Part 2 (2/2)
A faint smile lightened his austere features. ”I believe at this point, it is usual for the lady to respond.”
She swallowed in a vain attempt to s.h.i.+ft the emotion jamming her throat and straightened a backbone already as stiff as a ruler. She'd have a fine, useful life as Lady Desborough. And he'd give her children. She dearly wanted children to love, children who wouldn't care that she was an heiress or famous for her perfect behavior.
”Marianne?”
She'd been bred to marry a powerful man like Desborough. If her heart cried out for something more, she could learn to close her ears to its demands.
One day.
He must think her a lunatic for dithering. After all, this proposal was as inevitable as Christmas. ”Thank you, my-Thomas. I'm flattered by your interest.”
”More than just flattered, I hope, my dear.” As if to underline their new closeness, he took her hand. When she started, he cast her a quizzical glance. ”Don't say you're surprised. Your father gave me to understand that our inclinations followed a similar path.”
”Not surprised, but-”
”We have so much in common.” He paused. ”Not least that our first matrimonial choices turned out to be unwise.”
Lady Sophie Fairbrother's elopement had left him the b.u.t.t of gossip. They did indeed share more than just her father's regard. ”I didn't like all the talk.”
”Neither did I.” He looked unexpectedly approachable. She remembered that she'd always liked Lord Desborough. She told herself that forty-five wasn't old. After all, at twenty-five, she wasn't exactly a blus.h.i.+ng debutante herself.
His hand tightened on hers. She didn't mind his touch, but felt no particular thrill either. Perhaps that was a good thing. She'd never enjoyed emotional storms. Lord Desborough would be a solid, conformable, sensible spouse.
That description shouldn't make her want to howl in despair.
When again she didn't answer, he continued. ”We've both been through the mill, Marianne. Now everything has turned out for the best. Lady Sophie wasn't the wife for me and pardon me for saying so, but Camden Rothermere has proven himself unworthy of you.”
”You don't mention...affection,” she said slowly, although the idea of Desborough professing undying love made her stomach curdle.
”I'm convinced affection will grow with time. I hope you already consider me a friend.”
She nodded, even as her heart sank. ”You've always been very kind.”
”Kindness and friends.h.i.+p form an excellent basis for marriage. We're both past the age of romantic nonsense, thank heaven.”
I want romantic nonsense. I want someone to love me.
Of course she didn't say the pitiable words aloud.
She'd immediately discounted Elias's declaration. He loved her money. In her life, she'd seriously considered marrying two men. Camden Rothermere, Duke of Sedgemoor, and Thomas Wilkie, Earl Desborough. Neither had pretended to love her.
The strength of her longing to be more, to be enough, would have astonished anyone who knew her. Sorrow clogged her throat and made it difficult to speak. But speak she must.
She raised her chin. It was childish to pine for some mythical beau who wanted her because without her, his life turned into a barren desert. ”My lord, you honor me with your proposal-”
”My dear Marianne,” he said with a warmth she'd never heard before. ”You make me the happiest of men.”
Staring into his face, she was shocked to see that while he didn't love her, he wasn't averse to sharing her bed. Perhaps pa.s.sion might have a chance after all. She tried not to gag at the images invading her mind.
She withdrew her hand and dredged her soul for the words that would make her this man's wife. ”Thomas, this is-”
His eyes brightened and he leaned forward, making the couch seem suddenly uncomfortably cramped. She licked dry lips and made herself speak.
What emerged wasn't what she expected to say or what he expected to hear.
”I beg your indulgence and ask for a few days to consider my answer.”
Chapter Four.
”Sidonie, my dearest darling, what are you up to?”
At her husband's sardonic question, Sidonie Merrick, Viscountess Hillbrook, raised her head from the letter she was writing. The stark gray light through the window illuminated her like a woman in a Dutch painting. She'd bundled her glossy mahogany hair into an untidy knot and her deep bronze merino gown made her skin glow like a pearl. Jonas was always conscious of his wife's beauty. Sometimes, like now, her loveliness struck him like a physical blow.
Which didn't mean he trusted her ingenuous smile. ”I'm telling Pen about our house party.”
Jonas's eyes sharpened on Sidonie where she sat at the large, masculine desk she'd ordered to replace the useless piece of feminine frippery he'd originally chosen for her sitting room. Sidonie had expressed blatant contempt for its practicality. His wife was closely involved in his activities and took responsibility for running his estates, while he concentrated on trade and manufacturing. He usually counted her as his greatest business a.s.set-but not today.
”I'm sure you are. Is there anything you'd like to tell your husband?”
She rose with the grace that even after two years of marriage set his heart stuttering. ”I love you?”
The canny wench knew how to reach him. Until Sidonie's advent in his life, love had been a rare commodity. Now thanks to this remarkable woman, love was the very air he breathed.
”Are you asking me if you do?”
She stretched up on her toes to brush her lips across his. ”Aren't you sure?”
He stared down into her s.h.i.+ning brown eyes and because he couldn't help himself, bent for a more leisurely kiss. When he raised his head, he was pleased to see that she looked considerably less arch. Instead she regarded him through a dreamy glow.
Sometimes the power of what he felt for Sidonie terrified him. He'd learned young that solitude was the safest option in a world more inclined to cruelty than kindness. Occasions like this reminded him that, inexplicable as it seemed, she loved him, too.
”Yes, I'm sure,” he murmured and caught her upper arms in his big hands. ”Even if I want to take you over my knee right now and spank you.”
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