Chapter Three #2
She looked affronted as if he’d insulted her. A sourness tasted in his mouth that, because of a mistake, she’d ended up in his bed. If the gossip was to be believed, Sir Simon had deflowered his share of debutantes.
The memory of her speaking with Simon at the ball came back. It had bothered him then. This was worse, and Ralston’s heart pounded at the thought of Nora in Simon’s arms.
Ralston picked up the discarded quill on the escritoire in his room and fingered it. ‘Your efforts have failed. You escaped one match only to end up with another. And I thought you’d tricked me to become a countess.’
Her green eyes flashed in her face. ‘No! I don’t want to become your countess!’
A burst of anger flared in his chest. ‘Well, it’s no longer up to either of us, is it? It will be an epic scandal.’ A scandal he could not afford. He had no choice but to diffuse it before it reached Town, and he introduced his bill in the House.
Her magnificent green eyes flashed again, then she released a breath as if reining in her temper.
‘You’re wrong. It is up to us. I have something for you to convince you that we are unsuited.
’ She stepped forward. For the first time, he noticed an object in her hand.
She placed the wrapped item on his desk.
‘What is it?’
She stood still, her fingers folded before her. ‘Unwrap it. You will see how unsuited we are.’
His curiosity was piqued. Reaching out, he picked up the package. The item was light and small. He unwrapped the cloth. ‘It’s a seashell.’ Looking up, he met her eyes.
‘It’s not just a seashell, my lord, but a painted topshell and is unique to the Cornwall coast. The body of the snail that inhabited the shell is as colourful as its shell and is flecked with purple, red and brown. I found this during my explorations.’
‘Interesting, indeed,’ he said, ‘but what on earth does it have to do with our predicament?’
She let out a small sigh. ‘Don’t you see? We are unsuited. I am a scientist, a biologist, and my current interest is conchology, the study of mollusk shells. I have no desire to marry. Ever.’
‘Interesting,’ he repeated, ‘but I still do not see how this changes—’
She took a step forward and the scent of her soap wafted to him. He inhaled the fragrance like a drug. He was grateful the escritoire was between them so she couldn’t see his physical response.
Her eyes were wide, imploring. ‘You must understand. I have no interest in Society or the fickle beau monde, only my research. I hope to present my findings to the London Scientific Society in the future. I would make a dreadful countess. Tell my mother whatever you wish, my lord, but do not go through with a betrothal.’
His brow lifted. ‘You do not look like a scientist.’
Her lips twisted wryly. ‘And what do you think a scientist should look like?’
‘Bespectacled, serious and introverted.’ And male, he thought to himself.
Not a woman who slips into a man’s bed uninvited in the middle of the night.
Certainly, not a woman who looked like her.
A woman who made him think of heated encounters in the bedroom, of her glorious auburn hair, loose down her back as she rode him and screamed his name as she came.
His name.
A spark lit her eyes, and she raised her chin. ‘Your assumptions are ignorant but not shocking. Scientists, especially women, can look and act differently than as you described.’
He picked up the shell. It looked like an ordinary shell. The home of a sea creature. All he’d wanted was a businesslike marriage of convenience that would suit both partners.
‘Are we in agreement, then?’ she asked, a note of eagerness now in her voice.
‘If you prefer, we can consent to a temporary betrothal during the house party since others must have heard and the news will spread. When the scandal is forgotten, we can then both agree to cry off when we return to London.’
He leveled his gaze on her as his mind kept turning to the prior evening.
‘No. We are not in agreement.’ If she thought a scandal of this proportion would just blow over, she was gravely mistaken.
It would be disastrous for him. He’d be a laughingstock in the House chamber and could just imagine the members talking behind his back.
Politicians gossiped worse than magpies.
‘I fear you aren’t listening. My scientific endeavors are—’
‘The truth is I do not wish to be married either, but I believe it is too late.’
Her eyes widened. ‘How so?’
‘Your interests are in science. I have my own interests to protect. I am a member of the House of Lords and preparing a bill. Scandal will hurt my efforts.’
She shook her head, the strands of red in her auburn hair shining from the sunlight streaming through the open drapes. ‘I’m sorry to hear this, but I do not mind a scandal.’
His stomach churned in frustration. This wasn’t going the way he’d wanted at all.
It was true he did not wish to marry this swiftly.
And when he did wed, he had always believed he’d wanted a lady of breeding whose family connection would help his political aspirations.
But things had veered off course, and he was left with little choice but to adjust. Last night’s misconduct had been too public—a duchess’s house party no less—and the consequences would swiftly follow. He had to contain this.
Perhaps there was a benefit to his wife having a profession.
She wouldn’t require constant attention, flowers or poetry.
Her science would keep her occupied so he could focus on his own work.
The less time they spent together the better, and they could cohabitate without conflict.
Her intellect would ensure he wouldn’t be bored by mundane conversation when they did have to speak.
Another bonus was that, once married, he would no longer have to dodge the overeager mamas of the ton at every ball who sought him for his title and wealth.
And married politicians were deemed more respectable.
If he got married while Parliament was in session, the timing could help his bill.
He had to convince her. He was a politician after all, and skilled at debate.
If she was strongly opposed to marriage, then he must use all his powers of persuasion.
There was much he could offer her, and if she was a scientist like she’d claimed, then she must be logical.
He just needed to make it worth her while.
He leveled his tone. ‘What if it is to your benefit to marry?’ He stood and walked over to her. At over six feet tall, he leaned across a chest of drawers so as not to appear intimidating to her.
‘How?’ she asked.
‘I will not stand in the way of your science. In fact, you will be free to pursue your study of shells from the comfort and security of marriage.’ He thought of what else would be hard to resist and considered her financial concerns.
‘I will even fund your research. As a countess, doors will be open to you in Society that would not be as an unmarried woman.’
She gave him a considering glance. ‘You would fund my research? Would I have an allowance?’
‘I am a wealthy man and will be generous.’
‘What if I drain your wealth?’
He chuckled, the tenseness in his chest easing a notch. ‘I’m not concerned.’ Of that he was certain. He’d wisely invested in the London Stock Exchange and had increased the earldom’s coffers by nearly twofold.
She swallowed. ‘And what of an heir?’
It would be best if he were honest. ‘Yes, the earldom requires an heir. But after one is born, you can pursue your own endeavors wherever and whenever you choose.’ He would not keep her tied to his bed. Although that image was arousing.
He could tell she was intrigued and he thought of something she could not resist. ‘You will also be free to host salons, dinners or gatherings with your scientific peers. It would be a marriage of convenience.’
She nodded slowly. ‘And you? How would marriage benefit you?’ she asked.
Again, he answered straightforwardly. ‘My political career is important to me. As I said, I am on the verge of proposing a bill, and I must avoid any hint of scandal. The bill means much to me, not only do I believe in the cause, but I admit if it passes it will help my career in the House of Lords. So you see, I do not seek a love match, but a businesslike union that will benefit both parties.’
He could imagine her sharp mind considering his offer. He needed to seal the deal, argue his final point. ‘Think of the benefits. What do you say, Miss Magarian? Will you agree to marry?’
A heartbeat passed. Two. He held his breath unsure if his argument had been persuasive enough. Then, at last, a slight nod of her head caused a thrill of victory in his chest as she said. ‘Yes, my lord. I agree to marry you.’