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St. Clare relaxed, lounging in his chair. The picture of boredom. He took another sip of whisky. The familiar burn of spirits giving him comfort.
“But until I turn five and twenty, I do not have access to any part of my inheritance. The only other way to get to it is for me to get married.”
“What do I have to do with any of that?” He took another sip, getting more bored by the moment. He studied her lips while she spoke. A lush, pretty mouth. He knew of more pleasurable ways he could use that mouth rather than talking.
She smiled then, and he caught his breath. Such a beautiful curve of lips she had. He would enjoy watching those lips close on his—
“I came to propose marriage.”
Gabriel choked on his sip of whisky. “You what?” he asked hoarsely, in-between fits of coughs.
“Marriage,” she answered without blinking an eye. “It would be a marriage of convenience, naturally.”
“Naturally.” He stared at her in disbelief.
“Just listen, please.” It didn’t sound like a plea, more like a command. She raised her right hand, thrusting an elegant index finger up in the air. “First, since your preferred lifestyle of debauchery was ruined because you tried to help me, I know you would like to get it back. As my husband, you will be free to use all the capital I own and get back to the lifestyle you so much love. Second”—her middle finger joined her first one—“I have a few lands, including my favorite mansion in Sussex, which means I shall not get in the way of said lifestyle. Third”—she whipped up her forefinger to join the fore—“being married will grant you a reprieve from the ladies who ever wanted to ensnare you for themselves. And as an added boon, being married to a duchess will get you back in the good graces of society.”
“If I wanted to get married, do you think I’d still be sitting here?” He gestured to the bare walls of his townhouse. Evie didn’t follow his gesture with her gaze. She just stared at him intently.
“All the other women would want something from you. Fidelity, loyalty, love.”
“Exclusive access to my bedroom.”
“Right, I want none of that.”
Gabriel fought not to feel offended. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “And what do you get out of it, pray tell?”
“Independence,” she answered evenly. “You promise to stay out of my life, let me live the way I want, do with my part of the inheritance, my lands whatever I want, and I shall do the same.”
“That’s it?” he asked skeptically. “We get married. I get part of your generous inheritance, you retreat to Sussex or one of your other six estates, and we never see each other again?”
At Evie’s nod, his eyes narrowed in mistrust. “What’s the catch?”
“There is no catch.” She licked her lips nervously, drawing his already restless eyes to them.
His gaze traveled lower to the delicate length of her neck, to the masculine garment hiding her feminine delights. He raised his eyes back to her lips.
“Will we be having marital relations?” he asked in a husky voice. “Because if so—”
“No,” she answered a little too swiftly, cutting him off. He noticed her breathing quickened, too.
“No,” he repeated thoughtfully and met her gaze. “So you want a mariage blanc? What about an heir?”
Evie looked away. “I shall not be”—she waved her hand toward the bedroom—“doing that with you.”
“But you mean to have children, yes?” He scoffed. “How very entertaining. So, you mean to drop a cuckoo in my nest?”
“No,” she said after taking a long breath. “I do not plan on having children.”
Her answer placated him somewhat. He settled back in his seat and studied her carefully. She fidgeted in her seat.
“Why the haste? You are what? Three and twenty?”
“Four and twenty.”
“Then you have less than a year to get your hands on your rightful inheritance. Why not wait?”
“The reasons are my own. But if you must know, I want to get my hands on my inheritance before my guardian squanders it away. And before he forcefully marries me to someone else.” She paused. “Someone worse.”
