She led them through the double doors at the opposite end of the salon, where the portico awaited. The day outside was bright and warm, in direct opposition to the way she felt inside. This marriage business was dreadfully taxing. The sooner it was settled, the better.
“Here we are,” she announced unnecessarily, as it was quite plain they had arrived at their destination. The massive balcony overlooked the south lawn, Mama’s prized rose gardens, and a large pond with a billowing fountain emerging from its center.
“No malfunctioning fountains here, I see,” he observed, hands clasped behind his back as he strolled forward.
She wished she did not take note of the breadth of his shoulders and the manner in which his trousers clung to his long legs. But she was guilty of both.
Elysande tore her gaze from him and stared at the fountain instead. “The Brinton Manor fountain will be restored soon. You merely need to agree to the terms of the marriage contract.”
The less-than-subtle nudge was all he required.
He turned back to her, his blue-gray eyes assessing. “There is one term I cannot agree to, however.”
Her hope his opposition would lessen over the course of their walk here dissipated. “Why not?”
“I may wish for children.”
His answer surprised her in its brevity and candor.
She clasped her hands at her waist, needing something to do with her hands. “The question could be revisited at a later date.”
“A later date of your choosing?”
“Yes.” She frowned at him. Why was he making this so dratted difficult?
“When might that be, Lady Elysande? Six weeks from now? Six months from now? Six years from now? Never?” He moved toward her slowly, blocking her view of the fountain altogether so that he was all she could see. “I do not dabble in possibilities and vagaries. I prefer facts.”
He had a commanding presence. Even if he were not in the way of the falling water, she instinctively knew she would not be able to wrest her gaze from him. The fountain was not nearly as intriguing as this enigmatic replacement duke.
“I do not know, Your Grace,” she said honestly. “I had hoped for some time. We are scarcely acquainted, after all.”
“This is the new amendment, is it not?” he asked directly.
So directly, his stare burning into hers, that she could neither look away nor prevaricate. “It is, yes.”
He sauntered closer still, slowly, as if he had an endless allotment of time with which to pursue her. Until she could not help but to feel the need to take a step away. Just one step to her left. He was an overwhelming man, and she was suddenly reminded he had been a Chief Inspector at Scotland Yard. He was accustomed to conducting interviews, to questioning others he suspected of crimes. And now, he was employing all his tactics upon her.
She did not like being the focus of his attention.
He stopped, his stare unwavering. “You were willing to provide the previous Duke of Wycombe with children, were you not?”
“I was,” she began in a rush, needing to explain, “however, I regretted the omission from the moment I entered into the contract. I have a chance now to rectify the past.”
“Is it because I am common?” he asked abruptly, his jaw hard, his tone turning harsh.
How petty he must think her. Or worse, arrogant. She must disabuse him of the notion, particularly if they were indeed to wed.
“You are not common, Your Grace. You are a duke, descended from the blood of dukes.”
“But I have not lived the life of a duke, Lady Elysande,” he countered. “We both know I am nothing like the former Wycombe. Hell, I am still in shock that I am thecurrentWycombe. If it is my past which troubles you, then you may wish to settle upon another suitor. I cannot change who I am.”
“You misunderstand me, sir.” A slight breeze ruffled her hair, tearing a wispy curl from her simple coiffure. Hastily, she swiped it from her cheek. “Your background is not the reason for my desire to add the amendment.”
He cocked his head, considering her. “Then what is, Lady Elysande? Even I am not so unversed in the dealings between men and women that I believe your request is common, particularly in regard to a marriage made among your set.”
He was right. Her request was decidedlyuncommon. Indeed, she had never heard of any other lady making the attempt. Father had been most displeased with her request, but in the end, he had relented. Perhaps because he had been eager to return to his attempts at perfecting his influence machine, it was true.
“My set is now yours,” she could not resist pointing out, because there was nothing else for her to argue, and the futility of her crusade grew more apparent by the moment.
