A cold knot formed in her stomach. Mr. Goad’s fear of the prisoner, and the fact that it had taken twelve of the King’s good men to hold him down caused her to rethink what she had just done. She glanced at the locked door then stared at the thin sheet between them. She had asked for the sheet because she did not want to see the prisoner’s face. She wanted no memories of him or his horrible demise to burden her future.
As Goad’s footsteps echoed down the hall, Claire bit her lip. Would the chains secured around the prisoner be enough? She hoped the bonds would not be tested. To invite the gaoler to return would result in unwanted intrusion. She desperately needed to talk to this man alone.
Beyond the sheet the prisoner rested, cast in stygian darkness. Did he think the arrangement strange? He did not indicate his thoughts. Claire closed her eyes to fight her panic. Her fears came in an onslaught of images. Visions of the terrors of her childhood caused her sides to trickle with perspiration, the tragic death of her parents, her near demise in St. Giles.
The image of a new hell awaiting her emerged. She laid in a bed, naked, the duke’s cold bony hands pawing at her breasts. The rumors surrounding the duke’s former young wives and their mysterious deaths plagued her.
Marriage to the felon was her only way out. Society would scorn her. She didn’t care for there remained no other avenue of escape. Summoning the strength and resolve of her will to survive, Claire opened her eyes.
“May I ask you your name, sir,” Claire began then twisted her fingers, upset with such a mundane question. “Mr. Goad did not inform me of your name.”
“When up against overwhelming odds, use your strengths to exploit your enemy’s weakness.” His voice boomed like a clap of thunder in the darkness.
Claire gaped. She listened to the clink of his chains. “Why-why do you say that?”
“Obvious deduction. You wouldn’t be here unless necessary. I sense a battle ahead.”
Claire was not prepared for this. Despite the fact he was to be hanged, he had the wherewithal to challenge her. Why should she be surprised? Did he not provoke Mr. Goad?
Claire swallowed, fighting the urge to call out for a guard and flee from Newgate. She drowned in doubt, swirling in uncharted territory.Was she mad?She steeled her determination. Now wasn’t the time to lose her nerve. She reminded herself of what she must accomplish this night. And what she intended to ask, God forgive her, was a lot. Gathering her courage, damning her unease, Claire moved to the sheet. “I request a favor.”
“It is the day for favors.” He laughed. His chains clinked again as he moved about.
Claire bit her lip, again. This was her only chance. Her whole future hinged on this one man. There was no time and no one to whom she could plead her case. “Will you marry me?” she blurted out. She heard his quick intake of breath and could sense his astonishment through the sheet. His silence gnawed away at her confidence.
“Ah, marry you. That’s the way of it. Marriage to the condemned can amend many a sin.”
She felt her face flush hot to the roots of her hair. “I have none of the sins you imply!”
“My, what a vinegary disposition. With what few remaining hours I have, why would I desire a shrewish wife?”
Claire had a basket of foods and a bottle of wine for him delivered to Mr. Goad’s office. “I could ease your burden in your last hours.”
“That’s quite a bold venture,” he grunted his approval. “My pallet is but filthy straw, not much to entertain a lady of quality.”
“How dare you even suggest−” Was he laughing at her expense? If he wanted a challenge, she would give it to him. The experience of her youth had taught her to confront all obstacles. She refused to be bullied by a condemned prisoner, to sink to his lewdness.
“The endeavor could be enlightening.” His voice dropped lower, aloof and confident.
Claire shivered at the rich, masculine tones of his wicked offering. The suggestion swept over her like a caress. Ridiculous. “There are some things best not learned.”
“Forgive me Madam, for taking up so much of your time.”
“Are you dismissing me?” This was maddening. “You can’t. I have to be married today!”
“Are you perchance in the family way?” He snorted.
Her toes curled in her slippers. “How dare you−”
“I just want to know who I am putting my good name to.” He laughed, and she could hear him settle down into a spirit of scorn.
Devon leaned farther. He had been studying her for some time through a hole in the threadbare sheet. Venus rising from the ocean had come to his filthy cell. Bright as the first light of creation she lit his dreary existence. Tall with a generous mouth and her hair, a coronet, shone like summer twilight. The sight of her well-shaped breasts and cinched-in waist had roused the heat in his loins and fried his wits along with it. Bloody Hell, of course he dared. She was the brightest spot of his ill-fated past, the hope of what was left of his ill-fated future. God, he could tear down the sheet and devour her in seconds.
“I dare,” Devon rasped. “If you desire a husband−then it is my name to give. Nothing more. Nothing less.” He hedged a bit, toying with her timing and her desperation. How far would she go? Unraveling inside him was the hard-edged part of his character, the one born on the roughest roads of life. By the quality of her dress and cultured speech he knew her to be a member of the aristocracy he hated.
“Impossible−” she faltered.
He felt her innocence in those words. “Impossible for you to be a woman?”
