Kate suffered a keen sense of frustration and something close to anger at being dragged into this absurd situation, which left her stranded in a strange place. But when the footman arrived, announcing dinner, she rose quickly, eager for a meal. It had been a long day, and her nervous stomach had only allowed her to eat a small breakfast.
Kate visited the privy, and in an antechamber, was provided with a bowl of hot water. She washed her face, and did her best with her unruly hair, then scrubbed the splotch of mud from her half boot. James appeared again and escorted her to the dining room, a magnificent room brightly lit by the massive chandelier overhead and several silver candelabras placed about on mahogany tables. Gilt-framed oil paintings hung on the walls. Kate sat opposite St. Malin at a dining table long enough to seat King Arthur and all his knights.
The marquess poured her a glass of wine as the covers were brought in. She ate the fish soup and allowed the footman to serve her the sole in cream sauce, and the roast venison, which proved tender and delicious. While they ate, the marquess explained further. “If you decide to marry me, rest assured I shall not bother you overmuch.”
That was hardly a recommendation. Was he going to shut her up in the tower? She pursed her lips. “I believe I’ve refused.”
A glimmer brightened his attractive eyes. “Then I shall have to convince you to change your mind.”
Was he responding to the challenge? Or did he not like to lose? “I highly doubt that. I can be very stubborn.”
His gaze drifted from her eyes to her mouth, then dipped to the bodice of her dress. “I can be very persuasive.”
Heat blazed across her cheeks. She stiffened. What manner of persuasion did he have in mind? “That I don’t doubt,” she murmured, wondering when she could leave. He would not get the opportunity.
He laughed and tossed a piece of meat to the dog. Felix caught it in his jaws. Swallowing the morsel with barely a chew, Felix danced on his back legs begging for more. The marquess cut off another piece, and it went the way of the first. “That’s enough, Felix, off to the kitchen with you.” The footman opened the door and the dog dutifully trotted through it. Lord St. Malin turned his attention back to her. “We need not always cohabitate. I have homes in London, Hertfordshire, and Italy.”
“Italy?” Kate paused, a fork of artichoke halfway to her mouth. She had longed to visit Italy since reading her father’s copy of Shakespeare’s play,Romeo, and Juliet.
He nodded, his long fingers toying with the stem of the crystal wineglass. “In fact, as I have said, we need rarely meet.” His gaze wandered over her face, then focused on her mouth. She shifted in her seat. “Although I do require an heir at some point, you understand.”
“Of course.” She dropped her gaze to the plate, her appetite gone. “An heir.”
“Yes.” He tossed back the ruby wine in his glass. “And, by all accounts, it was my uncle’s opinion that you and I could produce a fine son. He said as much in the will.” His speculative glance made her hot all over.
She swallowed. “But why? He knew my father well, but he knew little about me.”
He shrugged. “I’m as surprised by this as you are. My uncle was an unusual man.”
Italy?Her interest was piqued. To be left alone in Italy, to enjoy the arts, the statues, and the food, which she’d been told was delicious. “I shall need time to give this er… proposal, proper consideration,”
He gave her an impatient, sidelong glance as if he wanted the business of their marriage over quickly, as if he was purchasing a property. “How much time? Surely you must see the advantages it offers you.”
“I said I will consider it.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you wish me to or not?”
His mouth twitched. “I do indeed wish you to consider it.”
“Then, rest assured I shall.”
“I must make it plain that I shall continue to live as I have done until now,” he said, rubbing his chin.
He was laboring that point. He didn’t like this anymore than she did. What a conundrum. But he must be quite sure of her answer. And why wouldn’t he be? When she really considered it. What choice did she have? Marry him or live in poverty. Still, she wasn’t going to give in easily. Something about his supreme self-confidence irked her. And she didn’t know him. He might hurt her, make her life a misery. What would her father have made of him?
He rose to refill their glasses. After the footman cleared the table, leaving a bowl of nuts, he left the room. When the door closed, St. Malin held his glass up to the light. “And once you have provided an heir, you can take a lover if you wish. But take care, for I don’t intend to house any bastards.” His brows snapped together in a dark scowl as if she planned to take a lover straight after they’d exchanged their vows. Had one waiting in the wings, in fact.
“I beg your pardon, my lord?” Kate sputtered, wondering if he’d lost his reason.
He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Forgive me. That was uncalled for, and I’m not sure where it came from.” He shook his head as though clearing bad thoughts. “I’ve never negotiated the terms of a marriage before.” He smoothed his hand over his black hair, and she realized that he was as unsettled about the prospect of marriage as she was. “This has been a shock for me,” he added, confirming her thoughts.
“Yes, of course.” She selected a nut and reached for the cracker. Her godfather was dead, and she found she wasn’t able to mourn him, for she’d hardly known him. Her mind refused to form a coherent plan, but all her senses seemed to have come alive. The taste of the superb vintage on her tongue, the tang of beeswax candle smoke, the crystal, and the silver gleaming on the white linen cloth. The dark hairs on his wrist below his cuff. Surprised, she batted that thought away. She’d been thrust into another world—a beautiful world filled with elegant things she’d never dreamed she could call her own, along with a man who, at one time, might have fulfilled her every fantasy. He was inviting her to remain in this world, but not with him, at least not very often with him. She put down the wine as her head swam. The man sitting across the table from her was handsome with a strong, trim body. He was wealthy and titled, and yet he needed something from her.
Without her consent, he would lose a fortune.
And she suspected he was far too used to getting his own way. Aristocrats were spoiled from birth. Hadn’t her father always said so? Why the former marquess wished for this union, she couldn’t fathom. Surely, he would have wanted someone titled for his nephew? She couldn’t think of it now. The long exhausting trip, the shock of his words, plus the wine, had all taken their toll; she simply must sleep. Her eyelids began to droop, and she fought to focus on his face.
She put down her napkin and rose from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord—”
“Robert.”
