A Lady Never Tells(111)
Mary stared at him, at first barely comprehending what he had said. For an instant, joy surged up in her, and her heart began to pound. She envisioned marrying him, living with him, spending the rest of her life by his side, her nights in his bed. The rush of yearning that sprang up inside her startled her. But a moment later, her pragmatic self took over. She was not the lady of a manor; she was plain Mary Bascombe.
“Why are you asking me?” she said, suspicion in her voice.
He gaped at her. “Why? I think it should be obvious.”
“Not to me. Are you doing this to salvage my reputation? Because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do after … what happened yesterday?” She could feel a flush rising up her throat into her face, and she glanced away. “I assure you, there is no need. I will not reveal it.”
His face registered shock. “I don’t feel impelled to marry you because someone might find out about it—though, of course, it’s vital to your reputation that it remain a secret. I could not do other than marry you after … after taking your innocence as I did.”
“Is that what you call it?” she said dryly.
“What the devil is that supposed to mean?” He scowled at her. “I am a gentleman. Perhaps the men you are accustomed to seduce and abandon innocent young girls, but I am not that sort of man.”
“Do not worry.” Mary sent him a flashing glance. “I absolve you of all blame. I take full responsibility for my actions. I am a grown woman, not a child, and I was well aware of what I was doing.”
He stared at her. “What are you saying?”
“I think it is clear enough. I do not expect you to propose marriage. I have no intention of chaining you to me for life because of a single mistake. An accident of fate.” Mary stood up, her color high.
“I would not call it an accident,” he retorted. “However spontaneously it transpired, I was fully aware of what I was doing. And of the consequences.”
“The consequences—I take it you mean the punishment of marrying me.”
“No! Blast it, you have the most damnable way of twisting things. It is not a punishment. It is, rather, the logical result of what we did.”
“What we did is not enough upon which to base a marriage.”
“It is not the only basis for the marriage. Merely the precipitating factor. There are numerous reasons …”
Mary folded her arms and regarded him skeptically. “Indeed. What are they? And don’t you dare tell me that not offending Lord Stewkesbury is one of them.”
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“What? No. It has nothing to do with Oliver.” Royce scowled. He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “Well, obviously, there is an attraction between us. I think we would deal well together, both in and out of bed. I have an adequate income; I can support you in a pleasant style, and I am not ungenerous. You have seen Iverley Hall and found it commodious, I believe. At present I rent only a few rooms in London, but, of course, during the Season, we can lease a house in Mayfair or even purchase one, if you find you enjoy the social whirl.”
“My. You present an excellent case for the benefits marriage would provide me,” Mary said crisply, trying to keep a rein on her temper. “I cannot help but wonder why you should wish it.”
“A beautiful wife is something any man would wish for,” Royce replied stiffly. “A connection to the Talbot family is a good thing. The old earl would have been pleased to see it.”
“That is why you wish to marry me?” Mary stared. “To please my grandfather?”
He hesitated, then went on, “Perhaps. Partly. He—he was very good to me, and I know he would have been happy to have me actually in the family. He spoke with regret about the split between him and his daughter. I am sure he would have provided for you and your sisters had he known of your existence. But since he did not, yes, he would want Oliver and Fitz and me to do our best for you.”
“Well, you may be perfectly happy with marrying to suit the old earl, but I, sir, am not.” Mary’s eyes flashed.
“I am not marrying to suit the earl; it is only one of the factors that—”
“Please, spare me any more talk of your ‘factors.’ I have heard more than enough. Your vision of marriage is a trifle cold-blooded for me.”
“Marriage usually is,” he retorted.
“Love doesn’t enter into it?”
“I have no intention of marrying for love. I don’t believe in love or in throwing one’s life away for the elusive prospect of it. A man fancies himself in love and wakes up with a wife who makes his life a living hell for forty years.”