Page 18 of The Lady Tempts an Heir
His brow rose slightly at her inattention. “His brush with ill health has him recommitted to seeingallof his children settled, myself included.” He looked toward the window, the tendon in his jaw clenching and unclenching as he appeared to struggle with what he wanted to say. “He wants me married and producing children as quickly as possible. He wants to be assured that the Crenshaw legacy is kept intact and on track before he...”
Before he died. “But he is recovering, yes? He hasn’t taken a turn for the worse?” she asked in rising alarm.
“No, no, he hasn’t. He appears to be recovering under the good care of his doctors. I believe the scare was enough to galvanize him into action, as it were, to have an heir after me.”
For some unfathomable reason, a pit seemed to open upin her stomach. Her heart was merely seconds away from falling into it. “I suppose you Americans aren’t that different after all.”
The corner of his mouth ticked up in a grim estimation of a smile. “No.”
“But this isn’t what you want?”
“No.” He paused. “Well, yes, I do want a wife. I do want children. The Crenshaw legacy is important to me. I wish to have children to carry it on long after I’m gone.”
The words were not unexpected or careless, but they carried sharp edges just the same. Edges pointed enough to make them prick her as they landed. There was no future for them even without his wish for children. It was stupid that an ache rose in her throat, but it was there just the same. She swallowed and stared at the folded newspaper on her desk until the ache eased enough for her to find her voice again. “Then I don’t understand the problem. You’re approaching thirty. Isn’t it time you consider his wishes and settle down with a family?”
A deep groove appeared between his brows. “Eventually, yes, but not now and not at his whim. As you’ve mentioned in the past, Crenshaw Iron takes up much of my life. I don’t have the time to devote to a family right now.”
“I’m afraid you won’t find a sympathetic audience with me. I had this conversation with my parents at sixteen, seventeen, and again at eighteen years of age when I was betrothed. You’ve had at least a decade longer to enjoy not being married, and look at your sisters.”
His scowl deepened. “You’re saying that I should relent?”
“No, not precisely. I don’t condone forced marriage, as you know.” That seemed to placate him, and he relaxed. “Though I do understand you are busy, people of our station in life have to marry. It is the law, probably.” She smiled.
“Our station?” His brow ticked upward again. “Are yousaying that I am your equal, Lady Helena?” He put a particular drawl on her title that she found very pleasing.
“Of course not, but near enough.” She teased him, hoping to lighten her own troubled feelings.
“And you’re not married.” He gave her a pointed look.
Not because her parents hadn’t tried to pack her off again. “A perquisite of widowhood.”
He blinked, looking chastened. “I’m sorry. That was unforgivable.”
Waving off his apology, she asked, “Has he picked a bride who is wholly unsuitable?”
“He hasn’t chosen one. I’m to pick my own bride by the end of the year.”
The marriage wasn’t set, then. Relief swamped her, but she wouldn’t allow herself to examine why. He stood in agitation and walked over to look out the window. The street was fairly busy with midday traffic, but he seemed lost in his own head rather than taking in the scene.
“You have been bidden to marry, but you get to choose your own bride. That’s more consideration than your poor sisters were given.”
He whirled; hot anger tightened his features and made something deep inside her clench in response. “You know that I was against what they did to my sisters. I came over here twice to try and stop it.”
“And yet they are both married now.” What in the devil was wrong with her? Why was she needling him this way? She only knew that she liked the wave of fury that drifted over his features, turning his eyes hot and dark, and making his body tighten as he closed in on her. She stood to meet him, feeling her heart beat in every extremity. It didn’t beat with fear but with exhilaration as he came to a stop a mere foot away from her.
“Are you saying that I should have done more? That this is my penance?”
Whatwasshe saying? This was madness, and yet, she couldn’t stop.
“Perhaps. Women have been sacrificed for centuries at the whims of wealthy men. It’s only fair that a few men fall as well.” The passion of his response was surprisingly addictive. When every interaction she ever had was restrained and veiled in refinement, he gave her something true. Real pieces of himself that she could hoard away.
His jaw clenched. She had the strangest urge to run her fingertips along his close-cropped beard to see if it was as soft as it looked. “Then you won’t help me?”
“I didn’t say that.” Somehow, she managed not to sound breathless, even though she could barely draw air because every time she did his scent made a fresh surge of excitement flicker in her belly. He smelled spicy and warm and clean. “I merely meant to demonstrate your place of privilege.”
He stared at her, his gaze taking in every imperfection in her face, leaving the echo of a sensation everywhere it touched. Even the density of his form seemed to weight the air around her. “I’ll concede you’ve made a fair point,” he said, the tension leaving his jaw. “You’ll forgive me if I attempt to thwart my fate.”
“And you want me to help you do it?”
