Stephanie Laurens - Rules of Engagement - The Reasons for Marriage

“Indeed?” The face she turned to him was utterly innocent. “Do you attend the opera, then? Or perhaps the theatre is more to your taste?”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. It was on the tip of his tongue to retort that he had, at various times, found elements of interest at both the opera and theatre. Only a firm resolution to remain steadfastly correct in his dealings with his prospective bride kept him from calling her bluff. “I attend both, on occasion.”

“Have you seen Keane?” Lenore felt a peculiar thrill at having tempted the wolf and survived.

“Several times. He’s an excellent actor provided the part has scope for his talents.”

A discussion of the various theatres and the style of plays produced ensued, followed by a ruthlessly pointed examination of that other source of ton -ish entertainment, the Prince Regent.

“A keen mind utterly wasted,” was Jason’s scathing conclusion.

“Particularly given the opportunities he must have had.” Considering the facilities available to the Prince Regent. Lenore sighed. “Just being so close to all the bookshops would in itself be a boon to any scholar. I’d dearly love to have Hatchards within reach.”

Her pensive comment drew a searching glance from Jason. He had been patiently awaiting the right moment to introduce the topic of marriage, content to spend some time in idle chatter while she overcame her natural hesitancy. Stretching his long legs before him, he crossed his booted ankles, turning slightly so that he could keep her face in view. “Tell me, my dear, if you could design your own Utopia, what would you place within it?”

The unexpected question had Lenore turning to study his face, but she could see nothing beyond encouragement in his eyes. A strange recklessness had her in its grip; she felt no reticence in his presence and marvelled at the fact. It was a heady sort of freedom, knowing she was safe. Head on one side, she considered. “Gardens, certainly. Large gardens, like these.” With a wave of her hand, she indicated their surroundings. “So soothing to have a large garden to wander in. Tell me, Your Grace, do you wander your gardens frequently?”

Jason returned her smile. “I rarely need soothing. However,” he continued, “the gardens at the Abbey are similar to these, though not, I’m sorry to say, in such perfect state.”

“Your wife, no doubt, will remedy that.” Lenore shifted her gaze to the pool.

“So I sincerely hope,” Jason returned. “So, a garden and the staff to tend it. What else?”

“A house, of course. In the country.”

“Naturally. Sufficiently large and appropriately staffed. What of town?”

Lenore grimaced. “I admit that I’m curious to visit London, but the idea of living there does not entice.”

“Why not?”

“I hesitate to admit to such an unfashionable attitude but the thought of having to suffer society at large, as would be unavoidable should I take up residence in the capital, dissuades me from doing so.”

“I protest you do society a grave injustice, my dear. We’re not all fribbles and fops.”

“But this is my Utopia, remember?”

“Just so. So what else takes your fancy?”

“Well,” Lenore temporised, caught up in this strange game, “I enjoy acting as hostess at large gatherings—not much use having a large house and well-trained staff if one does not use them, after all.”

“Very true,” Jason agreed.

“I also enjoy my work among the folk on the estate. However, if this be Utopia, then I would rather not be in charge of the steward and bailiff.”

Jason merely nodded, foreseeing no problem there. The reins of his numerous estates were firmly in his grasp; he needed no help on that front. Remembering her studies, he asked, “What of entertainment? What features most in that sphere?”

“My library. I couldn’t live without my books.”

“The Abbey has an extensive library. My father was an invalid for some time and took delight in restocking it to the hilt.”

“Really?”

It was plain to the meanest intelligence that, of all the subjects they had touched upon, this was the one nearest her heart. Jason looked down into her green eyes and smiled. “There’s a huge range of classics as well as many newer volumes.”

“Have you had it catalogued?”

“Unfortunately not. My father died before he was able to attend to the matter.”

The realisation that she would never see his library dimmed Lenore’s excitement. “You should have it done,” she told him, looking forward once more.

When she remained silent, Jason prompted, “You haven’t mentioned people in this Utopia of yours—a husband and children to make your house a home?”

The question shook Lenore. From any other man she would have imagined the query to stem from mere supposition. But Eversleigh knew her mind on that subject. “I see no reason to complicate my life with a husband, Your Grace.”

“You’re an intelligent woman, Lenore. If a man were able to offer you all your heart desires, would you still not allow a husband into your life?”

Slowly, her heart thudding uncomfortably, Lenore turned to face him. A strange fear had seized her throat, making it difficult to breathe. “Why do you ask, Your Grace?” He was still sitting at his ease beside her, his large frame relaxed, one arm stretched along the back of the wrought-iron seat. But the expression in his grey eyes, the unshakeable, implacable determination of a hunter, sent an unnerving combination of fear and yearning spiralling through her.

“I should have thought that was obvious, my dear.” Jason held her gaze. “You have, no doubt, heard rumours that I intended to wed?”

“I never listen to gossip, Your Grace,” Lenore said, frantic to deny the scarifying possibility that, moment by moment, gained greater substance.

Exasperation glowed briefly in Jason’s eyes. “Just so that you may be assured on the subject, the rumours are correct.”

“Everyone’s expecting you to marry a débutante—a diamond of the first water.” Lenore rushed the words out despite the breathlessness that assailed her. Her mind was reeling in sheer fright at the vision forming with dreadful clarity in her brain.

A supercilious expression infused Jason’s features. “Do I strike you as the sort of man who would marry a witless widgeon?”

Lenore forced herself to look at him with some vestige of her customary composure. “No. But I expect not all diamonds of the first water are widgeons, Your Grace.” Pressing her hands tightly together in her lap, she desperately sought for a way to hijack the conversation. But her wits had seized, frozen into immobility by what she could see inexorably approaching.

Jason inclined his head. “That’s as may be, but I’ve seen too much of overt beauty not to know its real value.” Deliberately, he let his gaze skim her figure as she sat rigidly erect, on the edge of the seat. His voice deepened. “As I said before, you have a very limited understanding of what excites a gentleman’s interest, Lenore.”

He sensed rather than saw her quiver. Swiftly he moved from that topic. “You have told me what you desire from life, what you consider important. I’m willing and able to provide all that you’ve named, in return for your hand in marriage.”

“And all that that entails.” Inwardly aghast, her face registering blank dismay, Lenore pronounced the words as a sentence.

Jason frowned, his gaze fixed on her face. “It entails nothing beyond what you might expect. As we both know, you do not find my company insupportable.” He hesitated, then added more gently, “I believe we will deal very well together, Lenore.”

Giddiness seized Lenore. His version of her fate was clearly stated in the grey eyes so ruthlessly holding hers. Realisation of the danger she faced, and of how far she had already travelled down the road she had promised herself never to tread, swamped her. Her face drained of all colour. “No,” she said, and felt herself start to shake. “I cannot marry you, Your Grace.”