“Oh.” She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She had the sensation the bed beneath her was moving—rushing like a log on an overfilled river in spring. “Do you— I mean, are you…?”
Markham wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “Not yet.”
The rushing stilled. She nodded.
“Is Lord Bromton absolutely out of the question? Even if I swear to his honor?”
“Honor, as men define the word, doesn’t tell me much about what kind of husband Bromton would make. Is he understanding?”
Markham scoffed. “You are such a woman.”
“I am all astonishment,” she repeated his words. “If you want me to consider his suit, tell me something useful. For instance, how does the marquess treat his sisters—his mother?”
“If that is a measure of a man’s worth, then I am in real troub—”
Again, she lopped his arm. “Just answer, for once.”
Markham sighed. “He hasn’t any siblings. He’s the last of his line.”
She bit her lip, haunted by a sudden sense of loss. What would she do without Julia—without Markham?
“I haven’t been introduced to his mother,” Markham said. “Remarried some months ago. An artist, I think. Or was it a musician?” He removed his arm and examined his fingers. “Whatever he was, there was definitely a minor scandal.”
“Really?”Interesting. “Some peers wouldn’t have blessed such a union.”
“I know,” Markham replied, and he glanced up, his gaze steady. “If he’s already invited scandal into his home, isn’t that proof enough he’d be willing to overlook your past?”
She had no answer…just a nagging feeling. But was the marquess the source of the unsettling sense something was wrong? Perhaps, the discontent sprung from within.
He sighed. “Again, I wouldn’t have invited Bromton if I did not think you’d suit.”
“I believe you…now.”
He cocked his head so he could see her face. “He has a castle.”
She thinned her lips.
“I imagine,” he said with false lightness, “such a vast estate is a taxing load to bear on one’s own.”
She answered with a low growl.
“You’d love being a marchioness,” he continued. “You know you would.”
“You didn’t bring Bromton here because he needs me.”
“What if,” Markham spoke with serious care, “that was exactly why I brought him?”
“I told you—no more quips.” Only Markham did not look as if he were jesting.
“I am telling the truth. Brom is first-rate—not like the others. And you’re—” Markham scratched his neck.
“I am what?” she asked, her throat clogged.
“You’re first-rate, too.” He picked at a spot on the coverlet. “Brom’s alone. No termagant sisters. I’d call that heaven…only, truth is, it sounds…”
“Lonely,” she finished, blinking away an unexpected sheen in her eyes.
Markham nodded. “I cannot truly explain, but the more time I spent with Bromton, the more I thought you’d suit. Will you consider him?”
