Charles nearly stumbled up the last step of the gazebo, his eyes wide as he took in the face of the beautiful young lady standing before him. Lady Madeline looked like an ethereal being, her delicate features framed by her fur-lined cape dyed deepest blue. It brought out the color in her eyes…eyes that were now wide and trained on him, waiting expectantly for him to speak.
He gripped tighter to the top of his walking stick. “Madeline, I…what did you say?” He had to be certain.
“I asked you to marry me,” she repeated.
Fucking hell. He glanced over his shoulder, sure this must be some prank. Any moment Burke would leap from the bushes and smack the hat off his head. “My Lady, you are too generous—”
“Wait,” she murmured, raising a shaking hand with tears in her eyes. “Please—before you turn me down—before you—just let me say this…”
He waited for her to speak.
She opened her mouth once, twice, but no words came out. All the while, her cheeks grew impossibly pink. She was so nervous she was shaking. He stepped forward on instinct, readying for her imminent collapse. She shied away from him, backing up until she ran into a marble column. She braced against it, eyes wide like an animal caught in a trap.
But that didn’t make sense, for it was she who sprung this snare on him. Perhaps he ought to be clinging to a pillar too.
“Lady Madeline—”
“I have a fortune,” she blurted, biting her lip as soon as the words were spoken. “I…just inherited it.”
He wasn’t sure how he was meant to respond. “Oh…well, that is…congratulations.”
She shook her head with a little groan. “I’m sorry, I’m doing this all wrong. I never seem to know the right words to say. I think them, but I cannot get them to come out in the right order.”
He nodded, knowing full well her meaning. He too suffered from a nervous disposition. Serving in the clergy had all but cured it, for his job forced him to make public sermons. He had a sudden image of Madeline standing at the pulpit, toppling over in a fainting fit.
“Take your time,” he said, trying to offer her a reassuring smile.
“My great aunt left me a fortune in her will,” she explained. “But to claim it, I must be married. Mr. Bray, I must marry by year’s end. If you’re willing, I’d like to marry you.”
He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the bitter chill biting through his many layers. “Lady Madeline, you are too generous,” he began again, but she held up a hand.
“Wait—I have a list, sir.” She pulled out a crumbled paper from the pocket of her pelisse, holding it out towards him.
Too curious by half, Charles crossed the space separating them. He took the paper, not missing the way she all but flinched away from him. He glanced down at the scrap of parchment. It was stained heavily at the top by spilled ink. He let his eye quickly scan the page:
Kind
No leeches
No gamblers
Dowry-chasers acceptable
No intimacy
Affairs should be kept quiet
No renegotiating for new terms
Charles pursed his lips, reading through the list again. “What is this?”
“A set of requirements for my future husband,” she replied on a breath.
He glanced down at it again. “No leeches?”
“Yes…my cousin thought it a good idea. Patrick—he thought—well, we thought—that is to say, I can’t have a man who would take too much from me,” she replied, talking fast. “You know…a man who must always demand more.”
He looked at the list again. “Why does it say ‘no intimacy,’ and yet the next line talks of affairs?” She looked truly fluster now, so he answered for her. “I suppose you mean that you want a husband in name only. A man you will not share intimacies with. Does this mean you would expect me to look the other way as you court other men?”
“Mr. Bray, I—” But she was too flustered to do more than shake her head.
He clutched the paper tight between his gloved fingers. “Oh god…is that what was happening last night with Burke’s absurd line of questioning? Was he vetting me for this list?” He shook the paper in his fist, unable to contain his scowl.
“Burke thought he was helping me,” Madeline murmured. “I didn’t know how to stop him once he started,” she added with a helpless shrug.
“And the duchess? She’s in on this too, I imagine.” He huffed a dry laugh. “What am I saying? Of course, she is. Why else would she show me such polite attention?”
“She likes you, Mr. Bray,” the lady said, inching forward. “They all do.”
He raised a brow. “And you, Lady Madeline? You hardly know me, and yet you would make me this offer? How can you be sure I am not a gambler or a leech?”
“You’re not,” she replied softly. “You are kind and considerate, Mr. Bray. Loyal to your family, to your uncle. And you’re not afraid of hard work,” she added. “You’ve only just arrived, and yet you’ve already taken it upon yourself to have baskets made for all the families caught up in the fire, and you mean to deliver them in person.”
“That’s my job,” he replied. He didn’t know why he was feeling so defensive.
“Please, Mr. Bray—I—this wouldn’t have to be a proper marriage,” said Madeline, stumbling over her words. “What I mean to say is that this could be a beneficial arrangement for us both. If you agree to marry me, I can compensate you. And if it be your wish, we need never live as husband and wife. I would never…your life could be your own. You could go to Bredbury and perform your duties as vicar. I could remain in Town at Leary House. I wouldn’t have to inconvenience you or impose in any way.”
Now he was the one fighting a blush. Of course, she didn’t want him. She wanted a man who was malleable. A man she wouldn’t have to fight with for dominance in a marriage. Christ, did even meek Lady Madeline Blaire see through him so easily? Warren had always been able to dominate him, bending him to his iron will.
That had to be her reason, for it was impossible to consider that this beautiful young lady would ever show any genuine interest in him. And she was right to dismiss him out of hand. His guilt swarmed him as he considered how he’d spent his morning. Hell, he still had the scent of Warren clinging to his skin. What would Madeline think if she knew his secrets? How fast would she rescind her offer?
“You can’t possibly want to marry me,” he said. “You deserve someone better. Someone more suited to your station. Surely there is a lord—”
He fell quiet as she spun away, unable to contain her sob.
Fucking hell, Charles. Now you’ve made her cry.
He stepped forward, reaching for her. “Madeline, I’m sorry.” He put his hand on her shoulder and she tensed. “You surprised me,” he murmured, stepping in behind her, his voice low. “I am not a polished gentleman, armed with the right words. I…no lady has ever expressed such an interest in me. Any interest really,” he added. “I hardly know what to think, let alone say. I don’t…I can’t understand it.”
Standing so close to her, he could smell faint floral notes. Roses? Perhaps it was her hair, or the soap of her clothes. It was so different from the heavy spiciness of Warren, but by no means unpleasant. In fact, he found himself leaning closer.
“Madeline, please speak to me.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Please don’t shut me out. I just want to understand.”
She spun around, her chest brushing against his. He was standing too close, and she had nowhere to go in this small space. He peered down into those pale blue eyes, her face framed by that handsome fur cape. She looked like a princess or a frost fae. Lady Madeline Blaire was a viscount’s daughter, a lady worth a fortune. She was best friends with a duchess. She was completely and utterly out of his sphere.
And yet she was proposing to him. She wanted to marry him.
No, she wanted to marry someone. Charles was just conveniently available.
He’d never really thought of marrying before. He certainly had nothing to recommend him—no money, no name, certainly no title. Sure, at a few of his postings eager mamas had thrust their daughters under his nose, hoping to catch his eye. But he’d never been interested in adding the complication of a wife and children to his life. He saw himself like Uncle Selby, married to his work, quietly doing good for the community.
Madeline’s sort may view marriage only as a business arrangement, the clever moving of pieces on a chess board. But Charles was a simpler man. In truth, he was a hopeless romantic. The idea of marrying a person and never earning a tender touch was odious to him. It was unthinkable.
He lowered his gaze to look at her. Her beauty was arresting, so sweet and softly feminine. Nothing like the hard edges and raw masculinity Warren exuded.
She glanced up at him through her long lashes. “Please…tell me what you’re thinking,” she murmured.
He sighed, raising a gloved hand to brush down one of her flyaway blonde curls. “I suppose I’m thinking…why me?”
She was quiet for a moment before she replied. “Because you will not hurt me.”
Her words were spoken so softly, so fragile in their honesty. His gaze narrowed on her as his heart raced. “And some other man may? Is that what you fear, Madeline? You fear marrying a man who will take from you and use you and hurt you?”
A tear slipped down her cheek and his heart broke in two. She bit her lip, dropping her gaze to his cravat before saying, “I am not the sort of lady that men fall in love with, sir. I am shy and awkward. I am quiet. I keep to myself. Men see me and they see weakness. They see someone they can control…someone they can bully.”
She said the word with such clear pain in her voice. What harms had been done to this fragile flower? Charles found himself itching with irritation, desperate to know who had hurt her. He would take her list of names and exact vengeance on her behalf. He wanted to wrap her in his arms. He wanted to soothe her and pet her and keep her safe.
“To marry a man in this society is to become his property. In the eyes of the laws of England, I would belong to him.” She raised her gaze, another tear slipping down her cheek. It was all he could do not to raise his hand and wipe it away. “If I must belong to a man in order to claim my freedom, I need him to be the sort of man who will not bully me. And I am so frightened, Charles,” she added, her voice breaking on his name. “I am so terribly afraid. Would you hurt me? Would you take what I did not want to give?”
He pressed forward, cupping her face. “Madeline, no,” he said with desperate feeling, brushing at her tears with his thumbs. “Never. I would never harm you. My sweet girl, how could you think so?”
She raised her hands, wrapping them around his wrists, her body wracked with sobs. She was clinging to him, and he was lost to her. This precious thing. She needed protecting, cherishing. Before he knew it, he was lowering his face to hers, kissing the wet spot on her cheek.
She stilled, her hands tight around his wrists.
He was gentle, his hands cupping her jaw as he kissed her other cheek, her tears wet and salty on his lips. She leaned into him, tipping her chin up, eyes closed behind wet lashes.
Oh god—did she—was it possible? Did she want him to kiss her?
This was madness. He should stop. He should run. She was a lady and he a gentleman and this was not done. So why wasn’t that stopping him? Why was he pulling off his glove?
She stiffened, but she didn’t pull away. He brushed her frozen cheek with his bare thumb, his fingertips feeling the flaxen softness of her golden curls.
“I would never harm you, Madeline,” he murmured. “You are safe with me. Always.”
His heart hammered in his chest. He’d never been so close to a woman. She smelled divine, all flowers and feminine sweetness. Why wasn’t she pulling away?
He brushed his thumb over her lips, and they parted on a sharp breath. Her eyes went impossibly wide, head tilting back. He said the words sitting heavy in his heart. “You say you cannot be loved, but you are wrong. You are all sweetness and purity. How could any man look at you and not see your beauty?”
“Charles,” she said on a breath, her pink lips parted as she held his gaze.
“Do you really think I could take you for my wife and promptly turn the other way? You think I could abandon you? Leave you to the wolves in London whilst I go on my merry way north? Impossible.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
He was ensnared by her beauty, by the innocence in her hopeful look. “There would be no turning away from a woman as beautiful as you. If you ever become my wife, Madeline Blaire, you would be mine.”
Abandoning all rational thought, he gave in to the teasing tilt of her chin and pressed his lips to hers. He’d never kissed a woman before. He’d never kissed anyone but Warren. The sensation was so wholly different. In Warren’s arms, he felt small and breakable. It was Warren who dominated. Warren pressed and opened, guiding him towards his pleasure.
Now here he stood, caressing the line of Madeline’s jaw, luxuriating in the gentle press of her soft lips. She was shaking in his arms, but she still wasn’t pulling away. She made a sighing sound of surprise in her throat, then she was up on her toes, kissing him back.
He groaned, loving the feel of her hands coming up to brace at his elbows. He stroked her cheeks, tilting his face to deepen their kiss. Just as he felt her lips part, timidly seeking more, something heavy clamped down on his shoulder, jerking him backwards.
“Get the hell off of her!”
