Page 32 of Against the Wind

Chapter 11

“Marry you!” Kit challenged. “I do not even know you. And you don’t really know me. The very notion of a marriage between us is absurd.”

Martin smiled and stepped closer, taking her shoulders in his hands and reveling in the scent of roses that always surrounded her. Now that he’d made up his mind to have her as wife, he did not intend to lose this battle. Reminded of their prior argument he said, “You keep saying we do not know each other, Kitten, but we know each other quite well, do we not?”

They stood in the parlor facing each other, the rays of the fading sun suffusing the room with light. Her auburn hair shone like burnished copper. Martin longed to lose himself in her softness as he had those many weeks before.

Kit blushed. “One night does not give either of us true knowledge of who the other is—and I find being reminded of our first meeting a very ungentlemanly act on your part, Mr. Powell.”

“That is not my intent.” He stroked her arms, and his eyes fell to her lips. He wanted so badly to kiss her. “I do it because you need reminding. And the name’s Martin to you.”

He drew her close, losing himself in her blue eyes. She tried to pull away, but he gently yet firmly held her steady and lowered his mouth to hers. She leaned into him ever so slightly, which he was happy to read as an involuntary welcome, and proceeded to kiss her quite thoroughly.

His embrace tightened. Her body relaxed, a signal that her resolve to break free was slipping away, and the kiss that followed said everything Martin’s words could not. It was a kiss of possession, a kiss of the full passion they shared but she tried to deny. She was his, and she would do well to remember it.

Swept away by the feel of her soft warm body, the press of her breasts against his chest and their dueling tongues, Martin was once again enthralled. His body was telling him in no uncertain terms that he wanted more than a kiss; he wanted to be deep inside her once again. And that inviting stretch of velvet cushions was just behind her.

Soon they would be lying upon it.

Slowly Kit let Martin back her toward the sofa, but at the last moment she wrenched her mouth away. “No,” she insisted, pushing against his chest. She would not be taken again so easily. Nor would she be taken against her better judgment even though she desired Martin Powell. There was little question of that.

She could see his determination and his desire. “Marry me, Kit. I will take care of you. I will protect you. I will never hurt you. The passion we share is unusual. Few marriages begin with as much.”

Kit turned away and went to stand at the window. Her body burned with desire, but that desire did not change her concerns. Yet, were her concerns greater than the benefits? Objectively considering his offer seemed only fair.

She cared little for meaningless titles that gave excuse for old men to claim young brides or the kind of abuse her sister had suffered, and living with the de Courtenay family had reminded her that the dream of a family—of having her own children—was not dead. Perhaps she should marry this man and shed the title dowager. Ten years older than she, Martin was experienced, virile and handsome. Mary had told her he was an honorable man, that he had served England with Ormond, though the marchioness had declined to provide specifics. Many members of the ton had served in the Royal Army and Navy, and Martin’s father and brothers were seafaring merchants. Perhaps he had served in the Navy. She could do worse. She had done worse.

She remembered their first night. Hadn’t he been the most gentle of lovers? She believed, too, that he was sincere in his commitment to her wellbeing. He had rescued her from Rutledge, sparing her what would have been a dreadful encounter at that ball. He might not have known her long enough to truly love her, but then she didn’t want to lose herself in a love match like her father. After her marriage to the baron, independence was her first goal, but she had no funds to secure that state. Martin wanted her and had said he would protect her. And he could give her the family she wanted. Perhaps that would be enough.

He was also determined. She was certain he would be persistent. He had hunted for her all over London. Surely he must want her badly to do that. Surely he would treasure her all the more for it.

This would be a marriage of convenience, but it was also a matter of necessity. She was a member of the ton, yes, but impoverished and dependent upon friends. Kit hated being powerless, having no control over her future. At least this was one decision she could make. And with few options remaining, perhaps this was a good one.

“Yes, I will marry you, Martin.”

“Wonderful.”

She heard his steps behind her, coming close.

Turning to face him, she held her hand out to slow his pace. He was more than handsome, his body lithe yet well-muscled, a body she craved to touch. But if she was to marry him, before they made love again, before they consummated their marriage, she wanted to know this man, to start again their relationship. If she could only slow things down a bit. “But I’ve a condition.”

“Condition?” he repeated, stopping suddenly. Crossing his arms, he wrinkled his brow. “What condition?”

“I want some…time, time for us to get to know each other without having to comply with my marital duty.”

“My lord, there is a man to see you.”

Rutledge glanced up from his desk. His butler seemed to hesitate.

“Yes?” he prompted, impatient and annoyed that his work was, once again, being interrupted. To calm himself he reached for the Spanish cat perched on the edge of his desk, his constant companion when he was in his study. The only female he had ever trusted and even she had claws.

“He is rather shabbily dressed. A rough character.” The butler pursed his lips and looked down as if he’d just noticed something disgusting on his shoe. “He declined to give a name.”

“Show him in, Thomas,” Rutledge said, stroking the tortoiseshell feline now purring in his lap. “He is probably one of my new runners.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The man in plain brown clothes who entered shortly thereafter looked dusty and uncomfortable. He pulled his rumpled hat from his head to worry it in his hands. “Milord…?”