“Old?” Allie supplied. “In that, you would err. My dear brother does indeed expect me to marry a man ancient enough to be my grandfather.”
Ethan let out a harsh breath.
Kendall was a right bastard.
And so Ethan said as much, “Forgive me, but your brother is a right bastard.”
Allie saluted him with her glass. “On that point, we can easily agree.”
“Why Lord Charswood?” Ethan wondered aloud.
“Kendall has declined to illuminate that point. I assume Charswood offers some specific political benefit.”
“Aye. That, he would.” Ethan plumbed his memory for what he knew of the earl. “From what I can recall, Lord Charswood is a respected statesman. As Kendall’s brother-in-law, he would likely bolster your twin’s appointment to a cabinet position . . . and eventually Prime Minister. But I am sure Charswood already has an heir from a prior marriage, so why would he pursue yourself, particularly as you have never met?” Ethan thought further and then snapped his fingers, quickly connecting the dots. “Och, of course. Charswood also owns the largest gunpowder factory in Britain.”
Allie froze for the space of three seconds before thawing, her shoulders slumping.
“Naturally, he does,” she murmured, draining her port and motioning for Ethan to pour her more. “The missing piece. No wonder Charswood is eager to acquire me, sight unseen. My dowry includes the Salzi Mine and provides him with a ready-made source of saltpeter for his factory. ’Tis a match made in heaven . . . for Kendall and Charswood, that is.”
Ethan snorted, filling her glass. “While your own personal desires and well-being are merely an unfortunate inconvenience to be swept aside.”
She sipped her wine, eyes narrowing at him. “Do you ever tire of feeling like a prize to be won?”
“Pardon?”
“Kendall has ensured that I am a pretty, expensive parcel to be purchased.”
“He did have you posted from Italy, as you say.”
“Precisely.” She pointed a finger at him. “I am nothing more than the sum of my looks, my pedigree, and my dowry. While you, Ethan Penn-Leith, I imagine are often viewed as the sum of your talent and persona as the Highland Poet. The public feels that they know you, and therefore, own a part of you, as it were.”
“Haven’t we already touched on this topic?”
“Perhaps obliquely. I guess what I am asking is . . . do you ever tire of having to play the expected part?”
Och.That was the question, was it not?
Of course he tired of playing the Highland Poet. Just as she was restless in her role as Lady Allegra Gilbert.
“At times,” he admitted. “But unlike yourself, it is a role I chose. Which I suppose sums up the difference between being born a man or a woman. As a man, I can at least select my cage.”
“A rather grim but accurate assessment,” she replied with caustic bitterness. “I needn’t tell you that any courtship Charswood musters will receive a resounding rejection from myself.”
Allie lounged back in her chair, swirling the ruby-red liquid in her glass and studying it in the candlelight.
Huh. Her lips truly were vermilion red, lush and petal-soft. For easily the thousandth time, Ethan relived the memory of her mouth on his, the punishing urgency of those lips.
He shook the thoughts free. “So what will ye do about Kendall’s demands?”
“At the moment? Nothing.” Her gaze locked with his, gray eyes sparking. “Unless, that is, you are planning on kissing me again? Perhaps in front of his ship’s crew this time? It definitely riled him last week.”
Ethan choked on his port, coughing loudly. “P-pardon? Kiss ye?”
“You keep staring at my mouth like a man dying of thirst, so what else am I to think?”
She punctuated her words with an arched eyebrow and a lingering survey of his own mouth.
Bloody hell.
