He took her hand in his. “I will have to marry one day. You’re the perfect candidate for a duchess. You shall be able to do far more than most ladies ever could. You already have a politically astute mind. You understand society, and you know how to run organizations. You are everything that I require.”
He gave her that slow, wolfish smile of his, which did the most delicious things to her insides. “You will no doubt be so good at the job that I might actually be able to sleep an extra hour every night.”
She laughed, feeling shaky but also realizing he meant the words he said. “You think so highly of me?”
His sharp gaze wandered over her face, drinking in the details, studying them, memorizing them. “I do, Beatrice. And I cannot bear to see you in distress. I despise the idea of you marrying some man who doesn’t value you, but being forced into poverty is unacceptable. Neither is an option to be considered.”
William reached forward and stroked an errant lock of hair behind her ear before trailing his knuckles gently along her jaw. “Do not risk it. Marry me. You need never love me or fawn over me. Just do your duty as a duchess and pursue your dreams.”
She swallowed. She believed he would not desire the sort of wife that other men wanted.
Dear God, it was tempting to tilt her face into his touch. To allow his caress to be a healing balm. But first…she had to be reasonable.
“I want it in writing,” she said, locking gazes with him. “If… If you and I agree to the disagreeable, I want it in writing that you will allow me autonomy and freedom. That whilst you own me, you give me free rein with the funds you name in the contract. That you will not dictate my behavior or my actions.”
He looked taken aback for a moment that she’d even think him capable of treating her poorly, but then he nodded. “Such wisdom. I expect nothing less from you.”
“Thank you…” Her throat tightened with the tears she had not shed, with the fear that still shook through her. Fear at betraying herself and choosing a loveless marriage. “William.”
He cupped her cheek, tilting her head back. “Beatrice, we shall make London quake underneath our polished boots, for you and I can make the world sit up and take notice. Nothing will ever be the same.”
How right he surely was.
Chapter Fifteen
“I beg your pardon, you’re getting what now?” Ben drawled over his gin.
“Married,” Will repeated, this time so loudly that half of the Cock’s Comb Tavern turned in his direction.
The already raucous, hard-drinking group lifted their chargers and glasses and shouted, “Eh!!! Cheers to the toff getting married!!!!”
There was a great deal of applause and more, and the fiddle began to play “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.”
Will longed to crawl under the table, but such a thing would be immensely foolish, given the company.
Besides. He was getting married. And to a remarkable woman.
So, he raised his own glass of gin high and called, “A round for all, my dear friends!”
And the entire tavern erupted in hollers of triumph, whistles, applause, and felicitations on the future happy event. Ben and Kit were hiding laughter but failing as they leaned back on the rough-hewn wood benches.
Will looked upon them as if they were mere toddlers guffawing at a silly joke.
After all, they were but boys when compared to him, and they had the most ridiculous ideas about how adults should run their lives.
Even Kit, who was getting married in little more than two weeks’ time.
“Married,” Kit repeated, shaking his head in disbelief.
“To whom?” Ben asked before he leaned forward and begged, “Please say her.”
“Her,” breathed Kit with delight. “It has to be Lady Beatrice.”
His brothers both leaned forward in a parody of breathless anticipation.
“He’s in love with her, after all,” Ben said out of the side of his mouth to Kit.
Will’s neck burned with a blush.