Page 5 of A Marriage of Necessity

The spell broke. Anne narrowed her eyes. “I see, I am to consider myself fortunate to have a night with you, and grateful for the bonus of a gold bracelet.”

“I don’t think that’s quite what I said.”

“It is exactly what you said,” she retorted. “It’s the height of arrogance for a man to think that a woman should thank him for bedding her.”

His expression cooled. “I believe it is you who asked me to thank you with a gold bracelet.”

She drew a sharp breath. He was right. Still… “Aye, but you act as if some of that payment should come in the form of gratitude for being fortunate enough to be chosen for your one night of-of…” she was at a loss for words.

“Affaire d’amour?” he drawled.

She snorted. “One night can hardly be called an affair and has nothing whatsoever to do with love.”

“Is that what you want, my lady, love?”

“A woman always wants love. Well, love doesn’t put food on the table.” She read the surprise in his eyes and realized she’d lost control of the situation. “Take yourself off to some other woman who is willing to sell herself for a gold bracelet,” she said. “I have business to attend to.”

* * *

Kennedy Douglas, Viscount Buchanan, entered his study and the erotic fantasy of the ravishing beauty at Lady Peddington’s ball lying on his sheets beneath him vanished at sight of his stepmother seated on the divan near the window. She sat straight—the proper wife—her honey-brown hair swept off her shoulders in a carefully coiffured mound atop her head. Her ivory evening dress, befitting a thirty-year-old woman, hugged her trim, perfect curves. Too bad her husband had one foot in the grave.

“What fresh hell has brought you here at this time of night, Jacqueline?”

“I realize it is after one in the morning,” she said, “but I have been waiting since nine.”

He had indulged a little too much in the free-flowing champagne at the ball, but the presence of his father’s wife in his study at one forty-five in the morning dictated that he have something stronger than champagne to drink. He crossed to the sideboard where sat half a dozen decanters filled with various liquors, and poured himself a liberal dose of scotch. He put the top back on the decanter, picked up the glass, and turned.

He leaned against the sideboard. “Short of forcibly throwing you out, I suppose I can’t stop you from telling me what the earl wants. Unless, that is, I simply retire to my bedchambers.” Kennedy sipped his scotch and watched her over the edge of the glass. “Would you be bold enough to follow me, if I did?”

“I am here on an errand for your father, nothing more,” she replied.

“Of course. You won’t risk him questioning your faithlessness with his death so close at hand.”

“Really, Kennedy. Must you always be so cruel?”

He gave her a cold smile. “With you, my sweet, I am afraid so. I know I’ll regret asking, but what is so important that you waited nearly five hours to tell me? I know it isn’t that my father is dead, for you would have hazarded the gates of hell to find me, if that were the case.” He took another drink of whisky. The pleasant burn comforted. “Not to mention, you’re not smiling.”

“It really is unkind of you to continue to imply that I will be happy when your father dies.”

“As I said, with you, there is no other way. What do you want?”

She reached into her reticule, withdrew a piece of paper, and looked up at him. “This is from your father.”

He gave a mirthless laugh. “You could’ve left that on my desk. Better yet, you could have sent it by messenger. Why are you here?”

“Since you refuse to see your father, he sent me with this message, and instructed me to wait for a reply.”

Kennedy finished the scotch and turned to refill the glass. “As I have no desire to see my father, what could induce me to read his letter?”

She sighed, then the rustling of a paper followed, and she said, “Kennedy, I imagine you will not deign to touch a paper that I have touched. No matter. If you force Jaqueline to read this, it will be all the worse for you. I am dying. But you know that.”

Kennedy poured a double dose of liquor.

“I have commanded you to marry,” Jacqueline went on, “but you go about your business as if you have no responsibility to me, the title, or our position in society. I believe that you have not married—will not marry—just to spite me. But I cannot allow your vendetta to bring an end to our line. I know threats of cutting you off from my money are meaningless. You would rather live in squalor than do a single thing I ask. Therefore, you leave me no choice.”

Kennedy slowed in sliding the decanter top back on the decanter.

“You will marry within the week” –Kennedy released the decanter top as she finished the sentence— “or I will marry your sister to Lord Granbury ten days from now on her sixteenth birthday.”