Page 39 of Romancing the Rifleman
“Of course.So, what do you want me to do?Teach you a little Swedish?”
“That would be a good start,” Harrington said in a choked voice.
They had a servant bring out a portable writing desk.Diana sketched a few likely crests that might have been used on the letter, then wrote out a list of words that might indicate a royal letter—king, uncle, nephew, that sort of thing.
After a half hour, Harrington threw down his pencil.“It’s no use.I’ll never even find the bloody thing.”
Ignoring his blasphemous language, she placed her hand on his forearm, which he enjoyed, even as he reminded himself that nothing would ever come of it.“You’re picking it up very quickly.But I agree, it’s unlikely that you can gain any real fluency in a few scant days.”
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.“God, I wish there was a way to take you with me.I feel like maybe, justmaybe, we could find it together.”
She made a sympathetic sound.“I wish so, too.But, of course, an unmarried lady could never accompany you to… to…”
She trailed off.Suddenly, her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open.Harrington watched as her spine straightened, one vertebra at a time.
When she spoke, her voice was quiet, yet completely resolute.“There’s only one solution.”She turned to face him, her expression inscrutable.“We’ll have to marry.”
Chapter20
Deep down, Diana knew that suggesting that she and Harrington marry was a terrible idea.
But she wasn’t about to let such a trifling concern stop her.
She might not know this man nearly well enough to be contemplating holy matrimony.But she did know this much about him—that he didn’t like her because she was the sister of a duke, or a distant cousin to kings.He had not requested the pleasure of her company because of her enormous dowry, nor was he in awe of the perfectly coifed, bejeweled girl who twirled through the ballrooms of London.In fact, all those things that served as enticements to most men, he seemed to regard as impediments to a potential union.Just look at how he had clammed up when she mentioned the most tangential relation to the King of Denmark!
No, Harrington liked her when she was glistening not with diamonds, but with sweat.Instead of fleeing in horror when she performed the horrifyingly unladylike act of entering a fencing tournament—and worse, besting all the men—he had proclaimed that he had never found her more attractive.And he didn’t mind that she was clever and sharp-tongued; much to the contrary, he admired it!He wasdesirous of her opinion!
And the reason all of that mattered was because thatwas the real Diana.She was so sick of the London Season and all of its fussy entertainments.Of it taking two hours to get dressed every night.Of being poked and prodded and polished every time she wanted to leave the house until she resembled a doll, rather than a living, breathing woman.
But if Harrington liked her with a sword in her hand, she would wager he’d like her just as much with a gun, traipsing across the moors, a pack of Aunt Griselda’s pointers at her heels, and her hem coated in six inches of mud.She could, in fact, picture him there with her!He loved to shoot, after all.
And that wasn’t all—she could imagine waking up beside this man and eating breakfast together off a tray in bed, their heads bent together over the morning papers, plotting his next political move.
If he wanted to continue his career in the army, she could even go with him.Many officers’ wives followed the drum, after all.
In conclusion, she wasalmost certainthat Harrington was the man she wanted to marry.
She also knew that he would never ask her.The notion that he wasn’t good enough for her had somehow become fixed in his mind, making him blind to the possibility that he was what she wanted.
She could not convince him with words.Her only recourse was to show him how good they could be together.What she needed was a convenient excuse for the two of them to marry.
And she wasn’t going to get a better excuse than this one.
She regarded Harrington steadily.As she had expected, he was gaping at her as if she had suggested he resign his commission in the army, purchase a trained monkey, and take up a career in street performance.He blinked at her once… twice… three times, then shook his head.“I think I must’ve misheard.”
“We’ll have to marry,” she said again.“It’s the only way I can attend the house party with you—as husband and wife.”
“But marriage…” He gave a nervous laugh.“Isn’t that a bit… serious?”
She made her face very solemn.“It’s for king and country.”
“But you don’t want to marry me.I’m just”—he gestured to his torso—“cannon fodder.”
Diana seized his hand.“Don’t even joke about that,” she said, her voice soft but fervent.“You are so important to so many people.”
It felt nice to be holding his hand.He seemed to like it, too, because he threaded his fingers through hers.“To my family, I suppose.”
“Of a certainty.But they aren’t the only ones.”
