He laughed, but the sound was a bit too loud, as if he were reading from a cue card marked ‘Mirthful.’ “You are very droll, My Lady. I shall be in want of your wit to brighten the future.”
They resumed walking, though it would be more accurate to say she was led. Dawnford’s hand remained at her elbow.
“I intend you to be the envy of every woman in London. I am not one to stint on luxury. I have already ordered the jewels, and the dressmaker is under pain of death to have your trousseau ready by next Thursday.”
“You flatter me with your efficiency,” Lavinia said. “And your commitment to the use of capital punishment.”
He grinned at that, but it faded quickly. “It is nothing. My mother says I am impulsive, but I find that only the bold prosper. You are bold, too, are you not? That is what drew me to you, among other things.”
Lavinia was now fully aware of the fact that Dawnford only wished to marry to save his reputation and declining business, but she still wondered why he wanted her.
He allowed the moment to hang so that she would be forced to acknowledge the compliment. Lavinia did not. Instead, she stopped abruptly, forcing him to stop as well.
“My Lord,” she said, “there is a matter I wish to raise with you.”
Dawnford’s eyebrows lifted as if he were truly surprised she had thoughts of her own. “By all means.”
She drew in a slow breath, feeling her own pulse in her teeth. “You are aware of the Fairwick situation, I assume. The debts.”
He waved a hand, almost bored. “Of course. But it is of no consequence. Once we are married, all of it will be gone. You have my word.”
“But—” Lavinia tilted her head, searching his face for even a tremor of subterfuge. “You do not mind that I am, for all intents and purposes, a pauper?”
He stepped closer, and his eyes narrowed. “I have never courted a woman for her money. I have plenty of my own. More than you can imagine, I dare say.” His grip on her arm tightened, and he leaned in, dropping his voice. “What I want from you, My Lady, is not coin, but fire. A woman who will not wilt at the first sign of trouble. A woman who can hold her own against me, if she has to.”
She studied him, seeing for the first time the streak of mania just behind his charming exterior. “And if I were to say I did not wish to be held against you, My Lord?”
Lavinia was certain now that Dawnford was not the anonymous donor.
His mouth curved into a smile that was all teeth. “Then I would have to convince you, wouldn’t I?”
With that, he pulled her suddenly, bodily, to him, so that her ribs pressed to his chest. The force of it startled a breath from her, and before she could protest, his mouth was at her ear.
“You are exquisite,” he murmured. “I have dreamed of this. Of you. For months now.”
Lavinia managed to wedge a hand between them and brace it against his coat. “You are too kind, but I must remind you?—”
“I know what you must remind me of,” he said, cutting her off. “Your virtue, your dignity, your iron-clad sense of what is correct. But the truth is, Lavinia, that you do not want to be proper. Not really. I see it in you. The way you look at me. You want to be ruined. I am only offering you a way to do it without consequence.”
She laughed, though the sound was thin and unfamiliar. “Your self-regard is truly a marvel, My Lord. I congratulate your mother.”
His fingers dug into her arm. “You can insult me if you like. I enjoy it. But it will not change the fact that by tomorrow, you will be my wife. And I will have you, in every sense. So why not enjoy it?”
She felt the world tilt, the path beneath them suddenly unreliable. With all her strength, she twisted out of his grip, a maneuver made easier by the fact that his own forward momentum nearly pitched him into the frozen roses.
“I beg your pardon, Lord Dawnford, but I am not in the habit of being had. In any sense.”
His face went white, then red. “You think you are too good for me, is that it?” His voice was louder now, a raw edge showing through. “Because you spent a few weeks as the Duke of Evermere’s plaything?”
She drew herself up, ignoring the shaking of her hands. “I am not yours.”
He took a single step forward, closing the gap she had opened. “You think the world will reward you for standing alone, Lady Lavinia? You think that Duke will save you, or that anyone will?”
“I do not need to be saved,” she said, “only allowed to live as I wish.”
“Which is to do what, exactly? Languish in genteel poverty? Be the governess to some other man’s brats?”
She wanted to slap him, but instead she bared her teeth in a smile. “At least I would not have to endure the company of men like you.”
