She looked up at him. “You’re doing it again.”
“What?” Then he realized. He’d cocked his head again and he nearly grinned. “I was wondering what your lineage is?”
She picked up her spoon, delicately dipping the utensil into the warm liquid. “I am a vicar’s daughter. My husband was the first son of the second son of the Viscount of Cloverly.”
Intriguing. She was related to the peerage and educated enough to be suitable. Not that he was considering a proposal.
“And what is your fear? Entering into a bargain with me?”
She gave him a rueful smile. “There are too many concerns to count.”
“Try.” He leaned in, not bothering to even pretend to eat.
She took a breath. “My mother would turn over in her grave.”
“It’s a mother’s entire job to be disapproving.” He waved his hand to dismiss her comment.
She shook her head, setting the spoon down again. “I thought for a time that I was everything I was supposed to be. The good daughter doing God’s work.”
He grimaced then. She was meant to be a wife not a mistress. Even a fool could see it was true. He hated himself a little. He fisted a hand under the table. Or perhaps he hated his past that hardened him against such a woman. “And the reasons you are tempted by my offer?”
She fiddled with the corner of her napkin. Her slender fingers and tapered hands touching the napkin with a gentleness that made him imagine them dancing over the skin of his chest in just such a way. “As we’ve already discussed, financial stability.” Her hand fluttered. “A certain level of independence.”
So…there was hope. “Both true. You could choose to marry or not, socialize or not. Very few women will have as much choice as you will.”
She nodded. “That is true, I suppose. It leaves me with a great deal of options.” She reached for her spoon again. “And oddly, the safest route before me, I would guess.”
Now that was a bizarre comment to make. “Now I am not sure if I should be insulted. Very few women consider me safe.”
Chapter Four
His words were undoubtedly true. On the surface, there was little about this man that appeared safe. From his scar to his proposit
ion to the sheer power he possessed, right down to the intensity of his stare, he was a force to be reckoned with.
She was aware that he did not need to offer her a home and money. He need not calmly discuss the pros and cons of entering an arrangement with him. Many men in his position could just take her without asking. It was a sad fact of life. And she believed him when he’d said he’d never hurt a woman. The evidence was before her every time she looked at his ravaged face.
Which strengthened the case to accept his offer.
The staff served the next course and each began to eat the roasted duck with delicate au gratin potatoes and asparagus as silence fell between them.
She didn’t mind the quiet, in fact, it was nice. Companionable, easy. Neither word at all what she’d expected from this man who had practically stolen all the air from the room the moment he’d entered it.
He took another sip of his wine, then held up his glass. They sat across from one another, the head of the table empty. “May I offer another toast?”
She reached for her glass, eyeing him as she held the bowl between two fingers. “What are we toasting to this time?”
“The future.” He clinked his glass to hers.
She gave him a long stare before she asked, “Our future together or the one after that?”
“Well, I hope it’s together.” He winked then, but she shook her head.
“Whether I accept your proposal or not, the future is not ours. That’s the point, isn’t it?”
He set down his glass, his eyes narrowing. “Does that bother you?”
She shook her head. “No, not at all. I’d consider it one of the pros.”