Page 18 of A Stranger’s Gamble

“Why is your mistress opposed to marrying the marquess?” he asked in a casual tone. “Most women cannot resist a title.”

“What woman wants a man who only marries her for her money?” Beatrice replied with enough force that Adam looked sharply at her.

“She would be a marchioness,” he said, feeling oddly affronted.

She angled her head and looked up at him. “You said the marquess was no more pleased to marry her than she was him. Why?”

“Perhaps he does not want a woman who only wants him for his title.”

“Oh, what does a man care for such things?” she replied with an airy wave of her hand. “They do as they please, no matter who they marry.”

He lifted his brows. “You are jaded for one so young.”

She snorted. “I am pragmatic. The marquess may marry anyone he likes and continue to live life very much as he always has, particularly if he decides to send Miss Shaw back to the country. It happens all the time. So, you see, she has much more to lose than he does.”

A pedestrian shouted at a carriage that came a little too close as the man leapt up onto the curb. Adam turned his attention forward as they neared the corner. They paused and waited for a rider to pass, then crossed the street.

Once on the other side, Adam said, “I take it you share your mistress’s feelings on the matter?”

“I can’t say I would like being chosen for my money—if I had any.”

He couldn’t help wondering if she thought he believed she had money and that was why he was pursuing her. He wasn’t pursuing her, but she might think he was.

“The whole situation rather makes a woman feel like a cow on the auction block,” she said.

He knew exactly what she meant. Was it possible Miss Shaw wasn’t as bad as he thought but was simply not happy with her father marrying her to a man she didn’t know?

He recalled the grim downturn of her mouth. Was it too much to ask to find a woman to marry who didn’t hate life…and perhaps men? He could tolerate her living her own life—once she had provided children—but a woman who found no joy in life would kill him just as Lena would have. Of course, if he was forced to live his life scraping out only enough money to keep Brewhold from falling into ruin, what kind of life was that?

They reached the apothecary, a tall, antique house with dovecote-like gables at the end of Market Street. The purchase of the pills took no time at all, and within minutes, they started back toward home, the pills tucked in the basket he carried.

They walked two blocks in silence, and Adam began to wonder if something was amiss. “Is something amiss, Beatrice?”

“Not amiss, exactly,” she replied slowly. “I cannot help but wonder why you were outside my au—my mistress’s house this morning.”

“Good fortune, I suppose. Just as when I saw you on the street yesterday.”

“Once, I could believe to be happenstance. Twice…” She looked up at him. “You were waiting for me, were you not?”

He silently cursed. She’d caught him off guard. The girl was intelligent.

“I hoped to see you,” he said. ““Do you mind?”

She smiled, and his breath caught. “You are a handsome man. Why would I complain?”

He laughed. “I am relieved to hear that.”

They turned down Cowgate. As another street vendor passed selling hot mutton pies, he offered to buy her one, but when he returned from his purchase, he discovered she’d continued down the street to Luckie’s tavern.

“Beatrice?” He strode toward her.

She didn’t respond.

“Beatrice?” He raised his voice.

She jumped when he stopped beside her. “Look, Adam.” She pointed to the iron sign hanging above the door. “It’s Luckie’s tavern. I hear they hold the most wonderful oyster parties for the most fashionable in Edinburgh.”

He handed her a pie. “They do.”