He chuckled, lowering his eyelashes. She’d forgotten how mesmerising his deep eyes were. Between his impossibly blackirises and long eyelashes, he acquired more charm than should be humanly possible. “Do you think the count will believe you’re simply my secretary? One look at you and he’ll understand I’m lying, or worse, he’ll believe you’re my mistress.”
“Why would he think that?”
Every trace of amusement disappeared from his face. “Because…he won’t be fooled.” His jaw muscles bunched. She could bet he meant to say something else but changed his mind. “I don’t want to use my deal with the count as a weapon to force you to do something you don’t want. That wasn’t my intention when I told you about Paul. If you want to see Paul, I’ll organise the meeting with him here in London, whatever you decide. He might refuse, though.” He stood up, seemingly defeated. “I’ll leave you now. And by the way, the modiste is waiting for you in your bedroom.”
“The modiste?” The news distracted her from giving an answer.
“No more borrowed clothes.” He gave her a shy smile. “You’ll have a new wardrobe.”
Too much sadness laced his voice. Something cracked in her chest. He wanted to take care of her, and now he gave her a new set of clothes. From the moment he’d taken her into his house, she’d done nothing but cry and treat him with coldness while he’d been kind to her. But then again, if she got Paul to repay her, she’d have enough to live decently and wouldn’t need to marry Keith.
“Good day, then.” He put a hand on the knob.
“Keith, wait.”
He turned towards her. “Yes?”
“Listen, you really should consider my plan. I can pretend to be your wife.” She ignored the flutter in her stomach. It was surely hunger again.
“But I agree with you that it’ll be risky. The count would be furious if he knew.”
“I’m good at pretending, and I’ve done many despicable things in my life.” She opened and closed her hands. “I want to see Paul and help you with your project. It’s a noble enterprise. Lying for a few days isn’t anything worse than what I’ve done in the past. The difference is that this time it’s for a good cause and for helping those in need, not myself. Trust me. We’ll create a story about how and when we met, and the count won’t be the wiser.”
“We could get married.” He said that as if getting actually married were easier than lying. “There wouldn’t be any reason to lie.”
“I don’t want to marry you.” It came out with an aggressive tone she regretted. But she had to be honest.
His pain worried her. She hadn’t expected him to be so hurt by her rejection. His plan was madness, for Pete’s sake.
“We know each other well, yes. But it’d be wrong to shackle you to a hastily arranged marriage you wouldn’t have proposed to start with,” she said. “Marriage is a serious commitment. I can’t take it lightly.”
He strode to her so quickly she tensed a little. Old habit.
He took her hand in his. “It’d be no shackle.”
“Please.” She shook her head. “I can’t do it.”
A tendon in his neck ticked. “Fine. I respect your choice.”
“Does it mean we can pretend to be married?”
He kissed her knuckles, and a shiver went up her arm and straight to her heart. “If this is what you want.” Why did he sound so sad?
“It is.” She couldn’t believe he really wanted to marry her.
Surely, he felt a misplaced sense of guilt or protection towards her, and that had pushed him to propose. He felt guilty for what had happened to her and wished to make amends.There couldn’t be a worse reason to marry than guilt. Theirs would be a miserable marriage if guilt was the premise.
He breathed hard and seemed about to say something but remained silent.
She couldn’t take her gaze off his hand holding hers. There was something fascinating about watching his strong fingers close around her pale hand. The way his thumb stroked her knuckles started a funny ache between her thighs.
He kissed her hand again before releasing it. “It’s going to be a great marriage of convenience,” he said in a forcibly cheerful tone.
She chuckled. “We’re deceiving a count. Inconvenience is more likely.”
