Page 43 of The Viscount's Seduction
“And ’tis a fact that I met you ten years ago.”
She couldn’t stop the snort that escaped her. “Properly introduced through the slat of a stall, with a hobgoblin horse for a chaperone. Whatever do you call Pooka now?”
“She’s still Glenmorrow’s Pooka,” he said. “If you marry me, we’ll train her to a sidesaddle and she’ll be yours.”
“Oh.” Tears clouded her vision and she ducked her head. “So I’ll marry for a horse, and you’ll marry for spite.”
And in truth, there’d be some spite against Shaldon in it for her also.
“And the kissing,” he said.
And the kissing would lead to bed sport, and she was more than a little nervous about that.
She eased in a breath, quelling that fear. Mares were covered by the pedigreed stallion whether they liked it or not, and it was much the same for the aristocracy. One could endure for the chance of a foal.
“Will not Lord Shaldon wrap me up and toss me down a well?”
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of him?”
Was she? She shook her head. “For myself, no, but I do worry about the boys. And…if he discovers me trying to muck up his blood lines, he’ll stop any nuptials.” And then she would be well and truly ruined.
He slid a finger under her chin and tipped it up. “My brother will see to your men’s safety. I’ll see to the marriage.”
His touch sent warmth slithering through her. She took in a shaky breath. “You’ll help me find out if my brother is alive?”
“Yes.”
Her breath eased. He’d spoken without thought, so perhaps he meant it. Perhaps he wasn’t just trying to trick her.
Marriage to him would bring a sure roof over her head, regular meals, and children. Perhaps a chance at the truth about Jamie.
Aye, but there’d be a price when she stepped out of her front door—the taunts of thetonabout Bakeley’s poor Irish bride.
Thetonwouldn’t matter if…
“I can be loyal, if you’ll but show me respect.”
“You’re thinking of Lady Arbrough. I’ve truly broken with her, and as long as I have the company of an affectionate and loyal wife, there will be no need for other women.”
Well, that was honest enough too. She was to be loyal, or else. They would marry for his spite, for her sustenance, and for a son. Not for love, and wasn’t it just as well?
She looked at his hands. “No fingers crossed, my lord? While I’d be grateful to not share a husband, ’twas something else I was thinking of—my Irishness. My poverty. Can you not hear the voices?Did you hear what Shaldon’s heir did? Fell prey to a bog-trotter without two coins to rub together. You must think ahead to when your father passes on and you take his seat in Parliament. You must think about your business interests. Who’ll side with you to make laws, to work out contracts?”
His jaw firmed, but when he spoke his tone was the gentle one he’d used on the horse that day in the street. “I’ll have my brother Bink in the Commons, and his mother was an Irish girl. And as for business, my reputation has been established. Men in trade look at trustworthiness and the potential for profit.”
“But socially—”
“Socially? I heard you speaking like a queen to those ruffians. If you don’t know how to run a great house, we’ll find someone to teach you. Perry knows something about it.”
She’d forgotten Lady Perry, who had said she would be her fast friend.
“Sirena, it’s a fact that this gossip will get out, and both our reputations will be ruined. You must say yes.”
Must she?
His reputation no doubt weighed heavier than hers, else they would not be at this point. Spiting his father played some part also. Would there be any chance at happiness?
Her heart twisted with aching. For one such as herself, happiness didn’t come in this life, certainly not in a marriage. It was daft to expect it. The best she could hope for was shelter, meals, and a babe or two, if the birthing of which didn’t kill her.
