Page 20 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

Still, he would not marry Primrose Dearing. Clearly, she was the sort of female who would expect him to woo her with a lot of flowery nonsense. Eloise had proved to him that romantic love simply did not exist. And, unlike Eloise, he would not pretend to be in love. The sort of marriage he had always envisaged for himself was more in the manner of a business contract. Something advantageous to both parties. The young woman at his side was far more suited to such an arrangement.

‘What about you and I making a go of it?’ The words were out of his mouth before he really thought about it but for some reason he didn’t regret speaking his mind. To his chagrin, he found himself holding his breath, awaiting her answer.

‘I beg your pardon, I’m not sure I understand your question.’

He pulled the carriage onto a verge and turned to face her. ‘What if we marry? As Lady March suggested. We wouldn’t have to live in each other’s pockets. You could do more or less as you like. I would make a handsome settlement, including the land in dispute, which would solve your family’s problems and mine.’

Her lips parted on a gasp. ‘You want to marry me?’

‘I don’t particularly want to marry anyone right at this moment. But if I can’t find the bill of sale for that land—and I absolutely refuse to believe my great-grandfather stole it—then marriage into your family does seem to be a way to restore my family’s reputation.’

At his first words, the breath had rushed from Florence’s body. Her heart had jolted in her chest. And, for one heart-stopping moment, his words sounded like a dream come true. She stared at him, mouth open.

Then the full import of his word crashed over her like a wave. He didn’t really want to. And nor did she; she really didn’t.

At least he was being honest. Besides, whatever chance of marriage she might have hoped for as a young girl, she had destroyed when she had fallen in love with a deceitful lecher.

‘But what about…? I mean Primrose, my sister…’ Dash it, she sounded like a hen-wit. With effort she gathered herself together. ‘Surely my sister Primrose is the far better choice?’ That sounded so much better.

He regarded her steadily. ‘Your sister is indeed a lovely young woman, incomparable in fact, and sweet-natured, but I seek someone with a far more practical turn of mind.’

Primrose could be practical, though in Florence’s imaginings she had envisaged them falling in love the moment they set eyes on each other. And she herself would not have been in the least bit jealous if her sister was happy. She definitely would not.

But that he should prefer her was for a brief moment so astoundingly, gloriously, wonderful, she had forgotten it was utterly unthinkable. A cold shiver ran down her spine. Nor could she actually think of Primrose being sacrificed to such a cold arrangement. Primrose deserved so much more. Perhaps given some time… But, if it was not to be, then she would have to think again.

‘I thank you for your flattering offer, but I have no plans to wed. Therefore, perhaps we should focus all our efforts on searching for the proof of sale.’

He clicked his tongue and set his horse in motion. ‘I agree but, in case we do not succeed, think about my offer as a possible alternative.’

She swallowed. If only she could. Oh dear; where had that thought come from? She didn’t deserve to marry anyone. She’d had her love affair, and now she would pay the price—and quite happily, thank you. She had no wish to be at the beck and call of any man. It was bad enough having to answer to Father.

Which reminded her of something. What would Father say if he saw her riding in the earl’s carriage?

‘You can drop me off at the Howling Gale and I will walk home from there.’

He frowned and turned his head to look at her with a wry twist to his mouth. ‘Are you so ashamed to be seen with me, then?’

Was that hurt she heard in his voice? She felt heat rise in her face.

‘Certainly not. I was merely thinking to save you the trouble of driving all the way around.’ And through the middle of the village.

‘Very kind of you, I am sure. I will leave you at your front door as a gentleman should. It is no trouble at all.’

She winced at his bitter-edged tone. She needed to change the subject. ‘May I ask where you have looked for a bill of sale so far?’

He gave her a sharp look but apparently was willing to allow her to change the topic. ‘I have searched among my father’s papers in his study. That is where I found the map I used the other day. Do you think your father might have any papers in his possession that would help?’

She frowned. ‘I doubt it. Apart from that extract from the Domesday book, that is.’

‘That was hardly helpful. Do you think you could look?’

While it might be a bit of a betrayal, it seemed only fair. ‘I will.’

‘Excellent,’ he said.

‘What about your solicitor?’ she asked, wracking her brains for other ideas. ‘Or your man of business? Do you know who would have handled your family’s legal affairs in the past?’

‘I know who handled my father’s affairs; I will check with them. They might have some documents relating to the earlier sale—them or their predecessors, since I know my grandfather refused to have anything to do with his father’s lawyers. He and my great-grandfather were often at loggerheads.’