Marriage of Inconvenience. Cheryl Bolen
through him, but he could not allow her to know he had unmasked her pseudonym. “Yes? What reforms would that be?” He tried to sound casual.
“All the reforms, actually. As long as I live in Lord Warwick’s house, I can’t very well promulgate reforms against the very government he serves, but that is exactly what I wish to do. Unfortunately, I’m totally dependent on Lord Warwick, owing to the fact I’ve no money of my own.” She stopped abruptly and peered up at him. “So I must marry in order to gain my independence. The pity of it is, I have no dowry.”
There was not a morsel of doubt in his mind that Rebecca Peabody was indeed P. Corpus. A smile tweaked at the corners of his mouth. “Your lack of a dowry shouldn’t matter to a man of means.”
“Do you mean a man of means like you?” she asked, her voice squeaking, her lashes lifting as she innocently gazed into his eyes.
She reminded him of a frightened puppy as she looked up at him with those big eyes of hers.
He patted her hand. “I am a man of means, though I’m not in the market for a wife.”
As they stood in front of the fire, her gaze fanned across the chamber, stopping at a large bookcase some ten feet away, its gilded leather volumes bathed in the fire’s buttery glow. “Are you aware that I cataloged Lord Agar’s entire library at Windmere Abbey?”
Miss Peabody obviously wished to acquaint him with her organizational skills. “Actually I am. Warwick told me.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Please say that you did not reveal to Warwick that I asked you to... I won’t discuss what I asked you to do.”
He could not help himself. He laughed. “I beg your forgiveness if I’ve upset you by telling Warwick, but is the man not as a guardian to you?”
Her eyes grew even larger. “Pray, my lord, what did you discuss with Warwick?”
“I asked him if you could possibly be possessed of more maturity than you have heretofore demonstrated to me.”
“And how did his lordship answer?”
“He assured me you were most mature as well as wonderful with children.” He must not give her false hope. “Were I interested in marriage, I should desire a wife who was attracted to me, and I know you are not.”
That curtain that concealed her emotions dropped over her delicate face.
Neither of them spoke for a moment. The only sounds merging into the deep silence were the muffled laughter in the hallways beyond the library door and the sputtering fire before them.
“I cannot lie,” she finally said, “and say I have romantic designs on you.”
“Since you’ve never had romantic designs on any man?”
The firelight reflected off her spectacles as she nodded.
“It won’t always be that way, you know,” he said. “As a man and woman—or husband and wife—grow close to one another, intimacy is as natural as breathing.”
“I do understand that,” she said, her voice soft and devoid of embarrassment. “I read my Bible. A man shall leave his father and mother and cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.” She peered into his eyes. “I’ve seen it with my sister and Warwick and with Lord and Lady Agar. Both couples are deeply in love.”
The curtain went back up over the softened features of her face, and she changed the subject. Without looking at him, she spoke. “Will you answer a question, my lord?”
“Anything.”
“Are you considering marriage with me?”
Being coy was as alien to this young woman as frugality was to the regent.
He had not admitted to anyone—not even to himself—that he was considering marriage to Miss Rebecca Peabody. But she knew. Could she know him better than he knew himself? “I’m considering it,” he said with great honesty. “I must tell you, though, that a marriage without mutual affection and intimacy holds no appeal to me.”
It was a moment before she made a response. “Would you consider marrying me if I promised to be open to that at some time in the future? After a deep bond of friendship had the opportunity to form?”
He felt his chest expanding. Though he’d had no intentions of begging for her hand, such an idea now held appeal. “I would consider it, but I must first tell you some things that might change your mind about wishing to marry me.”
Her brows lowered. “What things?”
“You know I have six sons?”
She nodded. “What are their ages?”
“They range in age from three to nineteen.”
“I assure you I love little boys. In fact, I like them much more than I like girls—owing to the fact they’re all I’ve ever been around.”
Would she still feel that way once she became acquainted with his rambunctious sons? “My sons are really
good lads, but they’re always into mischief. They’ve run off more nurses, governesses and housekeepers than I can count.”
“How do they run them off, my lord?”
He frowned. “The last one left after she found worms in her garment drawer.”
Miss Peabody giggled. “The woman should have locked her chamber door.”
“My sons should not have gone into her room,” he said in a stern voice.
“Were I their mother, I would have to be a firm disciplinarian.”
“Exactly what they need.”
“And I adore worms.”
He burst out laughing. At that very instant he wished to ask her to marry him. Because of the worms. But he couldn’t offer for her until she knew the obstacles that would face her should she become his wife. “In addition to my seven children, I’m also responsible for two other people. I’m guardian to my sister’s son, a wastrel named Peter Wallace who is two and twenty, and I’m responsible for my daft uncle who’s been banished to the dowager’s house.”
Her brows lowered. “Pray, my lord, why did you banish your uncle?”
Aynsley really did not want to tell her. “He has a peculiar habit that is most offensive, especially to females.”
“What habit is that, my lord?”
He swallowed. “He believes he’s a kissing bandit.”
“Do I understand you correctly? He tries to steal kisses from females?”
He nodded ruefully.
She did not say anything for a moment. Then she said, “I sincerely hope his peculiar propensity does not run in your family, my lord.”
He laughed. “I assure you, Miss Peabody, I do not accost women for the purpose of stealing kisses.”
“I’m very glad to hear that.” Her lips pursed, she shook her head. “Has your uncle always done this peculiar thing?”
“No. That did not commence until his eighty-fifth birthday.”
“Oh, I see. His senses are in the same place with his head of dark hair and unlined skin?”
“Regrettably.”
“And now that he’s banished, I suppose he lacks the mobility to bother the females at Dunton Hall?”
“Usually. But he occasionally chases them about the park in his bath chair.”
“The poor old dear.”
“You would not say that were he leaping at you with pursed lips and groping arms.”
“No. I