The Husband List Page 3

  Richard cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and gazed into her blue eyes. “I will not marry a woman who does not want me in her bed. I will not be a husband in name only. Do you understand?”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “Very well, then.” Once again he resisted the urge to kiss her. To seal their agreement. And perhaps their fate. He stepped away. “I will call on you soon with my decision.”

  She nodded silently, a bemused expression on her face.

  He turned and strode out of the room and out of the house, not slowing his pace until he was a good block away.

  Blast it all, what was he going to do? If he was half as smart as he’d always thought he was, he would have accepted her proposal at once. He was, of necessity, a practical man, and his hesitation was not at all practical. Her offer was the answer to his prayers. It would solve all his financial problems, ensuring his future and the futures of his sisters.

  In addition, marriage to the daughter of the Duke of Roxborough would go a long way in restoring the respectability of his title and his family name. Certainly his own actions in the last few years had started that process, but restoring the honor of the earls of Shelbrooke was as arduous a process as restoring their fortune.

  What in the name of all that’s holy had possessed him? What stubborn and previously unknown facet of his personality could explain his idiotic disregard of six hundred thousand pounds, eight ships, more or less, and a great deal of land in America?

  Was the idea of that kind of marriage so repugnant? And in truth, would it be that kind of marriage for long? He’d never had a great deal of trouble gaining the affections of women in the past, although admittedly his skills were a bit rusty. Still, once wed, affection would certainly follow. Perhaps even love.

  Love? Now there was an unsettling idea. Besides, he’d never particularly considered love an integral part of marriage. He’d never particularly considered love at all.

  But desire, that was something he well understood. And he’d known the moment he’d looked into her eyes, that he wanted this woman. And wanted her to want him. They would suit well together.

  It was more than likely pride that held him back. Damnable pride. It was the only thing he still had in abundance. The only thing he hadn’t been forced to rebuild from nothing. And the very thing that had kept him before now from seeking out an heiress with an impressive dowry and substantial income.

  Yet even now he didn’t want to be bought like a prize specimen of cattle purchased only for appearance. Or acquired like a new work of art meant only for display.

  And he wanted the woman he married to want more from him than his name.

  He grimaced to himself. It was the height of irony that this woman who once considered him too far beneath her for notice would now turn to him for salvation. Of course, he doubted she even remembered the incident. It was long ago and of no real significance in her life. Richard had barely recalled it himself until tonight.

  He had danced with her at a ball during her season, ignoring the fact that she was all but officially betrothed to her future husband. Everyone in London knew it was a love match from childhood. He cringed at the recollection of his suggestive comments, spurred by recklessness and a great deal of drink. His exact words now thankfully escaped him, but the disdain in her eyes lingered in his memory.

  She’d been right, of course: he’d been unworthy of her notice. He’d been the worst sort of scoundrel—following in his father’s footsteps.

  He was not the same man now.

  Probably why he was at the top of her bloody list.

  He had two months to convince the lovely lady she wanted to be his countess in more than name alone. It would not be easy. She’d obviously built walls around her feelings. After all, no woman alive could talk about the death of her husband, even one that had occurred eight years earlier, with the same lack of emotion Lady Gillian had shown. What kind of man could break down those barriers?

  Oh certainly, with the sterling qualities that had propelled him to the top of her husband list he could, no doubt, in time. He’d been quite accomplished in the fine art of seduction before circumstances had forced him to become the type of man who had attracted her in the first place. Yet another odd twist of fate. His life seemed to be filled with ironies these days.

  Pity, there was so little time. He could already foresee both of them trying too hard in the weeks and days until her birthday. Too many strained moments with too much at stake.

  Would he stand a better chance if he wasn’t at all a suitable candidate? If he didn’t have strength of character and a sense of honor? If all he had was passion?

  A passion born from a love of life. It’s extremely compelling. Almost irresistible.

  He stopped in his tracks.

  Weren’t women always pining after men completely wrong for them? Didn’t that account for the attraction of rakes and rogues?

  Perhaps the key to the cool and serene Lady Gillian was not held by a man with those noble qualities that had placed him at the top of her husband list. A man respectable and dependable and solid. A man one might well choose as a spouse but never as a lover.

  Perhaps the man who could truly reach beyond her walls was not the man he was today.

  But the man he used to be.

  Chapter 3

  “I cannot believe you went ahead with this.” Robert, the Earl of Weston, slumped back in the brocade wing chair he had claimed as his own years ago and drummed his fingers on a side table, looking, if possible, even more morose than usual. “Without so much as discussing it with us.”

  Christopher, Viscount Cummings, leaned against the mantel, arms crossed over his chest, and surveyed her with an expression only slightly less glum than Robin’s. “And without even allowing us the pleasure of witnessing the event. It could have been quite entertaining.”

  “Precisely why I did not want you present,” Gillian said. “As for discussing this with you, as you recall, I did just that.” She stalked to a nearby sideboard, pulled open a drawer, snatched up two sheets of paper, and waved them at the men. “And this was your response.”

  The two exchanged glances, and Gillian grit her teeth. Any other time this silent communication between Robin and Kit would have amused her. Today she was not in the mood for anything from these childhood friends but blind loyalty and unwavering support.

  “We didn’t realize you were serious,” Kit muttered.

  “If I wasn’t serious why would I have asked each of you to provide me with lists of potential husbands?”

  Kit traded another quick glance with Robin. There was something in that look …

  “Good Lord. I should have known.” Gillian glanced at the papers in her hand. “These were a joke, weren’t they?”

  Kit shifted uneasily.

  Robin avoided her gaze. “Not entirely, but—”

  “They certainly make sense now.” She held the lists before her, her gaze skipping from Robin’s precise hand to Kit’s barely legible scrawl. “I wondered why, with all the men in London to choose from, there were only a handful of names here.”

  “Well, what did you expect?” Irritation rang in Robin’s voice. “We don’t think this is a good idea. And quite frankly, what you want in a potential husband is not entirely easy to find.”

  “It’s not like going to Tattersall’s and selecting a prime bit of cattle,” Kit huffed. “Besides, we’ve never looked at men in terms of their suitability for harness before.”

  “But look at who you’ve named here.” She drew her brows together in disgust. “Why, the Viscount Reynolds is far too well known at the gaming tables—”

  “And therefore always needs money.” A smug smile creased Kit’s face. “A perfect choice.”

  “Not for me.” She studied the lists. “The Marquess of Dunstable has nine children—”

  “And wants a wife,” Robin pointed out.

  “He wants a governess,” Gillian snorted. “At least
he already has an heir.”

  “Yes, well …” Robin cleared his throat. “Have you considered that at all, Gillian? The possibility of children?”

  “Believe me, it is a prime consideration,” she said under her breath.

  “Then—”

  “But not one I wish to discuss at the moment. “This”—she slapped the papers—“is what I want to talk about. Look at the rest of these names.”

  She shook her head in disgust. “This one is old. This one fat. I simply couldn’t abide a man whose only passion in life is food. Here’s one with a notorious reputation, and I am in no mood to reform a rake.”

  “Come now, they aren’t all unacceptable.” Robin rose to his feet and moved to her side, plucking the list from her hands. “What’s wrong with Lord Runley?”

  She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “The man’s an idiot. He hasn’t the sense God gave a sheep.”

  “Or Lord Harkin?”

  She stared in disbelief. “He barely comes up to my chin. In addition, if I am forced to spend a lifetime looking down at the top of a man’s head, I prefer it be a head of hair.”

  Kit shrugged. “A minor detail.”

  “You’re not looking for a husband,” Robin said wryly. “You’re looking for a saint.”

  “A saint who needs money.” Gillian folded her arms over her chest. “Shelbrooke will serve nicely.”

  “Even if it appears he’s not the rake he once was,” Robin said, “Shelbrooke is hardly a saint.”

  “The devil is more like it. It’s unnatural the way he’s never seen at the gaming tables anymore. His name hasn’t been linked with any woman at all for years. I see him at any number of social occasions, but he keeps to himself. With his dark looks and brooding manner he reminds me of one of those long-suffering poets you always seem to have around.” Kit narrowed his eyes as if this fact alone was enough to condemn the man. “He’s not to be trusted.”

  “He’s not nearly as brooding as you might think,” Gillian said under her breath. “If you both believe Shelbrooke is such a bad idea, why did you suggest him at all?”

  “I didn’t know he was on Robin’s list,” Kit said quickly.

  Robin cast him an irritated look. “I had to name someone who at least appeared suitable.”

  “Oh? Did you run out of men who were old or fat or stupid or totally unacceptable?” Gillian raised a brow.

  “I thought they were all unacceptable,” Robin said.

  “Up to and including Shelbrooke.” Kit shook his head. “Who in his right mind would have imagined you’d actually approach the man, let alone propose marriage?”

  “It’s not as if I’m looking for a love match.” She heaved a frustrated sigh. “It’s a convenience, nothing more than that. This marriage is simply a means to an end.”

  “The end being a great deal of money.” Robin studied her carefully. “I must admit I am disappointed. I never thought you would succumb to this kind of temptation.”

  “Then you thought wrong.” The tension of recent days sharpened her tone, but it couldn’t be helped.

  It had been a scant week since her great-uncle’s solicitor had called on her with news of her inheritance. She had never met Jasper Effington, the youngest of her grandfather’s three brothers. All three had left England years before her parents were born, to make their fortune in America. And make it they did, in shipping and other pursuits.

  The two older brothers had married and had families to inherit their fortunes. Jasper’s wife had died childless, and he had never remarried. Gillian knew few other details of his life. According to his solicitor, her great-uncle had wished his considerable wealth to go to her because he had well understood the limited expectations of the youngest sibling in a family and further knew they were even less for a woman.

  However, Jasper was not quite as beneficent as to leave his holdings to an unmarried woman, even a widow. His bequest carried the stipulation that she be married by her thirtieth birthday.

  “I doubt Charles would approve,” Kit murmured.

  Robin shot him a quelling glance. “Charles would expect her to go on with her life.”

  “I have.” A pang of regret stabbed through her.

  And gone on rather well, she’d thought, until Jasper’s bequest had brought back the feelings of sorrow and anger she’d believed she’d put to rest with her husband eight years ago.

  Charles, Kit, Robin, and she had grown up together, forming a lasting friendship long before they realized the difference between boys and girls and their lots in life. The bonds forged in childhood remained even now. But while Kit and Robin were her dearest friends, it was Charles who had captured her heart. They’d married after her first season, and the joy of their time together lingered so strongly in her memory that no other man had ever seriously attracted her interest.

  To this day, one of Gillian’s deepest regrets was not fighting Charles’s decision to purchase a commission in the army, but they had both been young and convinced of their own invulnerability. To her everlasting despair they had been wrong.

  “I have gone on with my life,” she said again, wondering exactly who she wished to convince.

  “Marrying a man like Shelbrooke is scarcely what Charles would have had in mind,” Kit said loftily.

  “No, we know what he would have preferred.” Robin paused and nodded sharply at Kit, who sighed and, with a show of reluctance, stepped to his friend’s side. The men stared at her as if they were about to meet their doom and she was the executioner.

  Robin drew a deep breath. “Charles would have expected one of us to step forward.”

  “Bravely.” Kit squared his shoulders. “And without regard for the consequences.”

  “Consequences?” Gillian stared and tried hard not to laugh. They looked so … so … resigned.

  Indeed.” Robin’s chin lifted. “Marriage.”

  “Shackled.” Kit sniffed. “For life. Or what would be left of it.”

  For a moment she considered letting them both dwell on the dire fate they fully believed she would deliver them, but they were, after all, her dearest friends. “I don’t expect either of you to marry me.”

  Matching expressions, not unlike those of men pardoned from the gallows at the last moment, passed over their faces. They were so predictable and frequently annoying, but she loved them as if they were her brothers. In truth, she was closer to these two than to her own brother. Their mutual relief brought her the first real smile she’d had all day.

  “It’s going to be difficult enough as it is without having one of you directly involved. Besides, how could I possibly choose between you?”

  Robin stepped forward earnestly. “We would do it though, Gillian. If that’s what you wanted. Either of us.”

  “Not me. I would have regained my senses far short of the altar.” Kit shook his head. “I love you Gillian, and I always will, but not even for you would I voluntarily—”

  “Kit, before I’m forced to blush at the flattering nature of your comment, do be still,” she said dryly.

  “See.” He nodded at Robin. “And that’s exactly why I wouldn’t. It’s bad enough being around her now. It’s like having an overbearing sister always telling you to straighten your cravat or mind your table manners or dance with horse-faced females no one else will go near. At least I can still escape to my own home.”

  Robin frowned. “You don’t have a sister.”

  “I don’t need one. I have Gillian.”

  Well, we won’t have her for much longer if she goes through with this ridiculous scheme.” Robin’s eyes narrowed. “Shelbrooke does not seem the type of man to allow his wife to continue to go her merry way in the company of two unmarried men regardless of how long they have been friends.”

  “Nonsense, Robin,” Gillian said with a conviction she didn’t quite believe. “My marriage will not change our relationship one bit.”

  “We shall see,” Robin said thoughtfully. “I don’t know him personally,
only by reputation, and I suppose he may well be a decent sort. He definitely isn’t the same bounder his father was. Or, for that matter, he once was.”

  “His coats are always shabby,” Kit said as if this alone was a sin too great to forgive.

  She’d noticed, of course. Everything about his appearance was not quite up to snuff. In many ways, she thought it spoke well of the man. He obviously wasn’t squandering what little funding he had on himself.

  Robin shook his head. “It’s obvious why Shelbrooke would agree to this marriage—”

  “He hasn’t actually agreed,” she said quickly. “At least not yet.”

  “I’m sure he will,” Kit said darkly.

  “Nonetheless”—Robin glared at Kit, and the other man shrugged—“what I still don’t understand is why you’re willing to go to such lengths to acquire this inheritance.”

  “It’s a great deal of money,” she said defensively, knowing full well the reason sounded little better today than it had last night.

  Robin and Kit stared expectantly, and she wanted nothing more than to punch them both the way she had on occasion when they were children.

  “You two, of all people, should understand. And I must say I’m disappointed.” She balled her hands into fists and willed a note of calm to her voice. She wasn’t ready to tell either of her old friends that her plans went beyond simple independence. Especially since those plans were still little more than the vague, and probably foolish, idea of repaying a debt. “You would never question the desire of a man to achieve financial independence. Why do you question mine?”

  “Because we know you,” Kit said pointedly. “Because you’ve never hesitated to give your opinion of those who marry only for money or titles or to further their positions in the world.”

  “You married Charles because you loved him,” Robin said. “You’ve always said you’d only marry again for love.”

  “Circumstances have forced me to reconsider my position.”

  “I can’t believe your family approves of this.” Robin studied her carefully. “What does your brother think of this outrageous condition to your inheritance?”