A slight flush crept to his face at the word “honor.” “I can hardly betray your identity without exposing myself to censure.” One of his dark brows quirked up. “If it makes you feel any better, one word from you about what happened here would put me in a very awkward position.”
She felt her jaw drop. “Surely…surely you don’t think…Good God, the very last thing in the world I would wish to do is put you in that sort of awkward position.”
The brow arched a touch higher. “Ah. I’m that unappealing?”
Flustered, Olivia quickly added, “It’s not you in particular, sir. It’s the concept.”
“Of coercion?” A hint of humor glinted in his dark eyes. “Or of matrimony?”
“As far as I am concerned, they are one in the same,” she muttered. “Women have no rights in a marriage. It’s terribly unfair.”
“I happen to agree with you,” he said softly. “The Beacon ought to attack that issue, too.” He paused. “However, having some experience in warfare, I would advise you that it would be best to fight one battle at a time.”
“I know, I know.” Frowning, she crossed her arms. “So what are you suggesting, sir?”
“That we become allies,” he replied. “I would like for you to look at the rough draft of my speech and give me your suggestions. I need help in polishing both the ideas and the language.”
“I have already promised you Hingham’s book.”
“I want more than Hingham. I want you.”
Olivia tried to steady the erratic thump of her heart.
“Together we can beat these selfish, narrow-minded prigs who stand in the way of progress,” finished Wrexham.
“You do not appear lacking in eloquence, sir,” she said softly.
“With your help, I can do better,” he said.
The idea was oh-so tempting. She cared passionately about the passage of this bill, and here she was, being offered a chance to shape a speech to the House of Lords.
How could she, in good conscience, refuse?
“Well…oh, blast—very well, Lord Wrexham. Send me your scribbles and I’ll have a look at them.”
“Thank you.” He walked over to retrieve his hat.
“However, there are certain conditions,” added Olivia.
His expression as he looked up was unreadable. “Which are?”
“This won’t happen again.” Repressing a shiver, she looked away. “I am The Beacon, a respected thinker, and you are the earl, a distinguished aristocrat…who happens to be engaged to the Steel Corset.”
John carefully smoothed a hand over the bent brim. “I am not engaged,” he corrected.
“Perhaps not literally,” she said. “But be that as it may, it would be unwise for any number of reasons. And I should like to think that neither of us is lacking a brain.”
“Fine. Anything else?”
“Not that I can think of at the moment.”
“Excellent.” He set his hat back on his head. “Then we have an agreement, Miss Sloane.”
“We do, sir. But let us hope that neither of us comes to regret it,” murmured Olivia.
Chapter Thirteen
This was not entirely my fault. You two bear part of the blame,” Olivia carefully untwined a tiny twist of ivy from the cuff of her gown, praying there were no other telltale bits of the garden clinging to her clothing. “But seeing I ought to practice what I preach, I accept full responsibility for my fall from sanity.”