“Uh-uh.” She wiggled her finger to say no. “I don’t think it’ll work.”
“You’re perfect.”
Violet fire flashed in her gaze. “It sounds like a compliment, but it actually isn’t when you’re simply desperate to find a wife.”
“Desperate? I’m not desperate. People arrange marriages all the time. Listen.” He held up a hand to silence a protest. “You’re half Italian and speak the count’s language. Who better than you?” No, he shouldn’t have said that. Her fluency in Italian had nothing to do with his proposal.
“No.” She pouted, and she looked stunning. “Do you really want to marry me because I speak Italian?”
“No. I’m ready to provide for you. You’ll have financial security and all the freedom you want. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” Hopefully, that was a better argument. “We get married, make this deal, and then you can do what you want. I won’t expect you to live with me if you don’t want to.”
She wouldn’t starve or steal again. She wouldn’t return to the streets. If she didn’t care about his affection, it would hurt, but she would be safe.
“We’re talking about marriage. Marriage is forever,” she whispered.
“Exactly.” He stared at her without blinking. He was bloody serious.
“No.” She rose. The fabric of the dressing gown flowed down her legs. He couldn’t stop himself from catching another enticing glimpse of her ankles. “I appreciate your help, but I can’t marry you so I can live a comfortable life. It’d be an awful thing to do, and I have an already long list of awful things on my soul. I can pretend to be your wife, but I won’t marry you.”
He rose as well. “Will you think about it? Please?”
“Keith.” Her shoulders sagged. “I’m sure you can find another woman, someone better than I am to be your hastily arranged wife. If you’ll excuse me, I need to rest.” She left the room in a swish of fabric.
No, he couldn’t find a better woman. Not in a million years.
Violante kept repeatingto herself she’d done the right thing by refusing Keith’s mad plan. As much as she needed money and safety, she wouldn’t be his wife so he could make a deal with an Italian count. Ridiculous idea. They would be shackled to each other for the rest of their lives, share their bed, work together, maybe have a family…no, what was she thinking?
She adjusted her skirt as she sat at Keith’s desk, reading more articles on the infamous count. Mrs. Collins had lent her a gown, tired of seeing her scandalously dressed in Keith’s dressing gown. She didn’t mind wearing his clothes; they were comfortable and smelled divine, while Mrs. Collins’s dress smelled of mothballs. She wasn’t sure what Keith’s opinion on the matter of her clothes was. Oftentimes, he frowned when she wore his dressing gown. Maybe he disapproved.
“Violante?” Keith called from the door.
“Come in.”
He eyed her new gown with disappointment if the way he narrowed his gaze was any indication. Had she been wrong about his dislike for her previous attire?
“You changed.” That sounded like an accusation.
She smoothed the bodice. “I didn’t steal it if that’s what you’re implying. Your housekeeper gave it to me,” she quipped.
“I didn’t think you stole it.” He shed his coat and sat next to her. “Did you think about my proposal?”
Goodness. He was persistent. If she was going to be honest, the idea tempted her. No more feeling her stomach empty. No more freezing nights. No more stealing. She believed him when he said he’d give her all the freedom she wanted. He would never force her. But marrying him wouldn’t be right.
“I can’t be your real wife.” She rearranged the pencils. “It wouldn’t be fair to you.”
“Fair to me? It’d be more than fair. We know each other well. I trust you.”
She rubbed the aching spot between her eyebrows. “I can’t believe we’re discussing marriage. We know each other, but we’ve been separated for years, and we changed deeply.”
“There’s something else you need to know.” He stapled his fingers together, causing the fabric of his shirt to ripple over his biceps. “I’ve just received a wire from Paul. As I told you, he’s doing business with the Count Bassini-Verdelli. They have a deal on a shipment for the Americas. Anyway, chances are that Paul will be in Bakewell too. Paul doesn’t know about your presence here yet, but he’s coming to England soon.”
“Oh.” She froze. Yesterday, she’d been eager to see Paul. Now she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
“Do you want to meet him? I’ll do whatever you say. I can inform him or not of your presence. I can help you convince him to repay the stolen money to you, or not. It’s up to you.”
Dash it. If Paul compensated her for the money he’d stolen, she wouldn’t need to marry anyone. Not to mention getting back her mother’s pendant. If Paul had sold it, she might trace it somehow. At least, she’d know what had happened to it.
“I can come to Bakewell with you, pretend to be your new secretary, and meet with Paul.” It sounded like a good plan that didn’t involve any weddings.
