A Matter of Choice

by Laura Landon

  “You don’t have to concern yourself with me any longer, David. I have decided I will marry.” She closed the door hard behind her. “But I will not allow you to choose my husband for me. I will decide with whom I must spend the rest of my life.”

  “Allison—“

  “No. Hear me out.”

  She marched to the small side table where David was pouring two glasses of brandy and anchored her fists on her hips. “I won’t make the same mistake each of my sisters made. I won’t marry a man who only wants to marry me to get control of my dowry. And I won’t take a husband who will humiliate me by sharing a bed with every woman who will have him.”

  “Allison—“

  “Hear me out, David. It’s the least you can do. You above anyone know how desperate I am to avoid marriage. And you know the reasons why.”

  David shifted his focus to look over her left shoulder. She didn’t doubt he had trouble holding her gaze. He should feel guilty. He was the one who had issued the ultimatum.

  She faced him and gave him the most intent look she could muster. “You can put your mind to rest. I’ve decided who I will marry.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone I can trust not to humiliate me with his string of mistresses. Someone with whom I am sure I can be content spending my life.” A long silence stretched between them while she searched for the courage to say his name. “I will marry the Earl of Archbite.”

  “No, you will not.”

  Allison stared at him with her mouth open. She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “Surely you don’t mean to object to Lord Archbite?”

  “I’m afraid if your brother doesn’t, Lady Allison, I will.”

  She spun around in search of the low, velvety voice that came from the corner behind her. Her gaze locked with the Marquess of Montfort’s and she reached out to steady herself.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Your brother and I were about to toast my betrothal and upcoming marriage. Would you care to join us?”

  Montfort crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps and came to a halt next to her. His nearness forced her to look up.

  His towering height engulfed her, his broad shoulders and dark presence acted as a barrier. Beneath his cool exterior, she sensed some turmoil that surrounded him, a chaotic upheaval that never seemed at rest. He was the most compelling force she’d ever encountered.

  She couldn’t hide her surprise. Nor could she stop the niggling of unease that erupted inside her. “I didn’t know you were in the market for a bride, Lord Montfort. The last time we spoke, you indicated quite the opposite was true.”

  “So it was. Then.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, I have decided to marry.”

  “And who is this unfortunate female?”

  “Allison.”

  David’s warning came from behind her. She ignored him.

  The marquess smiled.

  A knot tightened in Allison’s belly. “Do I know her?”

  “Yes. Quite well as a matter of fact.”

  Her legs weakened beneath her, her mouth suddenly dry as lint. “Why the sudden change of heart, Lord Montfort?”

  “Would you believe I have fallen quite madly in love?”

  “Not for a moment. I doubt you know the meaning of the word.”

  “Allison,” David warned again. “What has come over you?”

  The marquess gave her another heart-stopping grin, this time accompanied by a suggestive tilt of his head.

  “Would you believe, then, that I have finally met the woman of my dreams, the woman I want to be the mother of my children?”

  “That thought is even more preposterous. Your dreams are much too crowded with the scores of admirers and mistresses for any one woman to be noticed.”

  The corners of his lips curled up sardonically. “Then would you believe that I am as desperate for your dowry as you are for a husband?”

  Allison felt her knees give out beneath her and reached for the back of the nearest chair to support her. Of all the men in England, no one could be further from what she wanted in a husband than the Marquess of Montfort.

  Chapter 5

  “Allison. Why don’t you sit down?”

  David pointed to one of the two leather chairs angled in front of his desk. “Montfort.” He pointed to the other.

  The Marquess of Montfort didn’t move. Neither did she. She stayed rooted to the spot, unable to force her body to obey David’s command to sit. Her blood thundered in her ears, her heart pounded inside her breast.

  This couldn’t be happening to her. Surely David wouldn’t be so uncaring that he’d deliver her into the hands of the kind of man she’d sworn to avoid? Surely David couldn’t be that eager to be rid of her that he would take the first offer for her hand, knowing that man possessed every reprehensible quality she could not abide?

  Surely she’d misunderstood, and Montfort’s announcement of his intentions was a mistake, a hideous joke. She flashed her gaze to David’s drawn expression.

  “David, you can’t mean to do this. Tell me you don’t seriously intend for me to marry Lord Montfort.”

  Montfort stepped closer. “Perhaps it would be best if I talked to Lady Allison in private.”

  Allison ignored him. “David. Tell me you don’t.”

  “It’s for the best, Allie. An arrangement between you and the marquess would be of benefit to you both.”

  “But the Earl of Archbite—“

  “I’ve already explained that I won’t accept a match between you and Archbite.”

  “Hartley,” Montfort’s voice interrupted again. This time his tone held an edge of authority. The single word a demand. “Leave the two of us alone for a while. I need to speak with the lady. In private.”

  David gave her an uncompromising look then left the room.

  The door closed with a deafening thud and neither of them moved. She stood behind a chair that acted as a barrier, and he stood to her left. Only the steady ticking of the mantle clock intruded on the silence that stretched like a fragile string above a flame, waiting to snap. Finally, he moved.

  He walked to the small side table beside David’s desk and poured a rich amber liquid into two glasses. He handed one to her.

  “Here. Drink this.”

  She reached for the glass, but her hand halted before it touched his. His long, sturdy fingers held the delicate crystal as easily and as expertly as she could imagine him holding a deck of cards or caressing a woman’s flesh. A picture of him touching her and holding her flashed through her mind, sending a molten shiver that oozed through her.

  She reached out her trembling fingers and took the glass from his hand. Without thought, she took one long swallow that made her cough and gasp for air.

  “Easy. Don’t drink it so fast. It will only make matters worse.”

  “I doubt that is possible.” She lifted the glass to her mouth again, then stopped. He was right. She was the only one who would suffer by downing the liquor like she was a hardened drinker.

  “I don’t want to marry you.”

  “I know.”

  She expected to see anger but didn’t. His lips curved into a smile that caused her heart to skip a beat, then he sat on the corner of the desk in front of her. His nearness disturbed her, but not in a way she could explain.

  “You don’t want to marry me either,” she said, then watched to see some sign of affirmation.

  His brows shot up. “Don’t I?”

  “No. I doubt you want to marry anyone. Men like you don’t consider settling down unless it is forced on them.”

  A corner of his mouth curved upward as he casually crossed his arms over his chest. “Would you care to explain what you mean by ‘men like me’?”

  “You know very well what I mean. Men so handsome they cause women’s heads to turn; men who have never felt the desire to search for that one perfect match because there have always been so many women offering themselves there
has been no need; men who do not know the difference between love and lust, nor do they want to discover it. Men like you are never satisfied with just one woman. And pity the woman who gives you her heart for safekeeping.”

  Montfort took a swallow of his drink and stared at her, a serious look of contemplation clouding his dark features. “I see you have a very low impression of me, my lady.”

  “Not a low impression, my lord. Only low expectations.”

  “And would you find marriage to me that repulsive?”

  Allison didn’t answer; couldn’t answer.

  “Do you find me that repulsive, my lady?”

  Allison lifted her gaze to meet his. “No. You know I don’t.”

  “Then what is it? Why do you find marriage to me so distasteful?”

  Allison didn’t like this. She didn’t want to be made to feel that the fault was hers because she didn’t want to marry him. She didn’t want to answer for shortcomings that were plainly his. She didn’t like being accused of being unreasonable when her requirements for a husband had never been a secret.

  “I do not want to marry a man so handsome every woman in Society sees him as a challenge.”

  “A challenge?”

  Allison couldn’t sit beneath his gaze any longer. She couldn’t have him look down on her while she was at her most vulnerable, with her fears so exposed. She got to her feet and faced him squarely.

  He remained on the corner of the desk and their eyes were level. “I do not want a husband who cannot be content to stay in his own bed. I have three sisters whose husbands married them for their dowries. Husbands very much like you, more handsome than most young women dream will ever ask for them. And all three of my sisters have held their heads high for years while everyone knows their husbands spend more time in someone else’s bed than they do in their own. I am not nearly so good at pretending I either don’t know what my husband is doing, or I don’t care.”

  “You think I would be the same?”

  “I think I am not brave enough to marry you to find out. I have already survived one scandal with the man I chose to wed. I do not want to risk another.”

  “But you think Lord Archbite is different? Or is it that you fancy yourself in love with him?”

  Allison didn’t answer him.

  “Are you in love with him?” He rose to his feet, towering over her like an avenging accuser.

  “He is someone I can at least trust.”

  She noticed a hitch in his breathing before he whispered.

  “I see.”

  The marquess kept his gaze fixed on her for what seemed forever, then walked across the room. Bright sunlight poured through the window, framing the powerful build of his broad shoulders and streaking the coffee-rich color of his hair with coppery strands. She fought the strange yearning that rumbled inside her like a waking beast. He braced his feet wide and clasped his hands behind his back. The stoic pose gave him a majestic air of invincibility.

  “I do not want to marry you, Lord Montfort. I cannot risk it. And you do not want to marry me. You do not want to marry anyone.”

  “But I, like you, do not have a choice. I need your dowry. Without it I will lose the one thing I refuse to give up.”

  “And what is that?”

  “The estate my mother left me. Graystone Manor.”

  “It is that important to you?”

  He raised his eyebrows and gave her a pointed look.

  “It must be,” she said more to herself than to him. “Or you would never be willing to give up your freedom to save it.”

  She thought for a moment, then locked her gaze with his. “Surely there is another option for you.”

  “No. Just as there isn’t another option for you.”

  Allison felt the room sway beneath her feet. He was right, and he knew it. She could tell by the smug look on his face, hear it in the confident tone of his voice. He knew David had backed her into a corner without a means of escape. She could refuse to marry and lose her dowry and be at the mercy of her family for the rest of her life. Or she could marry. Those were her only choices. Therefore, she had no choice.

  She would marry.

  But it would be a cold day in hell before she would marry the Marquess of Montfort. And by the time she finished with her demands, it would be an even colder day before he would want to marry her either.

  Allison looked into his face, studying his features: the aquiline nose, his bronzed flesh stretched tight across high cheekbones, the square cut of his jaw. A muscle twitched at the side of his face. She could tell he was losing patience with her. With the situation he could not control.

  “Very well, Lord Montfort. I will agree to marry you, but with one condition.”

  His dark brows arched over midnight blue eyes. “And what condition would that be?”

  Allison lifted her shoulders and boldly readied her demand to which she knew beyond a doubt he would never agree. A condition which a person with his reputation did not stand a chance of fulfilling. A condition to which she was confident he would rant and rage at her audacity, then storm out of here in frustration.

  “My demand is that before we marry, you agree in writing to be faithful. That in return for my dowry, you agree you will never take a lover for as long as we are married.”

  His eyes widened in disbelief, his demeanor turned dark and foreboding. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, but I am. On the day I take your name, you will give me your promise to always be faithful.”

  Allison looked into his face and saw none of the rakish humor and seductive teasing she was used to.

  “And what is the penalty if I break my promise?”

  “Are you asking what price you will pay if you are unfaithful?”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled, knowing concern over his penalty was a moot point. He would never agree to her terms. The risk of failure was too great.

  “You will lose it all, Lord Montfort. You will give me back my freedom and repay every pound that came with me. You will also give me every Ashbury property and asset my dowry made debt free.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “Yes. You will give me Graystone Manor.”

  A long, tension-filled silence stretched between them. He would not accept her terms. Could not. She could see it in the hard look in his eyes, in the harsh line of his pursed lips. He would not marry her and risk losing it all.

  “And what sacrifice are you willing to make? Or am I the only one required to meet certain demands?”

  Allison chose to ignore the icy bitterness in his words. “I will agree to become your wife, my lord. And with my hand in marriage you will get my dowry. Is there more that you require?”

  He didn’t answer, but held her gaze captive in his. “And if I refuse to meet your terms?”

  “Then we will not marry. I am sure there are other candidates with dowries large enough to save your inheritance.”

  A smile so slight she was not sure it was real lifted the corners of his mouth and he slowly turned to gaze out the window at the garden. She could not see his expression, but knew the turmoil that raged through his mind. He was searching for any way he could meet her demand to remain faithful and realized he could not. She knew his struggle was great. Knew he was wise enough and responsible enough to know he had to refuse her offer.

  She watched as he swallowed hard, then tilted his head back. Thick, dark lashes fluttered downward before he released a heavy sigh, then turned to face her.

  “Very well, my lady. I agree to your terms. On the day you take my name, I will give you my promise. From that day on, you will be the only woman to share my bed. In return for your dowry, I will take you as my wife. And my lover.”

  The floor dropped out from under her. She couldn’t have heard him right. She thought he’d promised to agree to her terms. To agree to be faithful to her. A promise she knew she couldn’t trust him to keep.

  She knew the kind of man he was, knew his
reputation. She’d be lucky if he remained faithful the first year of their marriage—the first month! Then what would she do? It would be too late by then. How could she take back her vows once she spoke them? How could she repair the damage he caused? How could she heal her heart once he broke it?

  “Why are you doing this?” She felt a rope tighten around her neck and fought to breathe from the pressure weighing on her chest.

  “Because I don’t have a choice. And neither do you. If I don’t marry you, I will lose everything. If you don’t marry me, you will lose your inheritance.”

  “I could marry—“

  “No, you couldn’t. Your brother wouldn’t allow it. And neither would I.”

  “Then I will lose the inheritance. I don’t need it.”

  “Yes, you do. Without it you will have to beg for a roof over your head from either your brother or one of those sisters you so pity. You would always be the poor relation, the spinster aunt.”

  Lynette’s words echoed in her mind. Her demand to have her husband to herself, to enjoy her home and her children without an intruding sister-in-law. Allison fisted her hands at her side. She didn’t have a choice. Not even the choice to marry who she wanted. “I wish I would not come with a dowry at all. I don’t want the money.”

  “But I do. And I will marry you to get it.”

  Fingers of dread clenched around her heart, squeezing until she could not breathe. She paced the room like a caged tiger. She could feel Montfort’s trap closing around her, feel her circle of freedom shrinking by the minute.

  A wide smile lifted the corners of his lips, his eyes twinkled with the rakish teasing she’d battled before. This was the marquess she’d kissed in the garden. The man who’d hounded her at every ball. The rogue who invaded her dreams each night.

  “Think on the bright side, my lady. Perhaps some unfortunate accident will befall me. Perhaps I will be shot by an irate husband or jealous lover and you will be left a widow. Then you will have the best of all worlds. All your wealth and mine, free and clear, and no husband to bother you.”