The Husband List Read online

  “Painting? Why on earth would you think that?” He shrugged. “A passing thought, given much of the discussion here tonight, nothing more. Please, go on.”

  “My proposal is of a more personal nature.”

  “Indeed?” He straightened, and the movement brought his body to within a bare few inches of her own. Her heart thudded. His voice was low and colored with a meaning she did not care to examine. “I must admit, I am intrigued. Precisely how personal?”

  “Extremely personal.” An immediate need to place distance between them gripped her, and she stepped across the threshold and into the house. “But this is not the moment to discuss it. I have already left my guests unattended for far too long. If you would be so kind as to remain later, after the others have left.”

  “As you wish.” His voice was noncommittal.

  “Later, then.”

  She nodded and turned to walk briskly down the hall. She could feel his gaze following her. Observing her. Thoughtful and curious. From his angle he couldn’t possibly notice a slight tremble in her hands or the flush that once again heated her face or the butterflies cavorting in her stomach.

  Anticipation mingled with dread and washed through her. She at once wanted to avoid their meeting, yet knew the remaining hour or so until then would last a lifetime.

  Appropriate enough, since it was indeed the remainder of a lifetime in the balance.

  “Do you really like it?” Richard said over his shoulder.

  He had heard Lady Gillian enter the room behind him after bidding good night to the last of her guests. Guests who had seemed to linger for an eternity. Throughout the interminably long evening he’d been hard-pressed to hide his growing impatience. What did the woman want from him?

  “Yes, I do.” She stepped to his side, tilted her head, and studied the painting. The tension he’d noticed in her during their brief encounter earlier had vanished, and she now seemed relaxed and at ease. “Quite a lot.” “You say your brother sent this to you?”

  “Yes. It was something of a surprise. Thomas and I have never been particularly close. Older brothers being groomed to inherit the title and responsibilities of a duke do not have a great deal of time for younger sisters. Yet we are fond of one another.” She considered him the same way she had just regarded the painting. “I believe you know him, don’t you?”

  “We were in school together,” he said as if it was of no significance. In fact, at this moment, he wasn’t entirely certain if he wished to thrash the future Duke of Roxborough or embrace him. He forced a casual note to his voice. “Do you know the artist?”

  “Not personally, although I have been hearing a great deal about him lately. Apparently, he is as accomplished with the ladies as he is with a brush. He’s French, you know.”

  “Is he?”

  “Have you heard of him? His name is Etienne-Louis Toussaint.”

  “Rather a mouthful,” he murmured.

  “Rather. I should like to invite him here, but he is apparently quite reclusive.” A slight smile quirked the corners of her lips. “In spite of his rakish reputation, I have yet to encounter anyone who has actually met the man in person.”

  “Not even Lady Forester?”

  “Not even Lady Forester.” Gillian laughed, a delightful sound that echoed through his blood.

  “Why, my lord, you’re actually smiling.”

  “Am I?” He widened his eyes in mock surprise.

  “How could that have happened? I must have lost my head for a moment. I shall have to take care it does not happen again.”

  “I’ve never noticed you smile before.” He raised a brow. “I was not aware you had noticed me at all.”

  A charming flush colored her cheeks, but she ignored his comment, staring at him with amused suspicion. “Lady Forester thinks you’re quite mysterious. She suspects you have some deep, dark secret.”

  “Then I shall do my best not to disappoint her. Besides, I much prefer the illusion of a mysterious keeper of deep, dark secrets than the all too boring truth of my circumstances in life.” He turned back to the painting. “Now, the artist who created this obviously has secrets. No doubt all of them deep and dark.”

  “No doubt.” She examined the work with the critical air of one who knows good art from bad, and he observed her out of the corner of his eye. “There is a great deal of passion here. Unbridled. A passion born from a love of life. It’s extremely compelling. Almost irresistible. I suspect he has quite a future ahead of him.”

  “Do you?”

  She nodded thoughtfully. She was barely half a head shorter than he, her figure a bit more voluptuous than he’d thought, but then he hadn’t been this close to her in years. Not since before her marriage, and then she was a mere girl fresh from the schoolroom.

  The woman now beside him was lovely in the fair-haired, creamy-skinned tradition of classic English beauty, with an intelligence that only enhanced her appearance. This was a woman to fulfill the fantasies of any man. Even a man with deep, dark secrets.

  “I liked what you said about it. About the soul of God.”

  He raised a shoulder in an offhand manner. “I don’t know a great deal about art.”

  “Yet you are extremely perceptive.”

  “Not at all. For example, I don’t have so much as an inkling of what your business proposition en-tails.”

  At once her casual air vanished. She raised her chin and stared into his eyes. He sensed a determination in her even as she appeared to gather her courage.

  She drew a deep breath, the blurted out her request. “I need a husband. I must wed within the next two months.” Her voice was resolute, her gaze steady. “I think you will fill the position nicely.” Shock held him still and stole his voice. For a long moment he could do nothing but stare in disbelief. “You wish to marry me? Me?”

  “Yes, I do,” she said, her voice a shade less adamant than before. Again, she seemed to summon strength.

  “My lord, would you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

  Chapter 2

  “Your husband?”

  Without warning, the absurdity of her request struck him, and he laughed long and hard.

  “This is not funny,” she said indignantly. “I expected any number of possible reactions to my request, my lord, but laughter was not among them.”

  “Richard.” He sniffed and wiped a tear from his eye.

  “Richard?”

  It’s my name. You should call the man you intend to marry by his given name.” The very idea of this eminently desirable woman proposing to him … he struggled to contain himself against a fresh wave of mirth.

  “I wish you would stop that. I am quite serious. And I must say, this is all rather disquieting. First a smile and now a laugh? From a man who has never been observed to do either?”

  “I neither laugh nor smile, at least not in public, because I do not wish to become the target of any number of women who are more than willing to disregard the state of my finances in exchange for my title. In addition, I’m not completely unattractive, and I learned long ago that that alone is enough to attract the unwanted attentions of marriage-minded females.” He chuckled and shook his head. “You, however, are obviously made of sterner stuff. I find your courage quite intriguing—”

  Well, I don’t—”

  As well as your blunt nature. None of that coy, flirtatious banter for you. No, it’s straight to the point. I can do no less.” He stepped toward her, unable to stifle a grin. “What was it that attracted you, Gillian?”

  “Lady Gillian.” Her eyes widened, and she stepped backwards.

  “Gillian,” he said firmly. “Formality will not do with my betrothed.”

  “I am not yet—”

  “But you wish to be.” Again he moved closer. “Was it my brooding, aloof manner?”

  “You don’t seem particularly aloof now,” she said cautiously and once more backed away.

  “I’m not and never have been. Lady Forester was right—I
do have deep, dark secrets.” He narrowed the space between them. She tried to step back, but a sofa blocked her retreat. “My demeanor in public is one of them.”

  “That isn’t why—”

  “Then what is it, Gillian?” He stood close enough to touch her, her body within a hairsbreadth of his own. His voice softened. “Why me?”

  She stared up at him, a stunned look in her eyes, blue and bright as no sky an artist could ever capture on canvas. At once he knew, regardless of her reasons, he was not at all adverse to having her as his wife. Or anything else. “I …”

  It was more a sigh than a word. For a long moment his gaze held hers. Without warning, he wanted to pull her into his arms, press his lips to hers. Electricity arched between them and … what? Desire?

  “No!” She pushed past him and fled to the other side of the room. “There will be none of that!”

  “None of what?” He exhaled a long breath.

  “You know perfectly well what.” She aimed an accusing finger at him. “That!”

  “I didn’t do a thing.”

  “But you wanted to!”

  “Did I? Are you certain?”

  She paused and considered him, then nodded. “Yes.”

  Apparently, you too are quite observant.” He folded his arms over his chest. “It will be bloody difficult to have a marriage with none of that.”

  “It will not be that kind of marriage.” She mirrored his stance with her own and glared.

  “What precisely do you mean by that kind of marriage?”

  “You know perfectly well what I mean. We will each continue to live our separate lives,” she said loftily. “It will be a marriage in name only.”

  He snorted in disbelief. “Not with me it won’t.”

  “But you are the only suitable candidate on the list.”

  “What list?”

  “The list of possible husbands.” An uneasy expression crossed her face as if she suddenly comprehended the unflattering nature of her admission.

  “You have a list? A list?”

  “You come very highly recommended,” she said weakly.

  “Bloody hell.” He strode across the room to the table still bearing refreshments, poured a glass of wine, and downed it in one swallow. All sense of amusement had vanished. By God, the woman was serious. Worse, she apparently aimed to select a new husband the same way she’d pick a dressmaker or milliner.

  “I have brandy if you’d prefer something more substantial,” she said helpfully.

  He ignored her. “And what propelled me to the top of this list? I assume I am at the top?”

  “Of course you’re at the top.”

  “Why?” He eyed her cautiously.

  “Well …” She glanced around the room as if to find the answer lurking in the shadows. “Everything I know about you indicates you’re an honorable man with a strong character and sense of responsibility and honor and …”

  “And what?”

  She smiled apologetically, and her gaze met his. “And you need money.”

  “Go on.”

  I am the beneficiary of a substantial inheritance. “But to receive it, I must be married by my thirtieth birthday.”

  “In two months’ time?”

  She nodded.

  Suspicion narrowed his eyes. “How substantial?”

  “Very.” She stepped to him, took his empty glass from his hand, and moved to a cabinet, opening a door and selecting a decanter of brandy. “It’s from a distant relative in America. It includes ships—”

  “How many ships?”

  Eight, I think, more or less.” She pulled the stopper from the decanter and filled the glass. “Plus there’s a great deal of land, in America of course.” She replaced the stopper. “And there is a fair amount of cash.” She turned and held the glass out to him.

  “How much cash?”

  “Six hundred thousand pounds.” She took a quick sip of the brandy, as if she needed its bracing effect.

  “Six hundred thousand …” He stepped to her, plucked the glass from her hand, and drew a long, deep swallow. Even the burn of the best brandy he’d had in some time failed to temper the shock of her words. “Six hundred thousand …”

  “Pounds.” A tempting note sounded in her voice, as if she were offering a sweet to a small child or a rope to a drowning man. “And, as my husband, half of it would be yours.”

  “Under the laws of England, all of it will be mine,” he said pointedly.

  She shook her head. “Not under my terms. First of all, I am willing to divide the inheritance in half legally and have papers drawn up to that effect.”

  “So.” He chose his words with care. “You propose to buy a husband.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way at all.” She huffed. “The benefits are not exactly one-sided. You will gain a great deal from this arrangement. The funding to improve your estates. Impressive dowries for your sisters. The Earl of Shelbrooke will once again take his proper place in society.”

  Richard stared at the brandy in his glass. There was so much more to it than that. “To what end?”

  “What do you mean?”

  His gaze caught hers. “Why do you think a man wishes to restore his property? Regain his good name?”

  Confusion shone in her eyes. “Why, I—”

  “He does it so that he has more to pass on to his children, to his heirs, than bad debts and a tarnished reputation. Under the terms of this marriage, there will be no children.” He shook his head and went on.

  “I had always planned on marrying some day. I have simply not had the time nor the means to devote to the search for a suitable wife. If I agree to this proposal, you are purchasing not merely a husband but a life and a future. My life and my future.” He drained the last of the brandy and set the glass on the table with a deliberate motion. “Under such constraints, I must respectfully decline your offer.”

  He nodded, turned, and started toward the door.

  “Wait.” Desperation sounded in her voice, and he paused. “You must understand. I loved my husband dearly. I have always vowed I would not marry again without love.”

  He waited in silence.

  “But I don’t have time to fall in love. I don’t know if I could. I don’t know if I want to.”

  “I can’t agree to the kind of marriage you want, Gillian.”

  “I know many people marry for reasons other than love and,” her voice faltered, “have children and are happy together. Perhaps, if you would agree to an engagement, for the next two months …”

  “And then?”

  “And then … as we get to know one another … possibly affection …”

  He turned and considered her carefully. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one with deep, dark secrets. “Why are you so determined to claim this inheritance?”

  “Why?” Caution edged her voice.

  You’re the daughter of a duke. An Effington— one of the wealthiest families in the country. Why would a woman in your position be willing to even consider sharing the bed of a virtual stranger for the rest of her days?”

  She hesitated for a moment, then her chin jerked up defiantly. “It’s a great deal of money.”

  “Not for an Effington.”

  “Even for an Effington.” She stared for a moment, then sighed in annoyance. “Goodness, my lord, you do ask a lot of questions.”

  “You’ve said that before.”

  “And I’ll say it again,” she snapped. “Very well.” She picked up the decanter, refilled his glass, took a healthy sip, then held it out to him. He shook his head. She shrugged, took another drink, and set the snifter down.

  “We are all born with certain expectations, our lots in life as it were. My brother was born to be the next Duke of Roxborough. It’s his fate and his duty and what he’s been trained for all his life. As a woman, my duty was to make a good match. And I did.” She crossed her arms over her chest and met his gaze directly. “Only my husband decided his duty was to his king
and his country. He was killed in Spain.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “So am I,” she said simply. “It was not as life was supposed to be.” A pensive look flashed in her eyes, then vanished. “He had not yet inherited his title. I was left with nothing. My family gives me a substantial allowance, but I would prefer to be independent. No.” Her jaw clenched, and determination shone in her eye. “I long to be independent. I cannot abide the idea that I am, to be blunt, a poor relation. I cannot stand the fact of my own helplessness.”

  She swiveled and paced the width of the room. “Do you have any notion what it’s like to realize you’ve done all that was expected of you in life but life has not turned out at all as expected?”

  “I have a vague idea,” he murmured.

  And to further realize that, regardless of your finances, because you’re a women, you have no true choices?”

  “There you have me,” he said under his breath.

  “No way, save marriage, to improve your lot?” Frustration rang in her voice. “A woman without money in this world can accomplish little of worth. And, worse, she has no way to help others accomplish anything. Oh, I can have my salons, such entertainments are fairly inexpensive you know, and introduce artists and writers to potential patrons, but I haven’t the funds to help them myself.”

  “Like Lady Forester helps?”

  She pulled up short and stared. Then, without warning, she burst into laughter. “That was not what I had in mind.”

  “Thank God,” he said wryly. “So you want to be a patron?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then what?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not entirely sure. At the moment, it’s little more than a vague, elusive idea. And rather too ill-formed to mention.”

  “Tell me anyway.” He stepped to her side. Her scent, a vague, provocative mix of subtle florals and spice, wafted around him, and his stomach tightened.

  She stared up at him as if deciding whether or not he was worthy of her trust. “It’s far-fetched, probably impossible, and very likely more than a little foolish.”

  “I’m well acquainted with foolish ideas.”

  Then perhaps I will tell you in time.” A teasing smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “When we’re married.”