“You were gambling in her establishment without understanding what the stakes were?”
He frowned. “Those were only for the one table.”
“The callowness of youth.” She threw up a hand. “If you’d been sober enough to pay attention, you’d have learned that the one table is for those seeking marriage, most often for debts accrued outside of gaming hells. But anyone whose vowels exceed their ability to pay is subject to her whims of matchmaking.”
He blinked.
Recalling his reaction in the widow’s office, her tone was bitter when she added, “Be thankful she did not pair you with me.”
“What? Was that even a possibility?” He tilted his head in interest.
“One never knows with Bessie Dove-Lyon.” She shrugged, confused by his tone, as the servants replaced their soup bowls with plates and set platters of roasted beef and vegetables on the table. She’d asked Cook to under-season them so that they would not offend Luke’s stomach, which was likely still sensitive.
As they served Belle and then him, Luke tilted his head, considering. “You’ve been the perfect hostess these past days—a balance of taking charge and kindness, forcing me to think about things and giving me space to do so. I’ve seen worse marriages. I suspect I should say that to you—be thankful she did not pair me with you.”
Belle blinked. He sounded almost open to the idea of marriage with her. Did he not recall that he was an earl’s son and needed to produce heirs? Sullying his bloodline with that of a whore would not be well received, no matter that she knew she had better morals and a bigger brain than half the Ton. Nor could he have considered their age gap. They had about a decade apart... and a lifetime of experience.
Taking a bite of roast beef, she reminded herself that he’d been looking to her for direction. In all probability, this was an extension of that search.
Giving him direction in bed might be fun.
She needed her inner devil to shut up. When she went too long without orgasms at others’ hands, she became reckless. And Clodpate was recklessness personified.
To reinforce that thought, she answered him in a stronger tone than she’d intended, “Oh, I am.”
He flinched before smoothing his expression. “Why do you wish to marry?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. If he laughed at her when she told him she wanted children, she might have to kill him and hide the body. Bad enough she’d have to fear her past marring her offsprings’ future; illegitimacy would seal their fate in the eyes of polite society in even a remote village.
His expression remained as smooth as porcelain. Unreadable.
“I want a family. Not a rotating door of partners who go on to have families with other women. A husband and children who can never be called bastards.” Rigid, she placed her utensils on her plate, every muscle taut waiting for his response.
He leaned back in his chair. “Huh. I haven’t thought about that. I suppose I will need to do the same one day. The earldom and all”—he waved a hand—“but I need to sort myself first.”
She snorted, partly in relief but mostly at him finally seeing the light. For a lordling, he was surprisingly open-minded. He’d treated her as an equal in all their conversations.
“I know, I know.” He shook his head. “So what made you decide this now?”
He hadn’t laughed, but his continued interest in her motivations was unexpected. She gave a mental shrug. She’d already shared the worst of it with him, it couldn’t hurt toexplain this as well. “I’ve had two long-term benefactors whom I might have loved in other circumstances. And the London scene has grown boring and repetitious. I’d always liked the idea of a family, but my parents’ and sister’s experiences made me wary.”
He nodded. Then, apparently remembering her sister’s marriage, he asked, “Did you convince your sister to leave her husband, once you’d established yourself?”
She swallowed, hating the memories even now, years later. “No. I went back to try, and she refused again. On my second visit, the neighbors told me she’d died, and her husband had moved.”
“Blast,” he muttered under his breath, staring at his plate. Louder, he said, “I am very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She had seen enough family and friends die too young before she escaped the rookeries for the news to shock her. Anger was what drove her to avoid ever being in a similarly dependent situation.
“May I ask... do you know how it happened?”
“What difference would it have made? She’d still be gone, and he’d still be walking around free.” She shrugged, attempting nonchalance, when really it had been what shaped her path to this point. She’d determined not to marry until she had enough money and experience to be able to choose carefully. It was also what had led her to the Black Widow for help. Not only did she not take clients who abused their roles, but no one dared cross her.
“If it is boredom, what happens if you become bored with marriage?” Luke’s question brought her back to the present and his earlier question regarding the timing of her quest.
“’Tis not dissatisfaction with a partnership, only London and society’s inequitable rules—one set for titled men, another for titled women, and then others for the working class. I supposeCharlotte finding happiness a second time, if she’d only let herself have it with William, has also influenced me.”
“I hold out hope for them. He’s tenacious and wise beyond his years. She’ll come around.”
