Stephanie Laurens - Rules of Engagement - The Reasons for Marriage

“Why?” Jason uttered the question quietly but compellingly. His eyes narrowed. “And why invite me here if not to discuss that very subject?”

Desperate, Lenore retorted, “I did not invite you here.”

The long look she received in reply shook her to the core.

Quietly, Jason said, “I suggest, my dear, you take a different tack.”

Dragging in a shaky breath, Lenore stated, “Your Grace, I’m greatly honoured that you should consider me as your bride. However, I’m convinced I am unsuited to marriage.”

“Why?”

The question had lost nothing of its force in being repeated. Lenore took refuge in remoteness. “That, I fear, is none of your business.”

“I’m afraid, my dear, that I disagree.” Jason heard his voice gaining in strength, in merciless incisiveness. “In the circumstances, I feel I deserve more than inclination as an excuse. We’re both intelligent adults. Despite your aloofness from it, you understand our world as well as I.”

Temper, belatedly, came to Lenore’s rescue, lending her the strength to defy him. How dared he insist she accede to a loveless marriage simply because it was the way of the world? Her green gaze hardened, gold glints appearing in the clear depths. Her lips firmed into a stubborn line. “Permit me to inform you, Your Grace, that you are undoubtedly the most conceited, arrogant, overbearing male it has ever been my misfortune to meet.” The combination of panic and fury was distinctly unsettling yet Lenore knew no other emotion would serve her now. Imperiously, she rose to her feet, drawing herself up, daring, even now, to meet his silver gaze. “I do not wish to marry. That, for most gentlemen, would be reason enough. Regardless of your thoughts upon the matter, I do not need to explain myself to you.”

Jason shifted, his shoulders coming away from the back of the seat, his ankles uncrossing.

Abruptly, Lenore’s fury deserted her. Eyes wide, she dropped her defiant stance, taking a rapid step back, panic well to the fore. Her gaze was still locked with his. Nothing she saw in the silver-grey encouraged any belief that she had won her point. With a desperate effort, she dragged in enough breath to say, “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I’ve many important tasks to which I must attend.”

Snatching up her basket, she ignominiously fled.

Exasperated, his own eyes narrowed with annoyance, Jason let her go, scowling at the gap in the hedges through which she disappeared. He was, he hoped, too wise to press her now. She could have a few hours to think things through, to tame her wilful ways and acknowledge the appropriateness of his offer. If she didn’t, he would do it for her.

To his eyes, the matter was plain. There was, he was now sure, no rational motive behind her wish to remain unwed. Instead, it appeared that his bride-to-be had been allowed to go her independent way for too long. Independence was all very well but in a woman, in their world, there were limits. She had reached them and now looked set on overstepping them. She needed a strong hand to guide her back to acceptable paths. And, as her father and brothers had proved too weak to carry out that charge, it clearly fell to him to accomplish the task.

Abruptly standing, his expression hard and unyielding, Jason stalked back towards the house.

If he was going to dance to society’s tune, it would damned well be with Lenore Lester in his arms.

No ONE, Lenore was determined, would know that anything was amiss. She entered the drawing-room that evening, a serene smile on her lips, her calm and gracious façade firmly in place. Beneath that mask, dread anticipation walked her nerves. A quick glance about the room confirmed the signal of her senses: Eversleigh was not there. A flicker of relief fed a hope that, perhaps, he had already taken his leave. Lenore squashed the thought. Eversleigh had not accepted her refusal. He would come at her again, nothing was more certain.

Laughing and chatting with the guests occupied no more than half her mind. The rest was a seething cauldron, feeding her tensions, tying her stomach in knots. In the end it was almost a relief to see him enter, just ahead of Smithers. His eyes scanned the room, fixing on her. Lenore stopped breathing. Calmly, he crossed the room, pausing by her side, elegantly offering his arm with a bland, “Miss Lester.”

With a cool nod, Lenore placed her hand on his sleeve, subduing by main force the tremor in her fingers. She kept her head high but her lids lowered, unwilling to risk his gaze. As they started for the door, she glanced briefly at his face. No expression lightened his harsh features; the granite planes of cheek and brow gave no hint of any emotion. Nevertheless, that single glance assured her that His Grace of Eversleigh was dangerously intent.

A shiver of apprehension ran through her. She suppressed it, steeling herself for the ordeal she was sure dinner would prove to be.

Beside her, Jason felt the tremor that ran through her. Consciously he tightened his grip on his temper, tried further than it had been in years by the woman gliding elegantly by his side. Despite her peculiar gowns, this evening’s a creation in dun-coloured silk, she possessed the power to sway his senses simply by walking beside him. His inclination was to engage her in the most pointedly difficult conversation of her life. He resisted the temptation, knowing she was on edge. His forbearance, entirely out of character, amazed him but he shied away from examining his motives. Time enough for that once he had got her agreement to wed.

Throughout the first course, Lenore was both subdued and unusually nervous as she waited for the axe to fall. Eversleigh, seated on her right, was too large a figure to ignore. But when, in the general conversation, he allowed a comment on marriage to pass untouched, she risked a puzzled glance at him. His eyes met hers. His face was still impassive; Lenore inwardly quaked. Then he asked her a question. Hesitantly, aware of the ears about them, she forced herself to answer. Before she knew what was happening, they were having a conversation of sorts, he asking innocuous questions, she responding. The exchange was stilted, Lenore could not conquer her trepidation, but, to the company at large, all appeared normal.

Lenore led the way from the drawing-room, grateful for the respite even if it was temporary. Eversleigh, for whatever reason, had held off throughout dinner. She held no illusions that he would allow the entire evening to lapse without speaking to her again. Luckily, the consensus had called for a repeat of the dancing held earlier in the week. Thanks to Eversleigh, she would be too busy to spare more than a dance for him. And she had her own plans for surviving that ordeal.

The gentlemen wasted no time over their port. They joined the ladies just as the musicians started up. As Lenore had foreseen, she was promptly solicited for the first dance, this time by Lord Percy.

“Must congratulate you, Miss Lester,” his lordship stated, barely able to turn his chin past his collars and the folds of his enormous cravat. “This week’s been a great success. A formidable success, yes, indeed!”

Lenore murmured an acknowledgement, her senses focused on Eversleigh. He had entered at the rear of the gentlemen, accompanying Harry. As Harry moved away to claim a partner, Eversleigh paused by the side of the room, scanning the dancers.

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