“Dammit, Paul.” Temper flaring, she stepped in front of him, nose-to-nose. “Isaidwill you marry me, you annoying oaf.”
“Ah.”
“Ah what?” Apparently he understood her question at last.
There was silence for a few moments, as she gazed at him, waiting for his answer.
“I probably should take some time to consider your proposal,” he said. “Isn’t that what a well-bred gentleman would say?”
“Not if he values his continued existence,” she hissed.
Something changed in his eyes, a lick of heat perhaps…she couldn’t quite tell. But his lips began to curve and she felt an arm slide around her waist. “So the family recommends we wed. Of course—it’s the simple and most obvious course of action. It removes you from any future danger, because as my wife your inheritance becomes mine.”
Knowing he understood, Harriet breathed more easily. “Exactly. And with no one looking for me, your own whereabouts will be quite secure as well.”
“Won’t I be accused of marrying you for your money?” His eyebrow quirked.
“I’m notthatrich,” she shot back.
“Oh? Hmmm.” He stroked his chin with his free hand. “Well, if that’s the case, perhaps this is not such a good idea after all.”
“Paul,” she groaned and thumped her forehead on his chest.
“Harry?”
She looked up at him. “Yes?”
“I will marry you.”
His arm tightened as he pulled her to him, his hand tilting her head backward and his head bending toward her. “But it won’t be a marriage of convenience. I want that clear from the start. Do you understand?”
She found her gaze drifting to his lips and licked her own. “I do.”
