“I amnotyourwife. I also do not believe it is right to lie, especially to your mother.”
“Of course it is. It is done all the time. Especially to mothers.”
The man was incorrigible. “If I had a mother, I would never lie to her,” Clarissa retorted.
“No, you wouldn’t,” he agreed. “You are too sanctimonious.”
Oh, nowthatwas an insult. Clarissa abhorred sanctimonious people. They were unpleasant. Rigid. No fun.
She was past the point of boxing his ears.No, she wanted to pull them off his head. After all, he never used them anyway. Unfortunately, her arms were full of baby. “What if she tells people she knows in London? They will expect you to have a wife. Then what will you do?”
He laughed as if the idea was preposterous. “Then we will just have to marry—oh, Clarissa, I’m teasing. Sit back down. Don’t be so easy to bring to a boil.”
“Easy? I’ve had plenty of time to be worked up. I have beenboilingangry with you since we arrived.” She moved to take a seat in the rocker,awayfrom him. The baby, for her part, stopped eating and looked at her father. She gave a sweet little sigh, apparently deciding this was all their affair and of no concern to her. She returned to the bottle.
As if finally realizing that Clarissa was serious in her outrage, Lord Marsden tried to become amenable. He was not good at it. His patience was too exaggerated as he said, “If I go to London and my mother—who hasneverhad an interest in me at all throughout my childhood or until this time—actually decides to announce my marriage, then I shall say she is suffering from delusions. There. Problem solved.”
“Just as simple as that?”
“Absolutely.”
“Lady Fenton, one of the most acclaimed minds in London, suffers from delusions?”
“My word against hers. And she is female. Your sex has odd humors.”
Clarissa’s jaw clenched. “Odd humors?”
“Queer notions? Do you like that wording better?”
“I don’t like any of this,” Clarissa answered. “Liars are always found out.”
“Liars rule the world,” he opined. “Trust me, my mother is the most skilled of them.”
“Well, I’m not.”
He frowned. “I forget you are a minister’s daughter.”
“No, it is more than that. Lord Marsden—”
“Mars,” he interrupted. “We are pretending to be husband and wife. You must call me Mars. Have you not heard me call you Clarissa?”
“I’ve been ignoring you.”
“Well, it worked for the charade.”
“Lord Mars—” she started again, determined to make her point.
“No, no, no,” he chided, cutting her off. “Mars. You must call me by my name, Clarissa.”
“Very well, Lawrence—”
“Oh, no,notthat name. I hate that name.”
“I noticed,” she said happily. “You winced every time your mother said it. Although,” she continued philosophically, “I believe it is the sort of name a wife would use to great advantage.”
“You are trying my patience,” he warned. Now his jaw was tight.
“And I’m enjoying it.”
