“We are in agreement then?” she asked.
“Ah, but you’re forgetting one thing.”
“What?”
“You may now believe you will never want to marry, but what if circumstances change?”
She tilted her head at him and smiled. “I don’t believe a woman must marry to find fulfillment or happiness. Auntie Lil never married and she is quite content, joyous really. But in the unlikely event that circumstances should change, then we could seek a divorce.”
Marcus shook his head. “Divorce is near impossible and requires a Private Act of Parliament. Only rare cases involving a wife’s adultery have been sufficient grounds of late. Legal separation is more available.”
She didn’t miss a beat, desperate to convince him. “Since we will not have children, and I truly have no desire to marry, separation suits us perfectly.”
“I commend your swift thinking, Lady Isabel. If half of the stockbrokers at the Exchange thought as quickly on their feet as you, I would have no clients left.”
She quickly raised her glass, lest he change his mind. “A toast to us then?”
“I have a better way to seal our bargain.” He plucked the glass from her limp hand and pulled her into his arms. “If I am going to embark on a passionless marriage of convenience, then I want to sample what I am giving up.”
Chapter 6
Isabel’s eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. A thrill of frightened anticipation touched her spine a moment before Marcus’s mouth lowered to hers.
The touch of his lips was a delicious sensation, and his firm mouth coaxed and demanded her response. Her arms rose of their own volition, her fingers digging into his arms, as the heat of the kiss sizzled like molten fire through her veins. Her breasts, pressed against his hard chest, tingled from the contact. His tongue traced the soft fullness of her bottom lip, and she shivered.
His nearness was overwhelming. Nothing in her childhood fantasies had prepared her for the reality of the man. He was so much bigger, bolder…so much more masculine.
He pulled her closer still, and she gasped. He slipped in between her parted lips to explore the recesses of her mouth. She tightened her arms around his neck, ten fingers sinking into the dark curls on his head. His hair was not rough, as she had thought, but felt like silk as it glided between her fingers. He did not wear cloying cologne like most gentlemen, but instead he smelled clean, fresh, as if he spent much of his time outdoors.
Her eyes slid closed; her skin grew hot. Her heart beat like a drum, and her breathing became ragged. Or was that his breathing? She couldn’t tell. All she knew was that her trembling limbs clung to him.
She had kissed other men. But never had those rushed interludes felt like this. Those kisses had been wet and sloppy—the partners rushed and overeager as if the kissing was just an inconvenience to do what they really sought to do—grope her thigh, her buttocks, or her breast.
Here was a man who enjoyed kissing, took his time and thoroughly enjoyed holding her, exploring her lips, her mouth, her…
His lips moved to her ear, then the curve of her neck. She gasped again—the sensations overwhelming.
“Oh, my,” she whispered. “I hadn’t expected it to be quite so…enjoyable.”
He raised his head, and then dropped his arms from around her. “Neither did I,” he said, his voice harsh.
She was confused by his sudden withdrawal, the tensing of his body. Perhaps he wasn’t as affected by their shared embrace as she? She knew there had been lovers in his roguish days.
What could a mere kiss mean to a former rake?
Then she met his gaze and changed her opinion. There was a wild look in his dark eyes, a smoldering promise of more to come. The tensing of his powerful body was not from cold disinterest, but from measured restraint.
“I used to dream about you when I was a girl,” she blurted out, then was immediately embarrassed by the admission.
“I know.”
She frowned. “A little humility would suit you.”
“Perhaps. But if we are to act the loving couple, then we must be completely honest with each other. Do you agree?”
“Of course. Then if I may ask, why did you kiss me?”
“Because I wanted to. Because I’ve thought of little else since you propositioned me in Lord Westley’s erotic gallery.”
Her heartbeat throbbed in her ears at his words. “I see,” she said, raising a forefinger to her swollen bottom lip.
Footsteps echoed down the hall, and the library door swung open. Edward Cameron stood in the doorway.
“Well, Mr. Hawksley? Is everything settled between the two of you then?”
Marcus nodded. “We are in agreement, Lord Malvern.”
“Good. We shall announce the engagement immediately to stem the tide of forthcoming gossip. The sooner the marriage takes place, the better. I’ll attempt to acquire a Special License, but if my connections are unsuccessful, then we shall have to arrange for the reading of the banns. Shall I contact Lord Ardmore, or will you?”
Marcus straightened. “There’s no need. I’ll speak with my father and older brother.”
Isabel recalled Charlotte’s bit of gossip at Lady Holloway’s ball. Marcus Hawksley had become estranged from his family after entering trade as a stockbroker. It had seemed like such a harsh course of action by the Earl of Ardmore. Had the old man no feelings for his younger son? And what of Marcus’s brother, the heir to the earldom? How could he fault his younger sibling for seeking to earn a living rather than begging for every shilling from his father as all younger sons had to do?
It made no sense. She wondered what else was behind the rift. Glancing at Marcus’s strong profile, she decided then and there that she would find out not just the truth about his family, but about who was trying to frame him for thievery.
“You did what?”
Isabel poured Charlotte a cup of tea and took a seat across from her friend. They were in the parlor of Isabel’s home, where Isabel had invited Charlotte for afternoon tea to update her on yesterday’s shocking course of events.
“I don’t know what to think myself,” Isabel said. “I was trying to get out of one engagement only to find myself forced into another.”
Charlotte sat still, her color alarmingly pale. Isabelle reached across an end table, past the sterling silver tray, to touch her friend’s hand. “Charlotte?”
Charlotte blinked, her eyes focusing on Isabel’s face. “Engaged to Marcus Hawksley? You lucky devil, Isabel.”
“Lucky?”
“Of course!”
“Whatever do you mean? As my closest friend, you know that I don’t want to marry.”
“But that was to Lord Walling,” Charlotte said. “The waddling Lord Walling. Not to the young, devilishly masculine Marcus Hawksley. The man you used to incessantly talk about after your father’s summer house party when you were twelve.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“So? Look me in the eye and tell me you are not attracted to him now.”
Isabel fidgeted in her seat. “That’s not the point. I must tell you that Marcus and I have come to an agreement, an understanding that no one is to know about. No one but you. But you must promise not to whisper our secret to another soul. I know how you love to gossip, Charlotte, but you must swear to keep your flapping lips sealed.”