“I may not be much,” he went on, “but my protection is far better than none.” He held his breath to wait for her reply.
“Yes, butmarriage!” The words burst from her in rush. “We hardly know one another, Major.” She did not, he noticed, make use of his given name. “The intimacy and, and thetotalityof marriage is difficult enough with someone you know well.” She looked ready to cry.
“Oh, Nora, I thought you understood. It wouldn’t be that sort of marriage. It may not need to be marriage at all.”Of course it wouldn’t.
“What sort of marriage would it be?”
“To begin with it would be merely a betrothal. That may be enough.”
Hope flared in her eyes.
He went on quickly. “Even if we’re forced to carry it out, it wouldn’t be a marriage at all, except on paper. Our relationship would be the same—employer and interpreter—only perhaps we would add ‘bodyguard.’”
Her brown eyes, large and alert, studied his.
“Name only,” she said.
Not even that. False identities and marriage vows don’t mix well.Jamie tried to suppress the thought and could not.
He held her eyes and waited for her to go on.This is bound to end badly,he thought. She will discover my real name, discover she has consorted with a “blasted aristocrat” and realize she is betrothed to or married to a man who participated in the slave trade, however unknowingly. Then there will be hell to pay. I’ll lose her now, or most certainly lose her later.He chose later. He could protect her in the meantime.
“Name only,” he repeated, “and easily annulled when you’re safe and your guardianship of Isabella is secure.”
“You could go on with your life as it was before I disrupted it?”
“Yes,” he said. He almost cried.I had no life before you came.He would let her believe it.
“If that is the case, then, yes, Major, I will marry you.”
He had won. For an awkward moment, he stayed on his knees, clutching her hands. He had the absurd notion that he should kiss her and found that he wanted to very badly. Instead, he squeezed her fingers gently and rose to his feet.
“There is one small change I think we should make.” She blinked up at him.She probably wonders if I will transform into tyrant already.“You are going to have to bring yourself to call me by my name—Jamie. My name is Jamie.”
A spark of light sputtered to life in her eyes ahead of her smile.She looked at Isabella. “What do you think? Shall we call him Jamie?”
Isabella giggled. He chucked her under her chin. “That would beUncleJamie to you, chick.” He repeated it in Italian. He liked the sound in any language.
“What do we do now?” His practical English wren had returned.
“Now we concoct a betrothal—and quickly,” he said.
Chapter Fourteen
“You cannot simply manufacture a betrothal!” The prim little Italian legal consultant, Antonio Salvia, bristled, offended at the very thought.
They sat side by side across Salvia’s exquisite inlaid desk in a sunny chamber filled with discrete artifacts, any one of them valuable enough to keep Jamie in wine for years.
“But you see, Signor Salvia, marriage benefits everyone. The little one will have parents, and the count’s requirements will be met,” Nora said. Only a little twist of movement showed Jamie her agitation.
“The count will not be pleased, Signora,” Salvia insisted.
Let Nora peck her way through this barnyard.Salvia limped along in English. She didn’t need translation unless they asked her to sign papers. Jamie would examine papers carefully.
“How could the count be displeased?” Nora demanded. “You and Mr. Wentworth both assured me that marriage would answer.”
“Marriage, sì, but this?” Distaste twisted Salvia’s face. The skin on the back of Jamie’s neck crawled when the man flicked a glance at him. “Marriage must not be entered into lightly.” Salvia waited for understanding. Nora gave him no response.
“Have you spoken to Mr. Wentworth about this man?” he went on.
