Page 27

“But why shouldn’t it be? We’ll keep separate residences.” She waved a hand in his direction. “You, wherever it is that you’ll live, and me at my Berkeley Square house.”

Hands clasped behind his back, his mouth a flat line, Kingston shook his head. “That won’t protect you from Elligon, and my siblings will expect to see my wife.”

He was correct about the former, and she hadn’t considered the latter.

“Must they know?”

A short bark of laughter slipped from between his lips. “How innocent you are, my dear. I assure you when we hastily wed that the gossip rags will print some unsavory, fabricated twaddle, and the other, more respectable news sheets will carry word of our nuptials. They will find out either by one means or another.”

That was only too true.

“I’d prefer to do the telling. Besides, I shan’t deceive my sisters and brothers.” His humor evaporated as swiftly as it had appeared. “I have much to atone for already where they are concerned.”

“I only thought to spare them pain at our eventual parting.” Vanessa filled her lungs with air, holding it for several heartbeats before exhaling with a puff of her cheeks. “I don’t suppose you have a solution?”

He smiled then, and the room lit up like someone had set a torch to a thousand candles. Blinded by the beauty of that smile, Vanessa blinked rather stupidly, convinced she looked like a startled deer she’d come upon once in Canterbury.

“I might. Let me ponder it and consider all the intricacies.” He came to stand before her, and she couldn’t help but once more appreciate what a virile specimen of manhood he was. His legs appeared all corded muscle as they flexed beneath his trousers. “May I see you home and then call upon you tomorrow?”

“Of course.” The merest sliver of unease brushed across Vanessa’s shoulders.

Was she making a colossal mistake?

What did she really know of this Kingston Barclay? The young, cheerful lad with a penchant for mischief and laughter she knew well. But his somber, somewhat altered version she knew not at all.

Had the war done that to him, combined with the deaths of his parents and near financial ruin? The mélange was enough to strain the comportment of even the most robust person.

Forcing her apprehensions into a fusty corner, Vanessa rose as he stepped near, so close his trousers brushed her skirts. Scandalously close, and yet, she made no move to rebuke him nor put space between them. Once more, his scent wafted past her nostrils, and she was certain she caught faint whiffs of musk, sandalwood, and pine.

“Thank you, Vanessa.” Kingston took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. His gaze ensnared hers as he pressed his firm mouth to her knuckles.

An electric shock bolted to every extremity and caused the most peculiar aching heaviness in her womb. And lower still.

“For what?” she managed, her voice a husky, breathy thread she scarcely recognized.

“For so selflessly and generously offering my family and me a chance for a happy future. For giving me hope.” Genuine gratitude warmed his eyes, and yet, there was the merest hint of something unidentifiable in their liquid blue depths too.

Something private and guarded.

Well, it was far too soon to expect him to open up to her entirely, and the same was true of her.

“Vanessa?”

She peered up at Kingston, rather liking how delicate and feminine he made her feel. The merest hint of a beard stubbled his granite jaw, hinting at just how late the hour had grown. She had the oddest urge to run her fingertips over the roughness. To press her lips there, as well. With some effort, she collected her wayward thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Shall I take a knee and formally propose?” He still held her hand, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of it.

Now she knew why animals so enjoyed being petted.

A wave of hilarity bubbled up from her middle at the absurd notion.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” she denied amid her laughter. “Ours isn’t a love-match, so there’s no need for that frilly nonsense. We’ll have our solicitors draw up a settlement that is satisfactory to both of us. When I claim my inheritance in eight days”—a glance to the mantel clock revealed the hour twelve minutes past midnight—“that is, in seven days, we’ll be wed by special license.”

Even as Vanessa spoke so matter-of-factly, she felt like she was rushing headlong into the unknown.

Well, wasn’t she?

“And it shan’t bother you that our union shan’t be a real marriage? You shan’t have regrets?” Kingston prodded. “That it will be a charade? That there’ll be no consummation or children?”

Vanessa felt the twin paths of heat scorching their way up her cheeks.

“Will it bother you?” she shot back, not entirely positive why she was so flustered.

He released her hand and stepped away. “I hope to God not.”

She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but the door swung open, and Mrs. Dorrian-Lane sailed into the room.

Holding Vanessa’s brooch in her open palm, she fairly trilled, “May I presume congratulations are in order?”