“And you cannot answer any of those questions in the affirmative now?” he asked her. “None of them?”

She shook her head slowly.

Double damnation! He did not need this. But then, neither did she.

“I am being asked,” she said, “to think of what other people will think of me-some of them people I do not even know, all of them people I do not even care about. I am being asked to think about the good name of my sisters and brother, of my niece and nephew. I am being asked to save your sister from a fate that seems quite unthinkable. I am being asked to marry, not for something, but to prevent a whole lot of things. Marriage ought to be about only the two people concerned and their feelings for each other. Instead it is about a whole society. Society does not care if we will be happy or miserable, does it? It does not care that we will certainly be miserable.”

Will be? As opposed to would be?

“Are you so sure,” he asked her, “that we would be miserable together, Miss Huxtable?”

Suddenly she was hurrying across the room toward him. She stopped when she was no more than a foot away and glared directly into his eyes. Her hands, he noticed, had balled into fists at her sides.

“It is a mask,” she said. “It is how you hide from the world. Open your eyes. Look fully at me. And tell me we would be happy together-for a lifetime.”

He felt jolted by her sudden anger. And rather shaken by her accusation that he wore a mask, that he was afraid, perhaps, to face the world with wide-open eyes.

He obliged her and gazed steadily back at her.

“I want you,” he said curtly. If it was honesty she was asking for, then by God she would have it. “And you want me. You cannot deny that, Miss Huxtable. I would not believe you.”

She laughed again-that harsh sound that was not really a laugh at all.

“You want to go to bed with me,” she said, and suddenly her pale cheeks flamed with color. “And I want to go to bed with you. Very well, I will not deny it. It is a fine recommendation indeed to marriage, Lord Montford. We are certain to be blissfully happy for the rest of our lives. We will be married. We may go to bed with each other as often as we please without incurring any future scandal. Thank you. All my misgivings have been blown away.”

He had not been feeling even one faint spark of amusement since walking into the house-not since he had stepped into White’s this morning, in fact. But he smiled now-slowly and with genuine amusement.

He wondered how often in the future she would be tortured with embarrassment at the memory of talking so explicitly of going to bed with him.

“It would be one consolation for being forced into marriage, you must confess,” he said. “Making love at night, during rainy mornings, during the sleepy afternoons, out in the woods at any time of the day or night, in the bottom of a boat, underneath-”

“Stop it!” she commanded. “Stop it this minute. And open your eyes. Marriage is not sex, Lord Montford.”

Roses bloomed in her cheeks again. Scarlet ones. And they flamed rather than bloomed.

He smiled again and said nothing. He did not open his eyes.

“You do not understand, do you?” she said. “You do not understand about friendship and companionship and mutual respect and togetherness and affection and-and l-love. It is inconceivable to you that a man and a woman can share any of those things and need them all if the marriage is to be a decent one. You think it is nothing but s-” She lost her courage with the second mention of the word.

“-ex,” he completed for her. “Is a marriage only friendship and respect and affection, then? It sounds yawningly dull to me. How are children to be begotten?”

Roses turned into flames in her cheeks and she swallowed awkwardly.

“You just do not understand,” she said.

And he supposed he did not. Except that he did like her-it was not all lust he felt for her. He even-yes, he did-felt a certain affection for her. He certainly liked her better than any other woman he had ever met. Perhaps even as well as he liked and was fond of Charlotte. But was not the fact that they wanted to bed each other the best consolation they could find for being forced into marrying each other?

Apparently not.

You just do not understand.

“Then perhaps,” he said abjectly, “you can make it your mission in life to make me understand, Katherine.”

Her eyes widened.

“I have not given you permission to make free with my name,” she said.

He let his eyes smile alone this time.

“And yet,” he said, “you speak of our marriage as something that will happen. Am I to address you for the rest of our lives, then, as Lady Montford?”

He watched her swallow again.

“I have not said I will marry you,” she said.

“Indeed,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “I do not believe I have even asked you, Miss Huxtable. May I, though? Ask, that is?”

Something happened to her eyes. They grew larger and deeper and bluer, and for a moment he had the sensation of falling into them. Then they filled with tears and she lowered her eyelids over them and looked down at the carpet between them.

“I do not want to marry you,” she said, “and you do not want to marry me. Why should we be forced into what neither of us wants? No, do not answer that. We have dealt with all the reasons why and will start to talk ourselves in circles if we continue.”

He heard her inhale slowly.

“Very well, then,” she said, “you may ask.”

He took her right hand in both of his. It was limp and cold. He warmed it in his own.

“It will not be so bad,” he said, trying to console himself as well as her, “if we choose not to let it be. The expectations of society and our concern for the well-being of our family may force us into marrying, Miss Huxtable, but they cannot force us into being miserable forever after. Only we can do that. Let us not do it. Let us make each other happy instead.”

Good Lord, where were the words coming from? What the devil did he know about making a woman happy? What the devil did he know about making himself happy, for that matter? What was happiness?

But what else was there to say? Except…

“Miss Huxtable,” he said, dipping his head a little closer to hers, “will you do me the great honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

The dreaded words that surely inhabited every single man’s nightmares.

Spoken at last.

Perhaps he ought to have made a complete ass of himself and gone down on one knee. Too late now.

Her head came up again, and her eyes met his from only inches away. They were still huge and bright with unshed tears.

“It would seem,” she said, “that I have little choice, Lord Montford.”

Loverlike words indeed.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, his eyes fixed on her lips. He forced a smile, which he hoped was neither twisted nor mocking.

“Yes,” she said. “It is a yes.”

“Thank you,” he said, and he moved his head closer in order to kiss those lips.

Except that she turned her head aside, leaving his mouth half an inch from her ear.

Leaving him feeling like an ass after all.

Ah. Well.

“Perhaps,” he said, “we had better-”

He did not complete the thought. There was a tap on the door and it opened before either of them could respond.

“Kate,” Merton said, all pokered up and looking very aristocratic and older than his twenty years, “is everything all right? You said you would be back upstairs within five minutes.”

He did not even look at Jasper. Neither did the elder Miss Huxtable, who stood in the doorway at her brother’s shoulder. Nor did the Duchess of Moreland, who was behind them.

An affecting family tableau.

“It has taken longer than I expected,” Katherine Huxtable said. “But we have finished now and you might as well all come inside and congratulate us. I have just accepted a marriage offer from Lord Montford. He is my betrothed.”

They all looked suitably stunned. Obviously it had been understood that their sister would say a quick no before his offer was even made and that she would be back with them within minutes of his arrival.

Then her sisters rushed into the room to catch her up in a hug-whether of congratulation or commiseration was not evident-and Merton advanced upon Jasper, his mouth set in a grim line, his hand outstretched.

“I am to congratulate you, then, Montford,” he said, all arctic frost.

Not Monty any longer?

Jasper set his hand in that of his future brother-in-law.

Lord! He was an affianced man, soon to be a married man. There was an unfamiliar ball of something that felt like panic in the pit of his stomach. But it was too late now to run for the hills. He was a dead goner, as someone had predicted at White’s this morning.

Clarence Forester had better watch his back, by thunder, if he ever plucked up the courage to leave the safety of his home in Kent again.

And his front too, by God.


She might have married Tom Hubbard or one of a number of other suitors she had had when she still lived in Throckbridge, Katherine thought, and lived a worthy life of contentment.

She might have married Phillip Grainger almost any time since she had moved to Warren Hall and lived a worthy life of contentment with him.

But she had held out for that elusive something called romantic love, and now she was to marry Lord Montford, who did not know the meaning of either romance or love. She had no illusions about him. He was incapable of commitment.

And how could she commit herself to a man who did not take life at all seriously? One who was willing to wager that he could make her fall in love with him for the sheer amusement of tackling an impossible challenge? One who thought that physical desire and going to bed with each other were the only ingredients necessary to a good and lasting marriage?

They were pointless thoughts. She was betrothed to him anyway.

In one month’s time they would be married. The nuptials were to be at St. George’s in Hanover Square with as many of the ton present as could be persuaded to remain in town after what would normally be the end of the Season. If she were a wagering person, she would bet that that would be a large number. They would not be able to resist witnessing what they had collectively forced upon two people who had become victims of the vicious gossip spread by one of their own.

What a farce it all was! If it were not also tragic, she would laugh until the tears ran down her cheeks.

Elliott, who had remained upstairs in the drawing room when the others came down to the library, had thought it was best to have a proper society wedding instead of a quiet ceremony by special license. He had said so after they all went upstairs to break the news of the betrothal to him. Stephen had agreed with him. So had Meg and Nessie.

So had Lord Montford.

Katherine had not expressed an opinion. She did not care when or where they married.

She was sitting now, half an hour later, staring into the empty fireplace in the drawing room while her family talked about her with false heartiness. They talked with one another, having given up trying to comfort her and draw her into the conversation. Lord Montford had left.

And then the butler appeared with a visitor’s card on his tray.

Whoever could be calling at this hour, so late in the afternoon? She would go up to her room, Katherine decided, and avoid whoever it was. She had had quite enough for one day. This was surely the final straw.

“Miss Wrayburn is calling with Miss Daniels,” Margaret said, looking across the room at Katherine.

Katherine sighed. There was to be no escape yet.

“Let them come up, then,” she said, and stayed where she was.

Did Miss Wrayburn know about the betrothal? Already? Or had she merely heard about the gossip and scandal?

A minute later she had her answer when the girl came hurrying into the room with a bounce in her step, all bright, happy smiles. She beamed about at everyone, but it was Katherine who was the focus of her attention. She came across the room, her hands outstretched, as Katherine got to her feet.

“Oh,” she said, “I am so happy I could burst. I have never been happier in my life. You are going to be my sister, Miss Huxtable. May I call you Katherine, please? And you must call me Charlotte.”