“You made your interest obvious from the start. At all those balls and soirees, I could feel your gaze upon me. When I looked, you would look away. God, you certainly had me fooled. I actually believed you were an innocent, too shy to look at me direct. I convinced myself I should leave you alone, that you were too well-bred for a dalliance. But even then you’d already set your sights to loftier heights. Not a mistress, you wanted to be my wife.”

“You could not be more wrong.” Yes, he had his charms but she was not that desperate to find a husband. Even one who would undoubtedly be every girl’s dream.

His nostrils flared and a dull shade of red slashed his cheekbones. He continued as if she hadn’t spoken, his voice low and fierce. “I will not be forced into marriage. I certainly won’t be forced into a marriage with you.”

Elizabeth couldn’t help an inward flinch. His words stung. Did he think she had no pride? Not the tiniest bit of self-respect as to thrust herself upon a man who made it so obvious how much he didn’t want her?

Pride saved her from being thrown against the rocks at his disavowal. “This isn’t what I wanted,” she said in a firm voice refusing to crumble beneath the storm of his accusations. “But the truth of it is, I have very little choice in the matter. The damage a scandal like this would do to my family would be irreparable. I have a younger sister who will debut in two years. I do not have the luxury of thinking just of myself.” That she’d realized during a fitful night of sleep. As much as she didn’t want to force a marriage if he opposed it, the reality of her situation begged to differ.

Lord Creswell straightened to his full rather intimidating height so he could, no doubt, look down his nose even further at her.

“So you don’t want this marriage any more than I? I would think that places us on the same side of this divide.”

“Unfortunately, what either of us wants is immaterial. We both have our families to consider. I hear you also have a younger sister. Think of what a scandal could cost her.”

His jaw tightened as if she’d struck a sore point. “Do you realize what it will cost me to marry a woman against my will and better judgment?”

“And do you know how it will affect me to marry a man who thinks so ill of me? I no more relish the prospect than you.” She’d known he would be angry but hadn’t been prepared for his vehemence. And it would only get worse…

“Yes, you may not relish it, but you will gladly take on the title of viscountess and all that goes with it.”

“I have no need of your money.” Of course he would cast her in the role of the gold-digger. “And although it may seem very gauche and naïve of me, I planned to marry for love.”

For a long moment he didn’t speak, merely watched her, his eyes intense and more green than blue. His expression was wiped clean of mockery and disdain, now an inscrutable mask. “Miss Smith, I do hope you’re sure about this course on which you are about to embark. I am a man who does not like being taken for a fool.”

Tell him. Tell him now.

Elizabeth knew she should heed the voice in her head urging her to be done with it, tell him everything. But in the face of his anger, his contempt, her courage failed her. If he was this furious now, she couldn’t imagine the full extent of his fury if she told him before he had an opportunity to calm down, which given his reaction, would require days.

Yes, it would be best to allow him to get over his initial bout of anger. Surely when he got to know her, he’d see that she wasn’t capable of the deceit he’d accused her of. She would try to win him over, smooth the forbidding lines bracketing his mouth and furrowing his brows.

“I did not set out to trap you into marriage.” She whispered the weary refrain at a loss of what else to say. “This entire situation is just as painful to me as it obviously is to you.”

Some indiscernible emotion flashed in Lord Creswell’s eyes. Resignation? It was hard to tell, he appeared to be able to mask his emotions at will.

“I am in an untenable position. I am damned no matter which path I take. I will be vilified should I not marry you and my family will be forced to endure the scandal. Should I marry you, it won’t be of my own accord. At the very least, I assumed I’d be at liberty to choose my own wife.” Much of the anger had dissipated from his voice.

“Obviously, this situation isn’t ideal, but I hope we can make the best of it.” Given the kiss that had landed them in their current predicament, they would be compatible in at least one area of their marriage.

Just the thought of the kiss made her warm all over. His gaze lowered in a slow perusal of her body and his eyes darkened as if in that moment, they shared the same thought and reaction to it. In the same leisurely pace, he tracked his way back up to her face. And lingered on her mouth.

“You did not set out to trap me?” There was no accusation in his voice, just a genuine desire for the truth.

That she could give him. “You have my word, Lord Creswell, that I did not set out to trap you.”

He continued to stare at her and like a seedling struggling to take root in unruly soil with scant little water, something in that look acted upon her like a drenching rain. Hope flickered in her heart. After a grievously long silence, he appeared to accept his fate and acquiesced with a curt nod of his head. His words confirmed it. “I cannot marry a woman I do not know. I suggest we spend some time getting better acquainted.”

Well, perhaps not complete acceptance, but close enough.

Elizabeth was nearly light-headed with relief and giddy with anticipation. It would work out. It had to work out. As she nodded, she could barely believe this man standing in front of her might—would one day be her husband. Hers. She would have the right to kiss those lips, caress that chest and touch those muscled shoulders. Her gaze followed the trail of her thoughts.

“But of course we must become properly acquainted,” she agreed, pulling her thoughts back to the conversation at hand. Nervously, she ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip.

Lord Creswell tracked the movement with a searing gaze. Abruptly, he cleared his throat and shot a glance at the clock on the fireplace mantel.

“I have taken up enough of your morning. I will call on the morrow. Good day, Miss Smith.”

“Good day, Lord Creswell,” she said, her voice hardly loud enough to be heard.

With that, he gave a nod and went on his way.

This didn’t precisely put her in the clear. Elizabeth was well aware of that. There was another hurdle yet to clear. And to dull the impact the truth of their past connection would have—a connection she now resented for it stood in the way of her future happiness—she knew she had to get him to care for her.

Quite literally, she would have to wage a war of seduction. But not seduction in its most commonly used context. Although it would be far easier to get him into her bed but that wouldn’t be enough to sustain of happy marriage. At least not ‘til death do they part. No, she’d seduce him without the use of her body and at the same time capture his heart.



Chapter Five


By midmorning the next day, unseasonably cold temperatures had Londoners dragging out wool pelisses and heavy greatcoats. That the air remained dry was the day’s one saving grace.

Derek observed Miss Smith from across his barouche. She looked good. Better than good if one admired silky skin, red lips that begged to be kissed and a figure that curved in and out in all the right places. He resented her; resented that a wave of lust had all but assaulted him when he’d arrived at Laurel House to collect her for their morning drive. And had yet to abate.

He could detect no yield to her spine as she sat, hands clasped tightly on her lap buried in the voluminous folds of her peach and gray skirts. She’d looked at him once, very briefly, then proceeded to focus all her attention on trying not to look at him. She was currently studying the interior with greater a scrutiny than he’d given it upon its purchase.

Derek tapped the roof twice. The carriage immediately jolted into motion.

She looked at him then, eyes wide as if startled that they were moving as conveyances often do.

“You are well?” he asked courteously.

Her mouth curved in a strained smile. “I suppose I am well given the circumstances.”

Her chin quivered the barest little bit. Fright? Nerves? Perhaps a bit of both. Her hands had not been still since she’d taken her seat.

Lord above, he didn’t want to incite fear in her. He wanted—wanted his life back to the way it was before he’d kissed her. But he wanted the memory of the kiss. He wanted to kiss her again. Hell, he wanted to do a sight more than that. But he couldn’t have both.

“And you?”

Derek wondered if she really cared or was simply being polite. He wondered how she’d react if he told her precisely where his thoughts lay. He decided to ignore her question altogether and asked instead, “Miss Smith, I imagine that if I was able to arrange things so that you could retain your reputation without us being forced to wed, you would be relieved?”

Her answer should have been an instantaneous, But of course, my lord. But that was not how she reacted. Her shoulders jumped and her eyes were now two enormous orbs in her sweet oval face.

She recovered quickly but had it been from shock or something else? Disappointment? He mulled over which reaction he preferred.

“But of course, my lord,” she replied.

Derek forced a smile. Of course. Not the response of a woman trapped in circumstances under which she had no control and she would gladly extricate herself from if she could.