Her mouth fell open. Of all the reasons for his visit, marriage was the last she’d expected. “But that’s absurd. You’re a marquess.” A striking one at that. He could have his pick of society brides.
“You make it sound like a problem, not a solution.”
“It’s unthinkable. Quite ludicrous.”
The man had lost his wits. Yes, they could converse on all manner of subjects, but he was stern and steadfast in his opinions. He despised liars, and she had barely spoken an honest word since they’d met.
“Why? Lord Gillingham married his housekeeper. And you’re a respectable woman with titled friends.” His midnight eyes darkened, as unreadable as ever. “Do you think I give a damn what people say?”
“No, which is why I wonder if this is an act of defiance. Perhaps you wish to addrebelto your long list of monikers.” But why choose her as his accomplice? “What point do you wish to prove? Because whatever it is, I want no part of it.”
Instead of biting back, he grinned.
“You find my opposition amusing, my lord?”
“Delightfully amusing. Few women have the courage to berate me. That bodes well for the future.”
Heaven help her. Had he woken this morning with pebbles for brains? “Besides the obvious?—”
“Which is?”
She waved a hand over his impressive physique, searching for the right words. “I cannot lie with a man who means nothing to me, no matter how handsome he might be.”
“Nor shall I force myself upon you. Should you agree, a relationship based on friendship and mutual respect will suffice. I have estates scattered across the country, though I must insist you make Studland Park your home for the foreseeable future.”
“Studland Park?” It sounded like a stable for thoroughbreds, yet here he was, choosing the common hack.
“My estate in Islington. A vast house with over two hundred rooms, though I’ve never bothered to count them.”
Two hundred? She glanced around the humble sitting room and felt faint. “Surely you know I cannot accept.” She reached for the arm of the chair and sat before her knees buckled.
He fell silent, the brooding weight of it heavy in the room.
Something in his expression, a flicker of vulnerability beneath the control, made her confess what she’d sworn to conceal. “You were right. I am hiding. I cannot do that while living as your wife in a grand mansion.”
He gazed at her from under hooded eyes. “Believe me, I can end your torment, by whatever means necessary.” The quiet severity of his words struck harder than a judge’s gavel. “Is that not what you want, Miss Woolf? A man to protect you? A man who would die to keep you safe?”
She knew better. Men were vipers hiding behind polished words and fine tailoring. Still, the marquess struck her as more honourable than most. “I could never live with myself if you were harmed.”
“You truly think I can be broken?”
“No, you look strong enough to fight an army.” Her gaze betrayed her, drawn to the breadth of his arms beneath the fitted coat. “But we both know strength of mind matters most.”
“You’ll meet no one with wits sharper than mine.”
What was this about? Boredom? Loneliness? He could have his choice of titled daughters, but still he lingered here. They said he was haunted by his past, and so was she. Perhaps he sensed a kinship, though she could not imagine herself his marchioness, jewels at her throat and silk upon her skin. Such pretence would dull her spirit, corrode her soul.
“A man with your generous heart deserves someone worthier,” she said, certain he would one day regret being burdened with her misfortunes.
From the corner of the room, a parrot squawked, “Show him the door!” as if fate urged her to be rid of him.
He tsked at the birds before facing her, uttering the words every woman longed to hear. “What if I want it to be you?”
They pierced her defences, a dangerous whisper to the part of her that longed to believe him. Her resolve faltered, if only for a heartbeat. “Trust me. I’m not who you think I am.”
“None of us are.”
“A marriage without love will be a prison sentence.”
