“I want the terms of marriage agreed upon in advance,” she announced.
Connor inclined his head in agreement but said nothing.
“Well,” she prompted after a moment’s silence, “make an offer.”
“As I said, name your price.”
She bit her lip again and shifted her feet. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
She tossed her hands up. “I don’t know what you have.”
“You’ve your brother’s head for business, I see,” he drawled before taking pity on her. “Very well. Ten thousand pounds per annum. How does that sound?”
“You have ten thousand pounds a year?” Good heavens, it was twice Sir Robert’s income.
“You will have ten thousand pounds a year.”
She smiled a little at the invitation to consider what was his as her own. Sir Robert had never made such a gesture, but then, he only had half the income. Ten thousand pounds, however, though a highly respectable sum, seemed far less than what would be needed to own several properties like the one they were in now. He’d need . . .
Suddenly, Connor’s emphasis of “you” took on another meaning. But it seemed so fantastical to her, so unlikely, she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around even the possibility.
“When you say I shall have ten thousand pounds,” she began slowly, “you do mean we. You are referring to a sort of . . . joint accessibility—”
“I am referring to an allowance. Your pin money, as it were.”
“Good heavens.” Ten thousand pounds was . . . It was . . . Well, it certainly wasn’t pin money.
Her heart began to race as visions of what she could do with such a fortune danced through her head. Isobel could have the finest gowns. George would never know a day’s want. Her home would be repaired and refurbished. Wolfgang would be freed of his debts. She could purchase a pianoforte for herself, or even travel. The bulk of the funds would be put away for safekeeping, of course, but a few indulgences here and there . . .
“Adelaide?”
“You could withdraw those funds,” she said quickly, surprised she was able to snatch the concern from her whirlwind of thoughts. “As my husband, you could cut me off—”
“We’ll draw up a legal contract.”
“Contracts can be broken.”
“They can, but it’s more assurance than Sir Robert will offer you.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Or perhaps she could have, had her mind not still been occupied with the idea of having ten thousand pounds.
It was far more than she had ever hoped for, more than most people saw in a lifetime, and she blamed the shock of such a windfall for what next came out of her mouth.
“I want twenty.”
She nearly swallowed her tongue. There was naming a price, and then there was asking for more than what could reasonably be expected to materialize. She had most certainly crossed the line.
Connor grinned. “Eleven.”
“Nineteen,” she shot back and rather wished she had swallowed her tongue in truth.
“Shall we save time and agree on fifteen?”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She couldn’t believe what she was saying.
“Fifteen is acceptable, but initial payment will be rendered in full the day of marriage.” She’d put it in her sister’s name, or her nephew’s. Whatever happened after, even if she never received another promised penny, her family would still have that fifteen thousand pounds.
“Agreed. Anything else?”
There were likely an infinite number of demands it would be wise for her to make, and an equal number of points on which an understanding should be reached in advance. Unfortunately, she had only the foggiest notion of what those might be. She’d never negotiated a marriage contract before.
And, oh, but it was difficult to concentrate when there was fifteen thousand pounds sitting on the table, figuratively speaking.
She walked a few feet away and back again. Difficult or not, she had to consider things carefully and thoroughly. No one else was going to take care of matters for her. She couldn’t very well ask Lord Engsly and Lord Gideon to engage in this sort of bartering. Her knowledge of marital contracts might be limited, but she was fairly sure that, generally, a bride did not demand a lump sum of money be delivered on her wedding day.
And she was quite certain that the next concern that occurred to her was not one she wished Lord Engsly and his brother to address on her behalf.
She looked at Connor and found him waiting with an air of amused patience. She cleared her throat. “What of . . . er . . .”
He lifted his brows and bent forward a bit, waiting.
“Will you expect . . . ?” Lord, this was awkward. And ridiculous. If she could demand a price for herself without batting an eyelash, then she ought be able to reference the marriage bed without tripping over her own tongue.
She blew out a short breath and tried again. “A marriage is not a marriage, not a lawful one, until . . . That is, will you require . . .” She made a prompting gesture with her hand.
“To . . . go somewhere?”
“No, to . . .” Feeling increasingly foolish, she made an even more emphatic—and no doubt even less decipherable—prompting motion. “. . . To have a lawful marriage . . . ?”
“Ah.” Understanding dawned on his face. “Yes.”
Right. Well, that was to be expected, wasn’t it? “I understand the marriage must be consummated, and I am willing to . . . do what must be done.”
“You sound like a martyr.”
“I don’t. I merely wish to make clear the details of our contract.” A hint of annoyance crossed his face. She ignored it. “I will agree to share a bed with you once a year.”
“No.”
Now she was growing annoyed. “ ‘No’ is not a counteroffer, Mr. Brice.”
“Connor. And ‘no’ means the offer was too insulting to dignify with any other response.”
Was it? Well, how the blazes was she to know? She sniffed, because it seemed the only thing to do. “Well, it stands until you come up with one of your own.”
“Fine. Ten times a day.”
She gaped at him, shocked beyond measure. “Surely not. There is only one night in a day.”
“I know.”
Adelaide felt a moment’s panic. She was at a terrible disadvantage in this negotiation, utterly in the dark in the private ways of husbands and wives. With her mother gone, and her friendship with Lilly and Winnefred not yet the sort that allowed for the discussion of such delicate matters, there was no one to whom she might turn to for guidance . . . No one but Connor.
“Is . . . ten times . . .” The heat of embarrassment and frustration filled her cheeks. Without realizing it, she leaned in a little and spoke in a lowered voice. “Is that normal?”
Connor blinked. For several long seconds, that was his only reaction. He stood mute and still as a statue. There wasn’t a trace of humor on his features, nor anger, come to that. There wasn’t a trace of anything that she could see. His face was a blank mask.
Good Lord, she’d shocked him stupid.
Adelaide straightened and twisted her lips. “The question hardly warrants that—”
“We’ll discuss it later,” he said suddenly, coming to himself.
His peculiar behavior deserved pondering, but his suggestion they revisit the conversation another time took precedence.
She shook her head in adamant refusal. “No. Not later. Now.”
She sounded like George asking after a biscuit. She didn’t care. Under no circumstances was she going to repeat this experience.
Connor stepped forward, took her by the elbow, and began to lead her down the hall. “Not everything needs to be decided today.”
This from the man who’d proposed after a day’s acquaintance? “But—”
“I’ve business to see to in Edinburgh this week. Take the time to think on matters.” He stopped, turned, and pulled her into his arms
. “And while you’re thinking, keep this in mind.”
His lips brushed across hers, soft and warm as the sun of spring. There was no hurry to his kiss, no demand, only patient invitation delivered with devastating skill. She accepted without thought, caught off guard by the sweetness of it, and before she knew it, her mouth was moving steadily under his. She leaned forward, gripping handfuls of his coat.
Connor pulled back. “Want more?”
She nodded. Shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t like you.”
“I know.” Connor lifted a hand and trailed the backs of his fingers across her jaw. His face was so close, she could make out every shade of green in his eyes. “I want you,” he said thickly. “I wanted you the first time I saw you. Even before I knew who you were.”
Before he knew of her connection to Sir Robert? She pulled away and looked at him, the warmth of the kiss draining away. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”
“No.” His mouth quirked with humor, but she wasn’t sure if he was laughing at himself or her. “Which is why I’d never planned to tell you.”
“And yet you just did.” She shook her head. “You’re very much like your brother, you know.”
He winced. “Have I angered you again, or are you being unkind in retaliation for past slights?”
“I believe you’ll say whatever you must to get what you want. Both of you.” All of you, she amended, thinking of her brother.
“You were wearing a blue coat,” he said quietly. “It was torn at the hem, and too thin for the weather. I could see the red in your cheeks and nose from the cold, and this . . .” He lifted a hand and toyed with a lock of her hair. “I could see it peeking out from under your bonnet. You bent to kiss your nephew’s brow as you crossed the yard.”
“You couldn’t have known he was my nephew.”
“I didn’t. I assumed he was your son and you were bringing him to see his father, your husband—didn’t stop me from looking for you every Saturday for almost six months. The hem was mended next I saw you.”
“That proves nothing. You could have . . .” She trailed off as something he had said suddenly took on new meaning. “Six months? This past winter?”
He nodded. “And an ocean of grief I received from the other inmates for it.”
A sick weight settled in her stomach. “Your interest was known.”
“There’s no privacy to be had in prison.” His brow furrowed as he studied her face. “Have I offended you? Are you angry that I watched you?”
“No. Some. I . . .” She pressed her lips together and shook her head. Her anger didn’t stem from that, directly. It stemmed from every lie, secret, and trap she’d fallen victim to—Connor’s, Wolfgang’s, Sir Robert’s. She was naught but a marionette in their show, and every time she thought to have gained her freedom, discovered where all their nasty little strings were attached, she turned about and found another.
Anger boiled and swirled. It was too solid to see past, too thick to speak through. She decided not to bother trying to do either. If Connor wanted to wait for his answer, then wait he would. And Wolfgang, she decided, could wait for his freedom.
Sir Robert could wait in hell.
“I wish to go home.”
Chapter 13
Connor knew that there were times when it was best to press, and times it was best to let things settle. He let Adelaide settle, making no attempt to fill the silence that accompanied their return carriage ride.
It cost him to do so. He wasn’t blind to the fact that something was bothering Adelaide, nor that the change in her demeanor had immediately followed his confession. He’d like to think she’d been struck senseless by the sudden realization of her good fortune, but even he could not lay claim to that level of arrogance.
He wanted to demand an explanation for her sudden change of mood or provoke her until the line between her brows disappeared. But he didn’t. He kept his peace as they came to a stop in her drive and issued only a few formal words of farewell after assisting her from her seat.
She mumbled something vaguely like, “Safe journey,” and headed for the house.
Suppressing an oath, Connor climbed back onto the phaeton and started the horses off at a trot. Adelaide wasn’t the only one in need of settling.
I want you. I wanted you the first time I saw you. Even before I knew who you were.
For the life of him, he could not say why he’d admitted to that, why he’d handed Adelaide what essentially amounted to a weapon.
He only knew that one moment he was enjoying the exchange, amused by the bartering, charmed by her incongruent mix of determined purpose and stumbling innocence. And the next moment, he’d felt like a jaded brute. Not exactly a novel sensation for him, but this time had been different.
He could still see the way the color had all but drained from her cheeks, then rushed back to leave her skin flushed.
“Is that normal?” she’d asked.
Bloody hell.
She’d unmanned him with that one question. Suddenly, she hadn’t looked sweet and brave and charming. She’d looked afraid, and cornered, and very, very alone. Like a babe in the woods.
It pricked at him now that he’d bargained with her that he’d been amused at all. It irritated him that they’d spoken of contracts and the bedchamber in the same conversation.
He wasn’t buying her like cattle. He wasn’t purchasing the favors of a light skirt.
And he wasn’t the sort of man who found pleasure in watching a woman struggling to find her way out of an untenable situation. He didn’t kick at innocents. Certainly, when that innocence could be used to benefit, he took advantage. But he didn’t kick.
He didn’t want to be the sort of man who kicked.
Somewhere in that jumble of doubt and worry and guilt was his reason for spouting off at the mouth. He’d wanted to apologize. Or give her something. Or give her something back.
Which was patently ridiculous, he decided. He was giving her something. Fifteen thousand somethings, to be exact. There was no reason for him to feel as if he were gaining the better part of a bargain. And there was no reason he couldn’t remember to hold his peace in the future.
Reasonably, if not wholly, satisfied with this line of logic, he set the matter aside. There were more immediate concerns that demanded his attention.
Not far from Adelaide’s house, he slowed the horses and carefully maneuvered the phaeton off the road onto a flat, grassy area surrounded by a thick line of evergreens. Then he hopped down, leaned against the front wheel, and waited.
It wasn’t long before the sound of old leaves cracking underfoot reached his ears, and a young man in peasant’s attire emerged from the surrounding trees. Connor knew Graham Sefton to be four-and-twenty, a half inch shy of six feet, and currently the single most useful individual of his acquaintance. He’d been Sir Robert’s man of all trades for three months, and Connor’s for six.
A man met the most interesting fellows in prison.
Connor nodded in greeting. “What will you tell your master?”
Graham came to a stop before him and scratched a nose that looked to have been broken and reset more than once. For reasons that eluded Connor, women in the local village found the flaw, and the man, all but irresistible.
“Depends, don’t it?” Graham remarked in a voice that held the hallmarks of a low birth softened by a late education. “You want him flapping like a fish on a hook or squirming like bait?”
“There’s a difference?”
“There is.” Graham grinned, dark eyes creasing in a faced tanned by both sun and heritage. “Give me the coin for a pint and I’ll explain it to you.”
Connor dug out payment and held it up, then away. “Explanation first, then we’ll see.”
Graham considered, then shrugged. “Bait knows he’s done for when the hook goes through. The squirming’s just the death throes. But a fish don’t always know it’s caught for good. Thinks all that flopping about on the line
will earn his freedom. What’s a bit of metal through a lip, after all. So, which will it be?”
The image of Sir Robert squirming was tempting, very tempting. But Connor knew he couldn’t risk it. Sir Robert was unpredictable. The possibility of him directing his frustration at Adelaide was real.
“I want him confident. Tell him you witnessed an argument.”
“And what was the nature of this argument?”
“You were too far away to hear. Tell him it looked as if I made an advance, and the lady rebuffed.”
“Simple enough.” Graham held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Do I have me coin?”
Connor tossed it to him. “You’re a cheap traitor.”
“Aye,” Graham agreed with a wink, “but a loyal one.”
Adelaide didn’t immediately go into the house. The moment Connor drove away, she turned her steps away from the front door and strode around to the relative privacy of a side garden. She followed a stone path that was rapidly disappearing beneath an onslaught of dirt and weeds.
A stunted but cheerfully blooming hydrangea caught her eye. She stopped to stare at it. She’d planted it before the death of her parents, and it survived and flowered, year after year, despite her neglect. Happy blooms, courageously thriving in the inhospitable world in which they had been so carelessly deposited.
She wanted to stomp on them. Just this once, she wanted to know the power of being the cause of havoc, instead of its victim. She turned away before the ridiculous temptation got the better of her.
If it was devastation she craved, she’d be better served by paying a visit to Sir Robert.
What a damn fool she was.
She remembered, perfectly, the day she had met the baron. It had been morning; she’d been on her way to town for bread, and she’d come across him on the road. His horse had gone lame—that’s what he’d told her after he’d introduced himself and offered his company for the walk into town.
She’d known who he was. Her little corner of Scotland was not so rife with barons that she could overlook one living but a few miles away. But they moved in different circles, different worlds, and they’d never spoken until that day.
AN Unexpected Gentleman Page 13
