On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

"I know! I've been waiting since one. But I wanted to speak with you without anyone else knowing — I can hardly come here during the day and demand to speak privately with you, can I?"

"No — for a very good reason." She was unmarried, and so was he. If she wasn't standing before the door he'd be tempted to open it and… he frowned. "You didn't come alone?"

"Of course not. I've a footman outside."

He put a hand to his brow. "Oh. Good." This was getting complicated.

"For goodness sake! Just listen. I know all about your family's financial state."

That captured his immediate and complete attention. Noting it, she nodded. "Exactly. But you needn't worry I'll tell anyone — indeed, quite the opposite. That's why I needed to speak with you alone. I've a proposition to put to you."

His wits were reeling — he couldn't think what to say. Couldn't imagine what she was going to say.

She didn't wait, but drew breath and launched in. "It must be plain, even to you, that I've been looking about for a husband, yet the truth is there's not a single eligible gentleman I feel the least bit inclined to marry. But now Amanda's gone, I find it boring in the extreme continuing as an unmarried young lady." She paused, then went on, "That's point one.

"Point two is that you and your family are in straitened circumstances." She held up a staying hand. "You needn't try to tell me otherwise — over the past weeks I've spent a lot of time here, and generally about with your sisters. Emily and Anne don't know, do they? You needn't fear I've told them — I haven't. But when one is that close, little things do show. I realized a few weeks ago and much I've noticed since has confirmed my deduction. You're in

dun territory—no! Don't say a word. Just hear me out."

He blinked — he was barely keeping up with the flow of her revelations; he didn't at present have any brain left over to cope with formulating speech.

She eyed him with typical acerbity, apparently reassured when he remained mute. "I know you are not to blame — it was your father who ran through the blunt, wasn't it? I've heard the grandes dames say often enough that it was a good thing he died before he crippled the estate, but the truth is he did bring your family to point non plus before he broke his neck, and you and your mother have been carefully preserving appearances ever since."

Her voice softened. "It must have been a Herculean task, but you've done brilliantly — I'm sure no one else has guessed. And, of course, I can see why you did it — with not just Emily and Anne, but Portia and Penelope, to establish, being known as paupers would be disastrous."

She frowned as if checking a mental list. "So that's point two — that it's imperative you and your family remain among the haut ton but you don't have the wherewithal to support such a lifestyle. You've been hanging on by your fingernails for years. Which brings me to point three. You."

She fixed her gaze on his face. "You don't appear to have considered marrying as a way to repair your finances. I imagine you didn't want to burden yourself with a wife who might have expensive expectations, quite aside from not wanting to burden yourself with a wife and any associated demands at all. That's point three and the reason I needed to speak with you privately."

Gathering herself, she tipped her chin higher. "I believe that we — you and I — could reach a mutually beneficial agreement. My dowry's considerable — more than sufficient to resuscitate the Ashford family fortunes, at least by enough to get by. And you and I have known each other forever — it's not as if we couldn't rub along well enough, and I know your family well, and they know me, and—"

"Are you suggesting we marry?"

His thunderstruck tones had her glaring.

"Yes! And before you start on about how nonsensical a notion it is, just consider. It's not as if I expect—"

He missed whatever she wasn't expecting. He stared at her through the dimness. Her lips continued to move; presumably she was talking. He tried to listen, but his mind refused to cooperate. It had frozen — seized — on the one vital, crucial, unbelievable fact.

She was offering to be his wife.

If the sky had fallen he couldn't have been more shocked. Not by her suggestion — by his reaction.

He wanted to marry her — wanted her as his wife.

A minute ago, he hadn't had a clue. Ten minutes ago, he would have laughed the idea to scorn. Now… he simply knew, with an absolute, unwavering, frighteningly powerful certainty. A feeling that rose through him, stirring impulses he always took care to keep hidden behind his elegant facade.

He refocused on her, truly let himself look at her, something he now realized he'd not previously done. Previously, she'd been an irksome distraction — a female to whom he was physically attracted but could not, given his then lack of fortune, ever conceivably approach. He'd consciously set her aside, to one side, one woman he knew he could never touch. Forbidden, and even more so because of their families' close ties.

"— and there's no need to imagine—"

Golden ringlets, rosebud lips, and the lithe, sensual figure of a Greek goddess. Cornflower blue eyes, brown brows and lashes, skin like the richest cream; he couldn't see in the dimness but his memory supplied the image. And reminded him that behind the feminine delicacy lay a quick mind and a heart he'd never known to be at fault. And a spine of pure steel.

For the first time, he let himself see her as a woman he could take. Have. Possess. To whatever degree he wished.

His reaction to the mental image was ruthlessly decisive.

She was right about one thing — he'd never wanted a wife, never wanted the emotional ties, the closeness. He did, however, want her — of that he entertained not the slightest doubt.