“Do what?”
“Apparently, your Beau agreed with his father not to marry you, and obediently went north to a shooting party to recover from his heartbreak. Yet Ventnor fears that his son will need only one look at you to lose all reason and elope anyway. I am here to make sure you don’t go anywhere and give him that one look.”
Wonderful, Thea thought. Their plan was proceeding superbly. In truth, Beau Russell had only pretended to do his father’s bidding, as the shooting party had placed him conveniently close to the Scottish border, making it easier for him to steal away to marry Helen. And along came this earl, believing Thea to be Helen and himself to be so clever.
“And what does Lord Ventnor bid you do in this matter?” Thea asked pertly. “No doubt he had excellent suggestions.”
“Not at all. One of his suggestions was that I kidnap you.”
“Gosh! I’ve never been kidnapped. That sounds terribly exciting.”
“It sounds terribly tedious, not to mention troublesome. Another suggestion was that I seduce you.”
“Also terribly tedious,” she said hastily. “And very, very troublesome.”
His eyes flicked over her. “I’m inclined to agree. Fortunately, I have my own plan for ensuring you do not marry Beau Russell.”
“Do tell.”
“Why, I shall simply marry you myself.”
Chapter 3
She might have looked pleased, or calculating, or any number of things. But not Thea Knight. Of course not. No.
Thea Knight laughed.
Peals of bright laughter bounced off the glass walls before she covered her mouth, while her shoulders shook and her bosom quivered, and a glossy lock of chestnut hair swayed against her neck. Even in the fading light, Rafe could see her eyes sparkle. Throughout their ridiculous conversation, he had been unwilling to tear his eyes from her face; he found himself surprisingly captivated by the way her entire countenance conveyed her thoughts, from the active dark brows and lively blue eyes, to the mobile mouth and the teeth that occasionally nibbled at her full bottom lip.
And now she laughed, freely, generously, holding nothing back. Rafe would not call Thea Knight a beauty, necessarily, but she had a beguiling freshness about her, like the plant that was best placed, that received a little more sunlight or a little more water, and was just that little more lush and alive.
Yes, that was it: The vitality about her, the way her whole face and body welcomed the world’s delights.
Suddenly, he sympathized with her urge to touch the orchid, to confirm that something so marvelous was real. His fingers twitched, his arms became restless, as if he could reach out and capture her laughter. Hold it, taste it, share it.
A surge of irritation had him balling his hands into fists instead.
Blast it. This was not how she was meant to react to his proposal. This was not how he was meant to react to her.
If a woman earned a reputation as a wily, ambitious seductress, then she should bloody well have the decency to act the part. She should flatter and flirt and… Oh hell, he didn’t know. Cast coy looks under her lashes, perhaps; present her figure to its best advantage, and declare him clever and handsome in a manner so sincere that he even began to believe it himself.
She was not meant to make fun of him, or appear scatterbrained and silly one moment and biting and crass the next. Why had no one thought to mention that she had mischievous eyes and a playful smile and a tendency to break out in satire?
He scowled at her. “A marriage proposal from an earl amuses you, Miss Knight?”
She shook off the last of her laughter. “It is such a male way of solving your problem: ‘Should I kidnap this woman or seduce her? By George,’ he says, ‘I’ll do both at once and just marry the girl.’”
“How gratifying that you find my proposal diverting. But I assure you, I am quite serious.”
“Yes, you look quite serious.” Another light laugh escaped her lips, and she tapped them with two fingers to make them behave. “You’re not very good at proposing, are you?”
“You’re not very good at accepting.”
“If you were better at proposing, I might be better at accepting.”
“If you were better at accepting, I wouldn’t need to be good at proposing. Why do you not leap at this opportunity? If you married me, you’d be a countess.”
Ideally, she would not realize that if she married him under a false name, she would not legally be his wife. But even if she did know the marriage wouldn’t be valid, surely she could see how to turn this to her advantage? Surely, her past scandal had ruined her so thoroughly she would be desperate enough to try to make this marriage real. Get close to him, charm him, play on his lust or honor or gullibility so that he married her anyway. None of which she would ever manage to do, of course, but surely she would take the chance to try.