“I’m afraid it’s past my doing. I have my sense of honor.”
“Honor!” Her voice was shrill to her own ears. “This is a lifetime we’re speaking of.”
“No doubt.”
“Then speak up!”
“Your father is right. It’s the only reasonable course of action.”
She scowled at him, speechless.
Edward rose from behind his desk. “Perhaps Mr. Hawksley can convince you better than I, Isabel. I’ll leave you in private for a few minutes to talk things through.” He left the library without a backward glance.
As soon as the door closed, Marcus stood and went to the liquor cabinet. He pulled out two glasses and a bottle of her father’s favorite port. Pouring two fingers’ worth in both glasses, he picked up one, downed the glass, refilled it, and then turned to her.
“A celebratory toast, Lady Isabel?” he said, holding out the second glass of amber-colored liquor. “I do believe the occasion warrants one. It’s not every day I propose marriage to a young, titled lady.”
Isabel eyed him warily. His arm rested on the back of an armchair, his long, muscular frame, leaning to the side in an insolent manner. Broad shoulders strained against his tailored navy jacket—shoulders that she knew from firsthand experience were not padded like those of other men of her acquaintance. She vividly recalled the powerful muscles in his arms as he had held her and she had eagerly waited for his lips to touch hers…
Except they never did…
She frowned. Something about his resigned acceptance of her father’s demands disturbed her. He was not the type of man to easily relinquish control. To the contrary, he was a man who was used to following his own rules, not the dictates of society.
Hadn’t he left behind the lazy world of privilege to become a stockbroker in the London Stock Exchange?
A sudden realization dawned upon her. “You feel guilty, don’t you?”
Dark eyes narrowed, and he lowered the offered glass. “What?”
She forced her lips to part in a curved, stiff smile. “You feel a crushing sense of guilt because without my admission as to our ‘scandalous relationship,’ you would not have had an alibi for the Gainsborough theft. You feel as if you owe me. And your twisted sense of honor is telling you that the only way to repay me is to marry me and salvage my reputation, despite my firm and repeated objections.”
Marcus sauntered forward, hand clutching the glass, powerful body coiled. “You have me all figured out, don’t you?”
She stood and lifted her chin a notch. “Am I correct, Mr. Hawksley?”
“It’s Marcus.”
“Don’t evade my question. Am I correct?”
“Yes, I suppose you’re correct,” he ground out. “Contrary to what the gossips whisper about me behind my back, I do have a strong moral code…a sense of honor. Just so you understand, I do not condone the lies you told at the Westley mansion. I detest being manipulated in business or in personal matters. What you did was selfish and immature, and yet if you had not been where you were, if you had not plotted this ‘catastrophe,’ as your father called it, I would be at Bow Street as we speak being questioned by an underpaid and overly zealous constable. So, yes, Lady Isabel, I do feel guilty and somewhat responsible for your predicament. I am fully aware that by marrying the younger son of an earl and a working stockbroker to boot, you are stepping down in the eyes of society, but it will spare you from complete scandal. It is the least I can do for your father and your family since you do not seem overly concerned for them.”
Her mind fluttered away in anxiety at his determination to follow through with her father’s marital notions. “But I have plans, and marriage to you is not one of them.”
“I had plans as well, and although marriage was not in my imminent future, a relationship was.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “There’s another woman? Charlotte had assured me you were a sworn bachelor, and she knows everything.”
A mocking smile invaded his stare. “Whoever Charlotte is, she does not know everything.”
She shook her head regretfully. “I apologize. I never intended to cause trouble between a love match.” She felt a strange twinge of foreign emotion. Jealousy that Marcus Hawksley had a lover?
Ridiculous! she mused. You hardly know him.
He stepped forward and touched her hand. His fingers, warm and strong on her sensitive skin, sent a tingle of awareness up her arm.
She met his gaze, and the intense look in his eyes startled her.
“What’s done is done,” he said. “I’ll not change my mind. Your plans of Paris and Auntie Lil will have to be delayed.”
“Yes,” she murmured, her mind spinning. “Delayed…perhaps not all is lost.” She reached out to take the glass of port from him. “Perhaps we can agree to postpone our plans and not dismiss them forever. I’d drink a toast to that.”
“What are you scheming?”
“A marriage of convenience, Mr. Hawksley. A temporary marriage of convenience.”
“I’m listening, but I don’t think I like it—”
“It’s perfect. We agree to marry for six months until the scandal has passed and my twin siblings are not tarnished. Thereafter, we can go our separate ways. Me to Paris and you back to your lady friend. Many married couples among the beau monde lead separate lives, some on separate continents. Since neither of us desires to be shackled by marriage, it’s the perfect solution.”
“And what about intimate relations during those six months?”
She gave an anxious little cough. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Really?” he drawled. “Just a few hours ago that is all you had thought about.”
She ignored his sarcastic tone. “It must be a passionless relationship. It should be easy to maintain. Separate bedrooms are commonplace after all.”
“Ah, what do I get out of this fraudulent marriage?”
“It will assuage your guilt. Whatever your honor is telling you to do, then it should be satisfied.”
“My honor can be salvaged by a real marriage.”
At his firm resolve, she switched tactics. “But what of your previous life? Your lady friend? Your work? Everything will change if you marry me. As my husband, Father will expect you to limit, maybe even cease, your work at the Exchange.”
“I see.”
“If we agree to a temporary marriage, then you need only comply for six months. Surely that short amount of time is endurable.” Leaning forward, she eyed him with a calculating expression. “Most importantly, you would be assured access to the inner circle of the ton.”
“What makes you think I would want that?” he asked softly, mockingly.
“I presume you plan to seek out the true culprit of the theft of the Thomas Gainsborough painting? No one is more convinced than I that you are not the thief. Whoever the criminal is, he is most assuredly working for a member of the beau monde, someone who can afford expensive art, or at the least, someone who has the financial means to hire a crooked auctioneer such as Dante Black to frame you. As my husband, you would be on the guest list of every ball, party, masque, and soiree. You could move freely amongst them, listen to their conversations, and even search their houses for information. No one would be the wiser.”
“Lady Isabel, you never cease to amaze me. You’re correct