Page 42 of The Dangerous Lord

His eyes narrowed. “Your answer to what?”

“Your offer of marriage. I can’t marry a man who won’t be honest with me.”

He couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re refusing me because you’re jealous of some woman I’m helping?”

“I’m not jealous!” she protested, though her expression belied her words. “I’m ... I’m refusing you because you don’t want a real marriage. You want a business arrangement: I am to perform my duty by bearing you children without interfering in your life, and in exchange you’ll give me your name and pay for my gowns.”

“And make love to you,” he added in a husky voice, determined to remind her of why this conversation had first come about.

She edged closer to the fireplace, the tips of her ears pinkening. “Yes. That, too. But anyone could serve that purpose for you. I merely happen to be convenient.”

“Believe me, if I were choosing a wife by convenience, you would not be on the list. The last thing I need is a loose-tongued newspaper writer sharing my bed!”

Her gaze shot back to him, a new comprehension shining in their depths. “So that’s your reason for proposing! You want to marry me so I won’t dig up the nasty secrets in your past and publish them in my column!”

“Oh, for God’s— You already agreed to keep quiet. Why on earth should I marry you merely to gain that?”

“Because you don’t trust me. If you did, you’d tell me the truth about Miss Greenaway.”

He ground his teeth in frustration. Damn the bloody female and her ideals! Most men kept secrets from their wives—it was accepted, even expected. But she wouldn’t allow it, oh, no. Not his self-righteous little troublemaker, with her unrealistic ideas about how men should behave in marriage! He should have heeded his earlier warning that she’d never agree to marry him. But no, he’d had to let his cock do his thinking.

Well, he’d proposed and made a fool of himself sufficiently. Now he should wash his hands of her, leave her to her suspicions. Could any woman be worth all this trouble?

He gazed at her angry stance, at the delicate hands planted on the choicest pair of hips this side of the Channel, at the expressive eyes flashing emerald. Even haphazardly attired with pencils stuck through her hair, she’d been enticing, but now, wearing that excuse for a wrapper, she was irresistible. He’d never seen a young woman so full of life, audacity, and a sensual promise shimmering from her in waves, especially when her temper was roused.

Yes, this woman was worth any trouble. And he began to see that convincing her to marry him would take more than one seductive interlude and some discussion.

All right, so he’d plan a more elaborate strategy. He hadn’t been a spy for nothing. And he still had a little time to be patient.

“Well?” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “You do understand, don’t you? I shan’t marry you, Ian, and nothing you say will change my decision.”

“You’ve made that perfectly clear,” he said in a neutral tone.

She eyed him with suspicion. “So you won’t pursue this any further?”

“No.” Not until I think of a suitable strategy for it, anyway, he told himself.

She seemed startled by his easy acquiescence. “And my refusal of your proposal won’t affect our agreement?”

“What agreement?”

“That I won’t write anything about you in my column, and you won’t expose me.”

He’d forgotten about that. Bloody hell, that was perfect! She was handing him his strategy on the proverbial platter! He could use her fear of exposure to his advantage.

Turning away, he clasped his hands together behind his back and strolled the room as if deep in thought. “That’s a different matter entirely, isn’t it? Thanks to the false insinuations in your most recent column, I now have the reputation of being a coward and a liar, which will make it difficult for me to find a wife. In essence, you’ve ‘ruined’ me, yet you refuse to do the honorable thing and marry me. So why shouldn’t I expose you?”

“Don’t be absurd! I haven’t ‘ruined’ you—surely many women would marry you for your fortune and your title alone!”

Halting near the bed, he shrugged. “It’s not easy to find a wife when one has my reputation. I’ve looked for two years.” She needn’t know that he’d been more particular than most, which was partly responsible for his current dilemma. “In that time, the closest I’ve come to an actual engagement was with your friend Katherine, and you ended that with your revelations about my private life.”

“Revelations that were true! It’s not my fault you have a mistress!”

“Even if Miss Greenaway were my mistress, which she isn’t,” he said evenly, “it was you who exposed my association with her, thus destroying my engagement. In the process, you drove Katherine to elope with a man who might very well be a fortune hunter. Your meddling cost me and your friend a great deal. Surely you’ll admit that.”

She sniffed. “I admit only that I wrote what my conscience dictated.”

Sometimes he found her bloody self-righteousness almost amusing. “And in the second column? Did your conscience also dictate that you make baseless assumptions about my war career?”