Page 18 of Make Mine a Marquess

She stepped onto the patio and sat on the terracotta steps. Pots of flowering blooms scented the air, and she took deep breaths. A slight breeze ruffled the wisps of hair that had escaped her pins and filtered sunlight warmed the bridge of her nose. She never freckled, unlike her redheaded cousin Beatrice. Before she’d turned eighteen, she’d spent hours outdoors at her family’s country estate until her family had moved to London’s crowded streets to live in a townhouse with a much smaller garden. Her father’s profits from his collieries had increased, and her mother had ambitions to make a name for the family in Town.

Phoebe was now twenty-one and ready to move on with her life as the wife of Lord Willard and become his baroness.

She slipped off her shoes and rested her elbows on her thighs.

“Looking for company?”

She lifted her head at the sound of a deep voice to find the marquess standing before her. Her heart did a little jolt.

Stupid heart.

“What are you doing here, my lord? I saw you out front with the other men.” She bit her tongue almost as soon as the words escaped her lips. She’d just admitted she’d been watching him.

“I thought to get some time to myself. It looks like you are doing the same.” Thankfully, he didn’t mention her slip. Still, his lips curved in a devastatingly handsome way. “But now that I see you here, I find that I’d like some company after all. Do you mind?”

She should. Instead, she shrugged and scooted over to make room for him on the patio step.

He sat beside her, his long legs stretching over the next step. His sandalwood cologne teased her nostrils and she inhaled.

“What are you are thinking about?” he asked. “I can only assume you are escaping the house for a reason.”

There was no sense denying it. “Miss Elaine’s music is hard on the ears.”

His white teeth flashed, and his dark eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’m relieved to have missed it. What else?”

“My needlepoint skills are lacking.”

He chuckled. “Mine as well.”

She peeked at his chiseled profile and dared to ask. “What were you thinking about before you saw me sitting here, my lord?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Yes, she did. He was all charm and humor, and it was unsettling. Sitting this close to him, her body was filled with exquisite tension. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

Several heartbeats passed and she thought he wouldn’t reply. His response surprised her. “I was wondering why someone like you would marry Lord Willard?”

The question was unexpected. It was also not his concern. “He is a baron. My family approves.”

He turned to face her then, his dark eyes probing. “And you? Do you approve?”

She shrugged. “I gave my consent.”

“Why?”

A flash of annoyance tightened her voice. “I told you. He’s a baron and my family—”

He held up a large hand. “That’s irrelevant. Do you love him?”

It was inappropriate for him to ask such a personal question. Still, her fingers twisted in her skirts as she struggled with an answer. “Love isn’t necessary for marriage.”

“Oh? What is then?”

“Respect. Mutual meetings of the mind. Family approval.” She regurgitated the list she’d told herself for so long that she firmly believed each one.

“And what of passion?” He watched her with disconcerting thoroughness, something alarming in his gaze that sent her stomach in a wild swirl.

She should be taken aback by the question. Instead, her insides tightened, and her cheeks grew warm. “It doesn’t last.” Of that, she was certain.