Page 6

What if he could buy her? The idea sent lightness through his entire body. If he returned to London with her and told Mama and everyone in the ton that they were already married, he wouldn’t have to marry Isabella.

He’d have control over his life. He’d have the final say over what he could do.

Not his mother. Not the Earl and Countess of Whitemouth, and not the swarms marriage-mart mamas swarming over him like wasps.

This woman was a farmer. She didn’t know the ton. She wouldn’t bother him. He’d come to an easy agreement with her. She’d enjoy being a duchess—the security, the money, the clothes. She wouldn’t need to work another day in her life.

This would be a scandal, no doubt. But she wouldn’t care about the opinion of a bunch of London snobs. She’d be living in Mayfair. She’d have a cook, a butler, footmen, and a lady’s maid. She’d have gowns made by the best modiste in town.

And he couldn’t care less what London thought. Actually, he’d enjoy rubbing it in their faces. A duke married a farmer’s wife, rejecting all the eligible noble ladies. His muscles quivered with a hot elation. He felt awake, light, and young.

Was this what freedom felt like?

He’d be able to keep living his life the way he wanted. No one would bother him about marriage anymore.

“Yes!” he called out loudly, and a surprised mutter went through the crowd. “I do want to buy her.”

He turned to the farmer, whose amused smile was completely washed from his face. In fact, he stared at Sebastian with concern.

“Fifteen hundred pounds,” Sebastian said to him, and a loud gasp went through the market square.

The farmer blinked, no doubt in shock. Sebastian’s bid equaled the average yearly income of a landed gentleman.

Someone clasped Sebastian’s shoulder. “What the devil are you doing?” Preston growled into his ear. “You cannot make a jest out of this.”

“I am quite serious,” said Sebastian.

Lightness swirled in his stomach, making him feel weightless. The woman breathed hard. The mask of a stoic beauty fell off, and she looked both surprised and hopeful.

The farmer didn’t reply for a while, then he turned to her. “For that amount of money, I don’t care if you get sold to the devil himself. I say yes!”

Sebastian nodded. Now the woman still needed to agree.

He stared at her. The whole square did. It was so quiet, he could hear his own pulse drumming in his ears. A chicken squawked and a sheep bleated.

The woman’s green eyes never left his. He felt like he was made of wax and the sun shone straight at him, heating him from inside, making his muscles melt and droop.

He found himself wishing she said yes. He liked the idea of taking her by the hand, leading her to his carriage, and shoving her into his mama’s face.

Moments ticked by, and she didn’t move. It seemed she didn’t even breathe.

She’d say no. Of course she’d say no. She wouldn’t leave with a stranger who bought her.

Would she?

A year must have passed before she finally opened her mouth.

In her sweet, melodic voice, she said a single word: “Yes.”

And how three letters would make something burst with an odd sort of joy in his body, he didn’t know.

3

The most gorgeous man Emma had ever seen removed the noose from her neck. His fingers brushed her skin briefly as he did, sending a thrill through her. The scratchy, itchy hell that had rubbed her neck for hours was finally gone and the air was a blessed relief on her skin.

The voices, laughing, birdsong, and animal sounds in the market square became a muffled, gurgling river of sound around her. She stood in front of someone she could describe only as her savior, and even through the stench of her clothes, she could smell him—a good soap and the scent of shaving foam.

He’d saved her, not only from those men insulting her like she was a common whore, but also from Sir Jasper. That must be why she’d said yes.