Love with the Proper Husband Read online

  “There is none now.” She would not have thought it possible but his eyes were an even deeper green than before.

  “Have you been kissed before?”

  “Not willingly.”

  “Oh?”

  “I have had the attentions of men forced upon me on occasion,” she said before she could stop herself.

  Concern crossed his face, and any ardor that might have crept up on her unexpectedly vanished.

  “Does that bother you?” she said rather more sharply than she wished.

  “It bothers me that any gentleman would force his attention upon an unwilling female. I can only hope you were not harmed.” Sincerity sounded in his voice, and she realized he was a rather nice man, all things considered. Still, he was not, nor would be ever be, her betrothed.

  “Not at all. I learned precisely how to deal with unwanted attention.” She placed her palm squarely in the center of his chest and firmly pushed him away.

  He grinned and stepped aside. “Surely there was more to it than that?”

  “Of course.” She swept past him and crossed the room, putting a safe distance between them. Gwen marveled that he didn’t realize how very close she came to allowing him to kiss her, and worse, to kissing him back. She had never known such an impulse before and was not entirely sure how to deal with it now.

  She reached the fireplace, then turned back to him. “However, it did not seem necessary at the moment. You strike me as the kind of gentleman who accepts that when a lady says no, no is what she means. You would be surprised how many gentlemen, who consider themselves honorable, have few qualms about disregarding that when it comes to women in their employ.”

  “Men are disgusting beasts,” he said firmly.

  She ignored the amusement in his eye. “Indeed they are.”

  “However, there are those of us, exceptions to the disgusting beast rule, who would never force our attentions on an unwilling female.”

  “Good.”

  “In addition, there are those of us, again not in the disgusting beast category, who have yet to meet an unwilling female.”

  She snorted in disdain. “Come now, my lord, you have never met a woman who did not particularly wish to kiss you?

  “Never.” He shrugged casually.

  “You are as arrogant as I thought when we first met.”

  “And as charming, I hope.” He wagged his brows rakishly, and she choked back a laugh. “However, you are mistaken in one thing, Miss Townsend.” He folded his arms over his chest. “In the matter of our marriage, you have said no over and over today, yet I do not, nor will I ever, accept it.”

  “Why not?” She heaved a frustrated sigh. “You are as annoying as any child I’ve ever met and just as difficult to understand.”

  She turned on her heel and stepped to the window, trying to sort out the contradictions that made up this man before her.

  “I have given you a most graceful way out of this. No one could hold you at fault for not honoring your father’s promise. Lord knows you’ve tried. Admirably too, I might add. And it’s not as if you have anything to gain save honor and my dowry, although that’s scarcely worth mentioning to a man of your means.”

  He cleared his throat. “Miss Townsend, there is something—”

  She waved him silent. “I, on the other hand, would derive great benefit from this match. I would acquire a tidy personal fortune, not to mention sharing in your wealth.” An odd thought struck her, and she turned back to him. “Your finances are substantial, are they not?”

  “They are,” he said carefully, “for the moment.”

  “For the moment?” At once the truth slammed into her. “Good God, you’re penniless, aren’t you? You need this marriage. My dowry and my pathetic little income.”

  “A minute ago it was a tidy personal fortune.”

  “A minute ago it didn’t matter.”

  “Regardless, I am not broke.” He huffed and refused to meet her gaze. His voice was low. “Yet.”

  “Yet?” For a long moment she stared at him. The truth was obvious, and she was appalled she hadn’t seen it before now. She chose her words with care. “I stand to inherit a fortune if we wed. How much do you get?”

  The look on his face was confirmation. He resembled any one of her charges when caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I would not have put it so bluntly—”

  “How much, my lord?”

  “In truth, I don’t get anything besides a wife, of course. And the benefits of that are yet to be determined. I simply don’t lose what I have.” He blew a resigned breath. “If we do not marry, I forfeit my entire fortune.”

  “I see,” she said slowly. His determination to marry her now made sense.

  “Miss Townsend.” He moved toward her. “This is not my choice. I would gladly live in poverty for the rest of my days rather than force either of us into a marriage that is not to our liking.”

  “I doubt that.” She huffed in disbelief. “I have been poor, and it’s not the least bit enjoyable.”

  He ignored her. “Even though I myself am more convinced than ever that we have been brought together by the hand of fate—”

  “Yes, yes, fate. Destiny. Written in the stars and so forth.” She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling and sank onto the sofa. “Please, just go on.”

  “You should know my motives are not completely selfish. I am not the only one affected by this. There are people who depend on me.” He ran his hand through his hair, and she realized she was right. He did indeed look like a boy with his hair ruffled. “Tenants on the estate, and small armies of servants, and my mother, who will lose her fortune as well if we do not marry.

  “The village of Pennington itself depends on my patronage as it depended on the patronage of my father and his father before him. Beyond that, I have not been miserly with my wealth. I give generously to a great number of charities.” He stopped and glared at her. “Do you have any idea how many orphans through the years have been named after me?”

  “Pennington seems rather a mouthful for an orphan,” she murmured.

  “Don’t be absurd. They’ve been named Marcus, of course.” He shook his head. “Can’t imagine naming an orphan Pennington.”

  “Marcus.” The name rolled nicely on her tongue.

  “I know this is my problem and not yours.” He cast her a pointed glance. “Although a wife should share in her husband’s troubles.”

  “Perhaps, but I am not going to be your wife.”

  Once again he continued as if he hadn’t heard. “It is all my fault, I know that. I should have found a wife years ago. But it’s not nearly as simple as it seems, you know.”

  “Not even for someone as charming as you?”

  “No, indeed.” His pacing continued without pause. “Oh, certainly you would think with all those fresh young faces trotted out every year for the season like cattle at Tattersall’s it would not be at all difficult to select a bride. Admittedly there are any number with respectable families or acceptable dowries. Indeed, there are many who are attractive as well, and some even have a modicum of intelligence. But I don’t think one should choose a wife as one selects a new mount, with an eye simply toward teeth and bearing and breeding. Do you, Miss Townsend?”

  “Not at all.” The man was positively mesmerizing in his passion, and she could not tear her gaze from him.

  “Of course not. It makes no sense. Yet that is essentially what is expected. But for good or ill, I did not do it. I did not take my pick of any season’s offerings, and I certainly could have. Did I tell you I am considered quite eligible?”

  “You may have mentioned it.”

  “Good. You should know what you’re getting.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, then clamped it shut. He would pay her no heed right now anyway. He was distinctly reminiscent of a boulder rolling downhill faster and faster.

  “In truth, I find this whole concept of a marriage mart most distasteful. And do you know why, Miss Town
send?”

  She widened her eyes and shook her head.

  “It’s too…businesslike. Too impersonal. Don’t you agree?”

  She nodded.

  “Damn it all, Miss Townsend, I realize it is not readily apparent but I have something of a sentimental streak in me, although admittedly I don’t show it. Indeed, my friends think I have no sentiment in me whatsoever simply because I do not wear my heart on my sleeve.”

  “Do they?”

  “They do. It is most annoying.” He nodded firmly and paused. A wry smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps if I had ever talked to them the way I’m talking to you they would think differently of me. Good Lord, I have never spoken about such things with anyone before, let alone a woman. The circumstances we find ourselves in must be wearing more heavily on me than I had suspected.”

  “Apparently.”

  “And what of you, Miss Townsend? We—or rather I—am in this mess because neither of us has wed. You are extraordinarily pretty and—”

  “Extraordinarily?” She thought of herself as somewhat attractive but not extraordinarily pretty. In point of fact, she thought she was rather overdone: the color of her hair was too intense and her hips and bosom too round for her stature. To have a man like Pennington describe her as extraordinarily pretty was quite the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.

  “Extraordinarily.” He nodded firmly. “I cannot believe you have not had the opportunity to marry before now.”

  “I was a mere governess, Lord Pennington. The opportunities for marriage were limited. Besides, I have explained—”

  “Yes, yes, forgive me. I forgot for a moment. Marriage is not something you aspire to. Still, if you were married at this point, I could keep my fortune.” His face brightened. “Maybe it’s not too late? If you won’t marry me, we can have you married off to someone else in no time. I know my friend Lord Berkley, the gentleman I was with the other day, would marry you in a moment. He was quite taken with you, and as it does seem there is rescuing to be done here—”

  “That’s enough, my lord. I have no intention of marrying anyone, let alone this friend of yours. Besides, if I were inclined to marriage at all, I would most certainly marry you.” She knew the words were a mistake the moment they were out of her mouth.

  Before she could utter a word of protest, he crossed the room, bent on one knee at her feet, and grasped her hands in his.

  “My dear Miss—do you have a given name?”

  “Gwendolyn.”

  “Gwendolyn.” He nodded with approval. “It’s lovely. Gwendolyn and Marcus. They sound perfect together. See, I told you it was fate.

  “It most certainly is not.” She tried to pull her hands free, but he held tight.

  “Save me, Gwendolyn.” His tone was as intense as his gaze. “Save those people who depend on me.”

  She stared down at him for a long moment. It would be rather easy to give in and agree to marry him. And she suspected it would be equally easy to care for him. Perhaps love him. Far too easy. But love would lead to no good. She would not tread the path of her mother and sister and all the women who’d gone before her to give their love to a man only to see their lives cut short or their hearts shattered.

  No, aside from all the other reasons why it would be absurd to marry this man she’d just met, the best reason of all for running as far away from him as she could was love.

  “I am terribly sorry, my lord.” She pulled her hands from his. “But I will not marry you.”

  “Oh but you will, Miss Townsend, because you see, I will not give up.” He got to his feet and stared down at her. It was most intimidating. “I have almost a full three months to persuade you to change your mind, and do not doubt that I will.”

  She stood and glared up at him. “I shall not change my mind.”

  “I will be at your door every day and every night. I shall do everything in my power to convince you to marry me, and I will not give up until the day I have completed thirty years of life.

  “The retention of my fortune is far too important to far too many people. There is only one way to truly get me out of your life, Miss Townsend, and that”—he smiled slowly in a wicked and far too suggestive manner—“is to marry me.”

  Chapter 4

  On occasion men, and what they provide, are a necessary evil that can be borne as long as a woman expects nothing beyond what is offered.

  Gwendolyn Townsend

  It was exceedingly odd to stand in the grand parlor at Townsend Park as nothing more than a guest, although Gwen had never particularly felt like anything other than a guest even when she had ostensibly belonged here.

  Townsend Park had been the home of her father and his father before him and so forth, back half a dozen generations or more. A legacy come to a screeching halt when Gwen had been born a girl. She had been sent away to school the moment she had been deemed old enough, and in truth, Madame Chaussan’s Academy was more of a home to her than this place had ever been.

  She’d spent the occasional holiday here and the brief month of her father’s illness, but she lacked the attachment to the place born of childhood memories or happier times. If her mother hadn’t died or if her sister hadn’t left, Gwen’s life might have been different. She might well have been brought up here rather than sent off to the strangers at Madame Chaussan’s. Strangers like Madame Freneau, who ultimately became not merely teacher but friend and family.

  Little had changed here in five years. The furnishings had been rearranged, the rooms seemed a little smaller somehow, and the butler was new to her, but all in all it was quite as she remembered it.

  “Miss Townsend?” A stern-faced, older woman with a proprietary manner and a dress duller than Gwen’s, although of considerably better quality, stepped into the room.

  “Yes?”

  “I am Miss Hilliard, Lord Townsend’s sister.”

  “Lord Townsend?” For a moment, Gwen’s father’s face flashed in her mind. She pushed away the image, and the odd ache it carried. “Of course, Lord Townsend. My cousin. Then you—”

  “A cousin as well. Distant, of course.” The woman sniffed as if the connection was distasteful.

  Gwen bit back the urge to comment on how fortunate it was that there was such distance between them and forced a polite smile.

  “Is my cous—Lord Townsend at home? I should like to pay my respects.” It was a lie, of course. She had no desire to pay anything near respect to the man who had, however legitimately, taken what should have been her birthright. Still, she did harbor a bit of curiosity about the new Lord Townsend. He probably greatly resembled his sister, right down to the mustache.

  “He is not. In truth, he has been abroad for nearly a year now. But I understood you were here to take charge of your nieces.” Miss Hilliard’s lip curled upward in distaste.

  “I am here to visit them,” Gwen said slowly.

  She had no intention of taking the girls but was reluctant to admit that to this sour-faced relation. Miss Hilliard’s manner reminded Gwen of any number of people she had met in recent years who, because of circumstances or birth or wealth, considered everyone else beneath their notice.

  In point of fact, Gwen was not at all certain what had compelled her to make the two-hour trip from London to Townsend Park. Perhaps it was Mr. Whiting’s implication that Gwen’s needs were not as important as those of her nieces and a subsequent touch of remorse on Gwen’s part. Or a desire to discharge herself of such guilt and any familial obligation, much the same way Pennington had discharged himself of any obligation to his father. Or perhaps it was some heretofore unacknowledged wish to know her family. What remained of it, at any rate.

  “I have never met my nieces.” Or perhaps it was nothing more than simple curiosity.

  “Well, you shan’t like them. I don’t see how anyone could.” Miss Hilliard’s forbidding manner deepened if possible. “They are heathens, each and every one. Quite uncivilized. In addition, they are undisciplined, i
ll-mannered, and willful. Poor breeding, no doubt.” The woman sniffed again. “I would not have taken them in at all but my brother insisted, at least for now. Apparently he was acquainted with their father and feels some sort of obligation. Beyond that, Adrian is the head of the family and he considered it his duty, especially as no one seemed to know your whereabouts. He takes his responsibilities in a most serious manner.”

  She pursed her lips in a disapproving manner. “Of course, he was off on his travels by the time they arrived.”

  “But he does intend to offer them a permanent home at Townsend Park?”

  “I really cannot say,” she said primly. “I would encourage him to find them a suitable home elsewhere, and I daresay once he meets them he will agree. We are usually in accord on such matters.”

  “No doubt,” Gwen murmured. The image of Lord Townsend as a masculine version of his sister, complete with forbidding frown and petulant crease across his brow, intensified.

  “However, now that you have returned from your…travels”—once more Miss Hilliard sniffed disdainfully—“you will cer—”

  “Are you unwell?” Gwen said abruptly. “Are you chilled? Perhaps catching a cold?”

  Her cousin drew back in surprise. “Not at all. On the contrary, I feel quite”—her eyes narrowed in understanding—“well. Thank you for asking. Now then, I think—”

  “I should like to see my nieces.” Gwen adopted her best governess demeanor. “At once, if you would be so kind.”

  “Of course.” Miss Hilliard stepped to a bellpull and gave it a vicious yank. Her gaze stayed firmly on Gwen as if she was afraid the younger woman would steal the silver if not watched every minute.

  A leaden silence fell in the room. Gwen’s mind was far too occupied with the possible fate that had befallen her sister’s children at the hands of this most unpleasant creature to waste any efforts at polite conversation. While Gwen had never particularly liked children, at least not the children in her care, she did feel an odd sort of responsibility toward these girls. They were, after all, the only family she had, if one excluded Miss Hilliard and her brother.