Page 72
No, he wasn’t in love with Faith Roth.
He didn’t count the hours until he’d see her again or have an overwhelming desire to write sappy odes or present her with flowers. Romantic claptrap was beyond him. Thank God.
That reminded Constantine that he never did speak with Harvey and find out why he urgently needed to see him. Come to think of it, Constantine hadn’t seen Harvey since before Leopold told him Harvey was trying to find him.
He’d have to seek out his old friend when he returned to the manor house.
For now, his quest was to persuade Faith to stay in England as his amanuensis when their faux betrothal was officially broken. Of course, a substantial raise was in order, but would it be enough to compensate for the gossip that would follow, particularly if word spread that Faith still worked for him?
Would Constantine choose to do so if he were in her position?
The truth kicked him in the stomach.
Not for a thousand gold coins.
Which was likely why Faith had accepted the position as Mrs. Peagilly’s traveling companion. They’d be gone a few months, maybe a year, and when Faith returned, only a few spiteful tabbies who had nothing else to think about would remember the broken betrothal.
Hellfire.
He really, really should’ve thought through all the possible consequences of agreeing to a fake engagement. Losing his amanuensis—the best he’d ever employed—was not among them.
Neither was Faith leaving the country for God only knew how long.
Settling beneath the oak’s protective branches, she removed her bonnet, then pulled her knees to her chest and, in a winsome, childlike gesture, rested her chin atop them as she stared at the glorious tableau before her.
“It’s pretty up here. Very peaceful.” The rising sun created a perfect backdrop to her silhouette. “The view is as spectacular as you said.”
As Constantine observed Faith, unpretentious and unspoiled, a crazy, outrageous, wholly implausible thought forged its way to the forefront of his mind.
Why not make the betrothal real—a marriage of convenience?
His mind stalled for a heartbeat, then accelerated with the possibility.
Yes. Yes. A marriage of convenience.
The very thing.
A perfect solution.
Giddiness gripped him, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to hide his grin.
They worked well together. Faith wasn’t a female who demanded fripperies, fallalls, entertaining, and his undivided attention. She was intelligent, sensible, pragmatic, and not given to swooning or hysterics. She didn’t mind insects either.
In short, they were well-suited.
He permitted a minuscule upward tip of his mouth. Well-suited indeed.
There was no one else he’d rather marry, in truth.
No need for declarations of love and devotion and all of that sentimental twaddle. Emotions just mucked things up. He found her desirable, and given her fervent responses to his kisses, she returned the feeling.
Respect, esteem, admiration, and desire.
Not a bad way to start a marriage of convenience.
He’d never considered marrying for love. Well, the truth of it was, he hadn’t considered marriage much at all. As the third son, there really was no need.
Constantine would see to it that Faith wanted for nothing. If she desired—he very much hoped she would—she could continue as his scrivener. If she still wanted to travel, they could do so together and make it a scientific, sightseeing adventure.
