the devil did he know about making himself happy, for that matter? What was happiness?

But what else was there to say? Except…

“Miss Huxtable,” he said, dipping his head a little closer to hers, “will you do me the great honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

The dreaded words that surely inhabited every single man’s nightmares.

Spoken at last.

Perhaps he ought to have made a complete ass of himself and gone down on one knee. Too late now.

Her head came up again, and her eyes met his from only inches away. They were still huge and bright with unshed tears.

“It would seem,” she said, “that I have little choice, Lord Montford.”

Loverlike words indeed.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, his eyes fixed on her lips. He forced a smile, which he hoped was neither twisted nor mocking.