She swallowed. “Together?”
“That’s right, Miss Thorne. Together, until death parts us.”
The words bounced about inside her skull, slamming into each other with an ominous crack, but even as her ears rang with them, they made no sense. He couldn’t possibly be saying what it sounded like he was. “I don’t . . .what? What in the world do you mean?”
“My grandfather is what you might call an eccentric, Miss Thorne.” He tossed the ball up in the air and caught it again without ever sparing it a glance, his dark gaze never leaving her face. “The sorts of things that would rightly anger another man—things like a young lady shooting his grandson, for instance—don’t necessarily have the same effect on him.”
Was that a good thing? She worked over his words in her spinning head, but try as she might, she couldn’t make sense of them. “I don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t imagine you do. If you’d had the least idea what you were getting us both into, I daresay you would have been more careful, and held your tongue rather than ingratiating yourself with him. Itispossible, isn’t it, Miss Thorne? For you to hold that impertinent tongue of yours?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, nettled. “On occasion, yes. Is it possible for you, Your Grace, to speak plainly? Or did you come here tonight to play games with me?”
“You wish me to speak plainly?” He dropped the ball onto the baize and leaned over the table, his hands braced on the sides and those dark, dark eyes fixed on her face. “Very well, Miss Thorne. Plainly speaking, I’ve come in search of you tonight to offer my hand to you.”
Hishand? She must have misheard him, because when a gentleman offered a lady his hand, that meant . . . no, it was out of the question, impossible—
“You look puzzled, Miss Thorne. Permit me to explain. My grandfather is, as I said, eccentric, and instead of being angry with you for today’s stunt, as anyone in their right mind would be, he admires yourpluck.” He spit this last word out from between clenched teeth.
“Pluck,” she repeated faintly. “But I—”
“I’m not finished, Miss Thorne. He so admires your pluck, in fact, that he’s decided you’d make me an ideal bride. A lady such as yourself—a lady of such courage, such spirit, such extraordinary mettle is, according to my daft grandfather, the only lady in London who can possibly manage his devil of a grandson.”
With every word from his lips her mouth had gone drier, until, instead of making words, her tongue flopped about uselessly like a fish caught on an angling line. Try as she might, she couldn’t get a single intelligible word past her lips.
“What, nothing to saynow, Miss Thorne? Not a single word? May I take your uncharacteristic silence as acceptance of my hand, then?”
That loosened her tongue quickly enough. “Of course, you may not! For pity’s sake, Your Grace, this is utter madness! Why didn’t you simply tell your grandfatherno?”
A strange expression crossed his face then, one she couldn’t read. “That, Miss Thorne, is far easier said than done.”
He could only mean one thing by that. “He holds your purse strings?”
“In a manner of speaking, I suppose, but this isn’t about money. My grandfather has wished for some years now for me to find a suitable bride, and this time I’ve made up my mind not to disappoint him.”
“But I’mnota suitable bride! I’m not fashionable, I have no money, no family, no connections—”
“Ah, but you have something other ladies don’t have, Miss Thorne.”
What? Whatever elusive quality he imagined she possessed she almost certainly didnot. “What would that be, Your Grace?”
His lip curled. “Pluck.”
Oh, for pity’s sake. “Nonsense. That doesn’t make me a suitable bride for aduke.”
“In my grandfather’s eyes, it does. He’s set his heart on you, Miss Thorne.”
“Butyouhaven’t! I should think that would make a difference to him.”
He shrugged. “I have to take a wife sooner or later. It may as well be you.”
“One would think, Your Grace, that you’d choose a wife with more care than a coat or a new pair of boots.” But thenhehadn’t chosen her at all, had he? His grandfather had.
“Permit me to be perfectly clear, Miss Thorne. This isn’t a romance. A marriage between us would be a business arrangement, nothing more. We’ll fulfill our obligations as the Duke and Duchess of Montford, but otherwise, we’ll lead entirely separate lives.”
My, how tempting! What lady could possibly refuse such a tender offer? “You’re aduke,” she said again. If she repeated it enough times, perhaps she could make him understand. “If I marry you, I’ll be aduchess.”
“That is the way it generally works, yes.”
