Page 43 of Lyon of Least Resistance

She met his gaze, the silver in her eyes turning to steel—to match the edge to her voice.

“I, like so many women before me, had a contractual arrangement with Mrs. Dove-Lyon to secure a husband.” She tilted her head to one side. “As did you, to find a wife, I assume?”

His resolve almost faltering at the intensity in her eyes, he nodded.

“I merely agreed to the nature of the game, and chose the appropriate suitor based solely on the gift presented. Had I known it was you, I…”

“You what?” he said. “You would have chosen the townhouse instead? Or the diamond necklace?”

“No, I would have voided the game by choosing none of the suitors.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want a man who believed that a woman was a commodity to be purchased!”

“But is that not what you were…” he began, but she raised her hand.

“Do not say it.” Though she almost whispered, anger simmered beneath the quietness of her voice. “The woman you paid for her services was a very different woman to the one you have married. Whores only exist because men wish to satisfy their base needs on women who would not suffer their attentions without payment.”

Her arrow hit home and he looked away, raking a hand through his hair.

“Do”—she hesitated, her breath catching—“do you wish to annul the marriage? I can speak to Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

“No. I couldn’t bear the shame.”

“Can you bear the shame of being married to a doxy?”

He cringed.

“Are you squeamish, Lord Bedford?” she said. “Nobody outside this building knows my true identity.”

“What about your family?”

She closed her eyes and shuddered, as if reliving a memory. Then she opened them again and shook her head. “I never knew my parents. My only living relative was my guardian—my uncle—and he…” She paused, her forehead creasing in pain. “He’s dead.”

Suppressing the urge to take her in his arms and ease her pain, James clasped his hands together.

“Can you guarantee that you will not be recognized if I take you to Bedford Hall?”

“If?”

“I’ll not have my sisters tainted by association with a doxy. It was, after all, for their benefit that I came here to find a bride.”

“I thought you intended to court a Society lady,” she said. “I never thought you’d seek a wife here.”

“I have no talent for courtship,” he replied.

“What? With the gallantry you have bestowed on me tonight?” she said, in mock surprise. “I’m astounded. The ladies of Society are at a loss, bereft, as they are, of your skills at courtship.”

“Ah, but you’re no lady, are you?”

He regretted the words as soon as he’d spoken them—a childish riposte for which his nanny would have struck him with her cane.

“Forgive me, I meant no offense,” he said.

“You spoke the truth, Lord Bedford,” she replied. “But if you’re disappointed with your purchase, I’m sure Mrs. Dove-Lyon can find you another bride.”

“I rather think I’m the commodity being purchased.”