Page 25 of Desperate Proposals
“Oh, you have, have you?” He raised an eyebrow. “And you have no compunction about marrying someone who dabbles in boot blacking?”
“Do not forget, Mr. Hartley, that I am a Wolfenden.” She tipped her chin upwards. “I am not a fanciful or simpering maid. We are made of sterner stuff. I would never fret over what might be said in London ballrooms. I do not wish for gaudy trinkets and beribboned gowns. My concerns lie with Methering Manor and the health and happiness of those within.”
She’d be a hell of a negotiator, he thought, staring as if he’d never seen her like this before. But he had, he realized. She’d spoken with such fortitude the night she turned up on his doorstep. Something stirred in his chest, a begrudging admiration. With what could he meet such a speech? Certainly he’d several responses at hand, but nothing felt quite right.
“Alright then,” he finally said. He reached for her hand. It was cold.
She started at his touch, but quickly recovered, her fingers closing gently around his. He felt himself warmed by a sudden desire. Marcus had never been careless with his attentions to the opposite sex; he’d forgone any manner of liaison since he’d left the Inns of Chancery, and it had never much bothered him before. But in this moment he felt positively juvenile, overwhelmed by an urge he could barely recall.
Perhaps that was why he suggested it.
“Shall I kiss you?” he murmured.
“What?” Her brows rose.
“Since we’ve come to an agreement.”
“Is that not what the wedding night is for?” She was clearly baffled.
“Of course,” Marcus sighed, and dropped her hand.
She quickly folded it within her other and placed them over her middle, the only sign of her discomfort. He, however, ran a hand down his face, irritated with himself for abandoning his tact for some foolish romantic improvisation.
“So,shallwe have a wedding night, then? Or do you wish for this to be a marriage in name only? I am perfectly amicable, if that is your desire.”
“Oh, no.” She frowned, then shook her head. “No, no, pray, do not misunderstand me. I am willing to fulfill all duties as a wife. I am…” She took a breath, then shut her mouth, a slight color coming to her cheeks. “It is only… it seems awfully brazen, kissing in public like this. Surely we must keep our… kisses… to the privacy of the marriage bed, wouldn’t you think?”
“Public?” Marcus glanced over his shoulder, then scanned the room, wondering if perhaps a silent footman had slipped inside to stand sentinel. Thankfully, he found none. “Would you truly consider—”
“At any rate, we have much to discuss before dinner,” she interrupted, glancing once more out the windows. “See? ’Tis dark out. Let us converse as we walk. I shall show you the manor, so you might be prepared to meet everyone.”
“Er, prepared?”
Suddenly Marcus wondered just what sort of marriage he’d committed himself to, with a cold, aloof wife and whatever strange relations she possessed.
She approached him, pausing to look at the flower adorning his jacket. The smallest hint of a smile teased at the corners ofher mouth. “I do love asters,” she mused. “A patient flower. They only bloom when all the others have gone.”
“Do they?” Marcus said, his eyebrows rising in amusement. “A poor choice, then, as I am far from a patient man.”
Miss Wolfenden regarded him with a look somewhere between curiosity and scorn. Finally she sniffed, then moved gracefully for a door opposite the one through which they’d both entered. “One should strive to overcome their faults.”
Now he grinned, following her to where she stood. “I possess more than a lack of patience, then, by your measure.”
“I did not say that.”
“Then please do. Name my failings, every one.”
She looked away, twisting her hands against one another.Aha!Finally, he’d breached the wall of ice. His chest filled with pride at the accomplishment.
“Come, now,” he said, dropping his voice. “We ought to embark upon this agreement with honesty and transparency. It’s apparent you’ve considered my many imperfections, so I invite you to expound upon them. You might find that I, too, am made of sterner stuff.” He chuckled. “I am a politician, after all.”
She looked up at him again from under her lashes, clearly dubious. For a moment Marcus expected her to shy away and change the subject. He almost took pity and did it himself.
But then she spoke, her face set impassively, her voice flat.
“Vanity.”
The door opened to reveal the same footman standing there, his face betraying no hint as to how he knew of their approach. Marcus hadn’t seen Miss Wolfenden reach for a bell. Still, she didn’t move to exit, so neither did he.
