did. I have no intention of giving up my vices for marriage. But it is of no consequence to me who fathers the brat that will provide me the freedom from my grandfather's tyranny that I desire."
"But ..."
He shifted restlessly, turning away to stir the fire so that she could not see his face. "Those are my terms. Make no mistake. I need a wife, but I will not have one who does not understand what I offer. You — and any child you bear — will have my title, my name, and my protection, such as it is. But do not expect my company, my love, or my reform."
He turned back to her, his expression as revealing as if he were a stone. "Do you accept those terms?"
She wanted to refuse. Her instincts screamed that she was making a mistake she would live to regret. Not because he would humiliate her or call her child a bastard. No. She was certain he had told the truth in that.
What made her heart heavy was the ease with which he could speak of bastards and lovers. The ease with which he accepted her as a substitute for Ros. And most of all, the way her heart still beat fast at the thought of marrying the wicked earl, even though she knew he would break her heart if she were ever fool enough to give it to him.
After a few moments mastering her temper, she dropped her gaze to the carpet and said quietly, "I accept those terms, my lord."
"Excellent." Rand found himself slowly releasing his breath. Now, if only he could keep his skittish second best bride from running away, all would be well. "I will see you home, now."
"I can see myself home, my lord." Her expression suggested that he had offered to throw her to the floor and ravish her.
"I would rather not risk it, if you please." He closed his eyes and sighed at the thought of surviving the next two weeks.
* * * * *
Rand had hardly returned from seeing the very unmasculine Helena home when he found himself again with a visitor. This time he made certain the "gentleman" was Ros before he welcomed her. "I thought you might be home bracing your sister."
"What did you say to her?" Ros did not waste time with pleasantries. "She looks as though she has just agreed to marry the devil himself?"
"Hasn't she?"
Ros stared at him. "I won't have her hurt."
"Then you should not have convinced her to marry a man who will not care who fathers her children."
"Oh." She poured herself a generous helping of his brandy and sprawled easily across from him. "She will come to appreciate having her freedom. So, you are both agreed?"
"Yes. I'll apply for the license tomorrow. I suppose I should speak to the duke, as well."
"No." Ros shook her head.
"We must—"
"Let them enjoy themselves thinking that the family has pulled off a less-than-scandalous match for once. Time enough to tell them after the marriage."
"Surely—" He did not like deceiving the duke.
"Do you wish to risk them forbidding it?"
He subsided. She was right. The duke was one of the most upright figures in the whole of England. His wife was fond of fairytales. Either one could prevent the marriage — or convince Helena to rethink her bargain. "Will your sister change her mind?"
"A dozen times until her wedding day, no doubt."
"Will I be jilted again?"
As usual, Ros did not go out of her way to offer reassurance. "She is as desperate as you are. Will you change your mind at the last minute?"
"No."
Ros's eyes trained on him sharply at his quick answer. He wondered if she guessed at his reaction to her sister. He thought of the unsettling strength of his desire for Helena as she stood, tense and stiff behind the sofa, grinding herself against him with all the seductive skill of a skittish virgin.
Her neck had smelled sweet and warm, like a hot cross bun fresh from the oven. He had not known how to begin with her. Not until she pushed her bottom against him and he understood with a flash of desire that was quickly wiped away by a firestorm of fury. Her lover had treated her with none of the care she had deserved. He
"But ..."
He shifted restlessly, turning away to stir the fire so that she could not see his face. "Those are my terms. Make no mistake. I need a wife, but I will not have one who does not understand what I offer. You — and any child you bear — will have my title, my name, and my protection, such as it is. But do not expect my company, my love, or my reform."
He turned back to her, his expression as revealing as if he were a stone. "Do you accept those terms?"
She wanted to refuse. Her instincts screamed that she was making a mistake she would live to regret. Not because he would humiliate her or call her child a bastard. No. She was certain he had told the truth in that.
What made her heart heavy was the ease with which he could speak of bastards and lovers. The ease with which he accepted her as a substitute for Ros. And most of all, the way her heart still beat fast at the thought of marrying the wicked earl, even though she knew he would break her heart if she were ever fool enough to give it to him.
After a few moments mastering her temper, she dropped her gaze to the carpet and said quietly, "I accept those terms, my lord."
"Excellent." Rand found himself slowly releasing his breath. Now, if only he could keep his skittish second best bride from running away, all would be well. "I will see you home, now."
"I can see myself home, my lord." Her expression suggested that he had offered to throw her to the floor and ravish her.
"I would rather not risk it, if you please." He closed his eyes and sighed at the thought of surviving the next two weeks.
* * * * *
Rand had hardly returned from seeing the very unmasculine Helena home when he found himself again with a visitor. This time he made certain the "gentleman" was Ros before he welcomed her. "I thought you might be home bracing your sister."
"What did you say to her?" Ros did not waste time with pleasantries. "She looks as though she has just agreed to marry the devil himself?"
"Hasn't she?"
Ros stared at him. "I won't have her hurt."
"Then you should not have convinced her to marry a man who will not care who fathers her children."
"Oh." She poured herself a generous helping of his brandy and sprawled easily across from him. "She will come to appreciate having her freedom. So, you are both agreed?"
"Yes. I'll apply for the license tomorrow. I suppose I should speak to the duke, as well."
"No." Ros shook her head.
"We must—"
"Let them enjoy themselves thinking that the family has pulled off a less-than-scandalous match for once. Time enough to tell them after the marriage."
"Surely—" He did not like deceiving the duke.
"Do you wish to risk them forbidding it?"
He subsided. She was right. The duke was one of the most upright figures in the whole of England. His wife was fond of fairytales. Either one could prevent the marriage — or convince Helena to rethink her bargain. "Will your sister change her mind?"
"A dozen times until her wedding day, no doubt."
"Will I be jilted again?"
As usual, Ros did not go out of her way to offer reassurance. "She is as desperate as you are. Will you change your mind at the last minute?"
"No."
Ros's eyes trained on him sharply at his quick answer. He wondered if she guessed at his reaction to her sister. He thought of the unsettling strength of his desire for Helena as she stood, tense and stiff behind the sofa, grinding herself against him with all the seductive skill of a skittish virgin.
Her neck had smelled sweet and warm, like a hot cross bun fresh from the oven. He had not known how to begin with her. Not until she pushed her bottom against him and he understood with a flash of desire that was quickly wiped away by a firestorm of fury. Her lover had treated her with none of the care she had deserved. He
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