“Damned if I know,” he said lightly, “and that’s the most persuasive argument of all. If you were a raving beauty whom all men would envy me—like Nerissa, or if you were rich—like Jenny Findlayson, then it would be easy to explain. I just want you, Portia.”
“Passion will fade.”
He shook his head. “Don’t debase what we have. I want your companionship. I want your spirit. I want your children.”
It was dangerously sweet. “Why?” she demanded again.
“Where did you get the notion that love is logical? Why do you love me?”
He took it for granted. The only possible response was, “I don’t.”
She saw it shock him, and perhaps hurt as well. “Ah. I’m sorry, then, that I haven’t worked harder to avoid this.” Almost wistfully, he added, “I can be quite a pleasant companion, given the chance. What will you want in this marriage?”
This marriage.Despite her protests, he would have his way.
“Respect,” she said.
“I respect you.”
“I mean,” she said, looking straight at him, “I want to respect my husband.”
He sucked in a breath. “In what way do I not deserve respect?”
“You’re a gamester.” Before he could speak she carried on, “Don’t deny it. You’re as bad as Oliver, just luckier, and luck never lasts. I’ll never be sure my house won’t be wagered away.”
“Portia, I would never do that.”
“That’s what gamesters always say.”
“I’mnota gamester.”
“Ha!”
He looked as if he would retort sharply, but then he frowned. “Amazon tears again…”
Portia turned away, brushing at tears she had not been aware of spilling.
“From this day forward,” he said quietly, “I will not play games of chance for more than minor stakes.”
She turned back. “What?”
“You heard. I do not lie, and I keep my word. Trust me.”
“But…?”
He captured her again and kissed her. “Hush. You will never lose your home through me.”
She stared up at him, trying to believe, wanting to trust. “But how will we survive if you give up the tables?”
He grinned. “Bird droppings and such.” Before she could protest, he explained. “Investments. My income comes mostly from dealing in imports, exports, mining, and manufactories.”
Portia was confused but not reassured. “My father ruined himself at that, and put a pistol ball in his head.”
He would have responded, but the meal was announced.
He sighed. “I can prove what I say, Portia, but there’s no time now. You will have to take me on trust.” He took a ring out of his pocket and slid it onto her finger.
It was the square golden stone bordered by tiny diamonds that matched the others that she wore. “This should mean love,” she said sadly.
