Page 38 of The Marquess Wins a Wife
“I was wrong,” he said. “I thought I could have a talk with him, force him to see reason. But he wouldn’t. Probably hecan’t.So I made a deal with him instead, paid him off to leave and never to return. But men in his situation, they don’t stay away long.” He blew out a breath. “Sooner or later—probably sooner—the money will run out. And then he’ll be back for whatever he can scavenge. He’ll have to be.”
And Luke would be gone. Back to London, where he belonged. There would be no one to reasonwith Papa again, because of a certainty he had never once listened to the opinions—or pleading, or cajoling—of his children. Lizzie felt herself sway, listing like a sinking ship.
“You’re certain?” she heard herself whisper.
“As certain as I can be,” he said. “With any luck, it’ll be some time before he runs out of funds. But it will happen, eventually. And it’s difficult to hold a desperate man to a promise.”
“I see.” Every bit of her felt frozen, from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair. “Thank you,” she said. “For trying. I—we’ll figure something out.” Somehow, she forced out a brittle laugh, sharp and splintering. “We trulyhavecaused you no end of trouble already.”
“It’s the future that concerns me,” he said, in that droll, dry tone. And then his voice fell flat again. “I came to a decision whilst I spoke with your father. I promised you I would handle him.”
“You did. As much as you were able.” She gave a helpless little shrug. “I didn’t reallyexpect you to,” she admitted. “I don’t think anyone could have. It was hopeless on its face.”
He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I couldn’t handle him. But Icanprotect you from him. If you marry me.”
“If I—” The words provoked a strange, tinny ringing in her ears. “If Iwhat?”
A faintly mocking sound eked out of him. “If you’re hoping for a romantic proposal, don’t. It’s not going to be that kind of marriage.”
“It’s not going to beanykind of marriage!” Her shrill voice echoed in the room, the largely empty shelves lining the walls feeding the sound back to her. And he—he rose slowly to his feet, like a great, predatory beast roused at last into action. The silver embroidery upon his dressing gown glittered like ice in the lamplight, and he shoved one hand into his pocket as he reached for her hand with the other.
He tucked a coin into the cold clasp of her fingers. “Would you care to make a wager on that?”
∞∞∞
For the better part of a minute, Luke thought that there might be a real risk of Lizzie casting up her accounts right at his feet. Her pulse raced wildly there in her throat, just above the modest neckline of her nightgown.
It wasn’t what he would have called ajoyousreaction. But then, he hadn’t expected it to be—which was why he’d paused to retrieve his coin from his room before he’d come downstairs. She’d not yet learned the dangers of gambling, and she was as susceptible as any to be lured into making a bet she felt she was sure to win.
And still he felt obliged to appeal to reason. “Georgie will go to Eton,” he said softly. “Imogen will be married before her child arrives. Joanna will be educated appropriately.”
Her jaw tightened, as if she had read some sort of insult into his tone. “And how is that,my lord? Like a poor country relation?”
She had no idea, of course, that he’d just cast away five thousand pounds on her scapegrace of a father, who would undoubtedly pay off whichever of his creditors were currently threatening him and then piss the rest away at the gaming tables.
“She’ll have every advantage. A governess, of course, to teach her what she must learn. And then, I suppose, when the time comes for it, she’ll have a dowry and a proper come-out in society.” Granted, he’d likely have to pay whichever unfortunate woman was brave enough to take up the task of educating the obnoxious little imp an exorbitant salary. He didn’t have to tell her that he could easily provide these things; that whatever meager funds she might manage to scrape together over the next decade in the hopes of allowing her youngest sister a Season would be only a drop in the bucket in comparison. That a dowry of any sort would be far beyond her reach otherwise. That Joanna was unlikely to make the sort of match that would be available to her with a marquess for a brother-in-law. That Luke’s name would be the greatest aid to her future prospects.
Lizzie wasn’t stupid. Luke could see her wavering, see the indecision flickering across her face. She had, after all, always done what was needful for the sake of her family.
“Georgie’s school funds are safe,” he said ruthlessly. “Forthisterm. But what of next year, Lizzie, and the years thereafter? Even if you could keep your tenants paying so long, could you safeguard the money from your father? Long enough for Georgie to attend Oxford or Cambridge, as he ought? Can you keep your father from pulling the house apart, piece by piece, until it has crumbled down around you? What will happen to Georgie’s inheritance then?”
A ragged little sound caught in her throat, and in the lamplight her dark eyes gleamed with a mist of tears, which she blinked back. “That’s not fair,” she whispered.
Of course it wasn’tfair. Life seldom was—and she knew it perhaps better than most. “If you marry me,” he said, “I can protect all of you.”
“You don’t want to marry me.” The certainty with which she said it provoked a half-smile.
“I have no particular desire to marry at all,” he said. “But there are certain…benefits to having a wife.”
“You’re a marquess,” she stated flatly. “You could marry anyone.”
And that was true, but the thought of saddling himself with any of the women in his social circle curdled his stomach. “I’m three and thirty,” he said. “I don’t want a fresh-faced debutante with stars in her eyes. Moreover, I’m sick unto death of women who cast themselves into my path because they fancy becoming a marchioness. No one likes to be used.”
A strange little tilt of her head. “You are quite literally suggesting that I use you for my family’s security.”
“Atmysuggestion,” he said, and for some strange reason his thoughts turned right back to that tiny jar of marmalade she’d sacrificed to purchase for him. His fingers curled around her wrist, feeling her pulse there. “I’m proposing an honest, civil arrangement”—something of a rarity in his world—“in which we both benefit. You’ll have the protection I can provide, and I’ll have a foil against any potential matrimonial traps and—a woman I want in my bed.”
Yes. Her pulse jumped, fluttering beneath his fingertips; a victim of the same helpless passion as he. Her fingers tightened around the coin he’d placed within her palm, and she gave a tiny shake of her head as if to clear it, her short, dark curls bouncing over her shoulders.
