Cheryl Bolen - Marriage of Inconvenience

“It won’t always be that way, you know,” he said. “As a man and woman—or husband and wife—grow close to one another, intimacy is as natural as breathing.”

“I do understand that,” she said, her voice soft and devoid of embarrassment. “I read my Bible. A man shall leave his father and mother and cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.” She peered into his eyes. “I’ve seen it with my sister and Warwick and with Lord and Lady Agar. Both couples are deeply in love.”

The curtain went back up over the softened features of her face, and she changed the subject. Without looking at him, she spoke. “Will you answer a question, my lord?”

“Anything.”

“Are you considering marriage with me?”

Being coy was as alien to this young woman as frugality was to the regent.

He had not admitted to anyone—not even to himself—that he was considering marriage to Miss Rebecca Peabody. But she knew. Could she know him better than he knew himself? “I’m considering it,” he said with great honesty. “I must tell you, though, that a marriage without mutual affection and intimacy holds no appeal to me.”

It was a moment before she made a response. “Would you consider marrying me if I promised to be open to that at some time in the future? After a deep bond of friendship had the opportunity to form?”

He felt his chest expanding. Though he’d had no intentions of begging for her hand, such an idea now held appeal. “I would consider it, but I must first tell you some things that might change your mind about wishing to marry me.”

Her brows lowered. “What things?”

“You know I have six sons?”

She nodded. “What are their ages?”

“They range in age from three to nineteen.”

“I assure you I love little boys. In fact, I like them much more than I like girls—owing to the fact they’re all I’ve ever been around.”

Would she still feel that way once she became acquainted with his rambunctious sons? “My sons are really

good lads, but they’re always into mischief. They’ve run off more nurses, governesses and housekeepers than I can count.”

“How do they run them off, my lord?”

He frowned. “The last one left after she found worms in her garment drawer.”

Miss Peabody giggled. “The woman should have locked her chamber door.”

“My sons should not have gone into her room,” he said in a stern voice.

“Were I their mother, I would have to be a firm disciplinarian.”

“Exactly what they need.”

“And I adore worms.”

He burst out laughing. At that very instant he wished to ask her to marry him. Because of the worms. But he couldn’t offer for her until she knew the obstacles that would face her should she become his wife. “In addition to my seven children, I’m also responsible for two other people. I’m guardian to my sister’s son, a wastrel named Peter Wallace who is two and twenty, and I’m responsible for my daft uncle who’s been banished to the dowager’s house.”

Her brows lowered. “Pray, my lord, why did you banish your uncle?”

Aynsley really did not want to tell her. “He has a peculiar habit that is most offensive, especially to females.”

“What habit is that, my lord?”

He swallowed. “He believes he’s a kissing bandit.”

“Do I understand you correctly? He tries to steal kisses from females?”

He nodded ruefully.

She did not say anything for a moment. Then she said, “I sincerely hope his peculiar propensity does not run in your family, my lord.”

He laughed. “I assure you, Miss Peabody, I do not accost women for the purpose of stealing kisses.”

“I’m very glad to hear that.” Her lips pursed, she shook her head. “Has your uncle always done this peculiar thing?”

“No. That did not commence until his eighty-fifth birthday.”

“Oh, I see. His senses are in the same place with his head of dark hair and unlined skin?”

“Regrettably.”

“And now that he’s banished, I suppose he lacks the mobility to bother the females at Dunton Hall?”

“Usually. But he occasionally chases them about the park in his bath chair.”

“The poor old dear.”

“You would not say that were he leaping at you with pursed lips and groping arms.”

“No. I daresay I wouldn’t.” Now she met his gaze. “Is there anything more, my lord? Any skeletons in your closet?”

His gut plummeted. “Yes.” He swallowed.

Her eyes rounded. “Pray, my lord, what odious offense have you committed?”

“I have turned my back on God.”

She did not say anything at all for a full moment. “There is nothing I can do to remedy so great a loss,” she said at last. “Only you can open your soul to receive the Holy Spirit’s grace.”

“I don’t even know if I believe anymore.”

“Then I am very sorry for you.”

They stood there, illuminated by the fire, its heat rushing over them as tensions mounted. Finally, she spoke. “What of your children?”

“They do not attend church, either.”

“I see.” She nibbled at her lower lip. “Would you object if...if the woman you marry encourages your children to embrace God?”

“I would not object.”

Silence filled the room like a heart that no longer beat. For a man as proud as he, it had been difficult not only to have laid before her his faults and his family’s foibles but also to beg her understanding, even her acceptance. That she still stood there querying him bespoke her compassion, a compassion he’d known she possessed in great store.

He had a strong wish to marry this woman and bring her back to Dunton Hall. How could a woman who liked worms not be perfect for his boys? Miss Peabody now knew the worst about him. Would she still consider plighting her life to his?

There was only one way to find out. He must ask her.

Chapter Four

She was prodigiously glad she had worn her spectacles. Otherwise Rebecca would not have been able to observe the profusion of emotions that transformed his lordship’s face. He had gone from amusement, to gravity and now to something altogether perplexing. Contemplation. Nervousness. Anxiety.

Her heartbeat drummed. Was he thinking about asking her to become his wife? His nervousness transferred to her as if by lightning bolt. He drew her hand into his, and she noted the twitch in his lean cheek and the slight descent of his brows as her pulse began to pound.

“I think, my dear Rebecca,” he finally said, “we might just suit.”

Close to an offer of marriage, but not close enough. Surely he was not going to force her into making a second proposal! With a defiant tilt of her chin, she gazed up at him. “I am very much aware of that fact, my lord. Why else would I have risked such humiliation?”

The corners of his mouth lifted as he moved even closer to her and murmured, “You did not humiliate yourself. Do you have any idea how magnificent you were that day?”

Magnificent? She was astonished that he could have thought her so. She wished to protest, to remind him of how rudely he had met her proposal, but the moment demanded soft words. It suddenly became clear to her that while he had initially balked at her offer, she must have made a profound impression upon him. “If you believe that, my lord, I believe you’ve been unable to purge me from your thoughts.”

“How well you know me, Rebecca.” His voice was low and gentle. And he did not seem so very old. Even if he was three and forty.

They stood facing one another, hot and flushed from the fire, the reflection of flames flickering in his green eyes. He was possessed of such a very fine face, it was a wonder she had failed to observe that fact when she had met him two years previously. Though too lean to emanate ruggedness, his face of smooth planes, high cheekbones and aquiline nose exuded a restrained power that was softened by his curved mouth and gentle, mossy eyes.