The frightened look fled. ‘I have not given you permission to use my given name, my lord.’
‘You have my permission to use mine. You sound like my butler, not a woman who has accepted an offer of marriage.’
‘But I have not accepted an offer of marriage. I am merely pretending to be betrothed to you. There is no need to be on such familiar terms when we are alone.’
He raised his brow. ‘Pretending? No, you will be betrothed to me. You will be my fiancée and you will address me by my given name, Rosalyn.’
Her eyes flashed with anger. ‘You will not dictate to me. I will call you whatever I please, my lord. I understood I was merely to become betrothed to you so you could avoid an arranged marriage. I do not think we need to expand our acquaintance beyond that. We shall do the bare minimum to establish that we are engaged and nothing more. You are free to go your own way.’
So she thought she could avoid him so easily, did she? He settled more firmly against the doorway and folded his arms. ‘You’re quite wrong,’ he drawled. ‘I have no intention of going my own way. If this is to succeed, I must play the role of the devoted fiancée. My Aunt Margaret, not to mention my father, has an uncanny ability to sniff out a scheme. In fact, I intend to make it clear I am in love with you. I shall accompany you everywhere and take as many opportunities as possible to be alone with you.’
‘That is…is ridiculous. There is no need to go to such lengths.’ She seemed at a loss for words, and then recovered herself. ‘In fact, it is quite mad and I have no intention of going along with this. We can see each other once or twice a week and no more. I will not have you accompanying me about like some sort of…of lapdog.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Now you are attempting to dictate to me, my lady. I know you wish me to the devil, but we have a bargain. I will return your brother’s estate and you will play the role of my fiancée. I expect some enthusiasm on your part for my company. Do you understand?’
She tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze. ‘Quite, but I will not pretend to be in love with you. And I want you to understand I have no intention of engaging in idle flirtation with you when we are alone.’
They faced off for a moment like a pair of duellers, eyes locked. He finally shrugged. ‘As you wish.’
He moved away from the door. ‘I will escort you to the opera tomorrow. You will meet my sister and her husband. I will ask Lady Carlyn to accompany us.’
‘Very well, my lord,’ she replied.
‘You had best begin to practise using my given name.’
‘I have no idea what your given name is.’
‘It is Michael.’
She said nothing, merely continuing to regard him as if she wished he would go away. He stepped towards her, causing her to put her hand to her necklace, and retreat a step back. He captured her slender hand and lifted it towards his lips, then pure devilment shot through him as he looked down at her. Without warning he pulled her to him, his lips brushing over hers.
She tasted cool and surprisingly sweet. He had a sudden urge to crush her to him. His hands dropped away.
‘Until tomorrow, Rosalyn.’ He dragged out her name with deliberate, intimate slowness. Her gaze flew to his face. There was no mistaking the apprehension in her eyes.
Chapter Four
Rosalyn stared down at the note, completely dismayed. Lady Carlyn, pleading a sudden headache, would not accompany them to the opera. Since her grandmother developed a headache only to avoid some commitment. Rosalyn suspected Lady Carlyn wanted her to be alone with Lord Stamford. She must have the only grandmother in London who actually encouraged her granddaughter to consort with rakes.
She crumpled the note, resisting the temptation to fling it across her bedchamber. Apprehension made her hand tremble. She had no desire to be alone with Lord Stamford, cooped up in his carriage across from him, forced to make conversation with a man she knew nothing about, a man whose power she was now in.
She was behaving in a ridiculous manner. She rose from her bed and peered distractedly into her looking glass, not really seeing her pale face. He had no power over her. She was hardly alone in the world; she had her family and her own small but adequate income. So there was nothing to fear. She would take part in this absurd charade, Meryton would return to James, and she would return to her safe, well-ordered world.
But nothing, she told herself, could dispel the sense of dread she felt every time she thought of that fleeting kiss. She must make it very clear that she had no intention of engaging in that sort of behaviour with him.
She turned from the mirror in an impatient movement and picked up her gloves and fan. A glance at the small clock on her dressing table showed Lord Stamford was already fifteen minutes late. The least he could do was show up on time.
‘My lady?’
Rosalyn started. Mrs Harrod peered around the edge of the door. ‘Lord Stamford is here. So very handsome he is. All dressed in black. Like one of those heroes in a novel.’
Even her housekeeper was charmed by the man. Rosalyn picked up her velvet cloak from the bed. But Mrs Harrod stepped in front of her before she could leave. ‘There’s a bit of hair that’s come out, my lady.’ With deft fingers, she pulled the offending lock back into place. She stepped back and beamed, her kindly face warm with admiration. ‘There, my lady. You look lovely. No wonder his lordship is so smitten.’
Rosalyn flushed, wishing her housekeeper did not have such a romantic imagination.
She slowly descended the staircase, her heart beating much too fast. She entered her drawing room, the lamps casting a cosy intimate glow about the room.
Lord Stamford stood in front of the fireplace, gazing at the landscape over the mantelpiece, hands clasped behind his back. He turned at her soft footsteps.
She caught her breath at his dashing appearance.
His black long-tailed coat, contrasted with the stark white of his ruffled shirt, became his dusky complexion and emphasised the lean, aristocratic planes of his face. A diamond glittered in the folds his white cravat. His hair, wavy from the misty rain, gleamed midnight in the lamplight. The black silk breeches and white stockings revealed a pair of muscular calves.
She tore her gaze away, praying he hadn’t noticed her staring. She crossed the room towards him, arranging her features in what she hoped were cool, impersonal lines.
He took her hand and released it. His eyes searched her face. ‘I hope I did not keep you waiting too long, Rosalyn.’
‘Only a mere fifteen minutes, my lord.’
He grinned. ‘Tis some improvement. Usually I am at least twenty minutes late. By the time our association is at an end, you may cure me of my propensity for lateness.’
He removed the cloak from her hands and stepped behind her. She felt the soft velvet slide around her shoulders. And then his hands stilled at the nape of her neck, making her feel as if every nerve had sprung to life.
‘It is really your fault, you know,’ he said.
‘My fault?’
‘You are not like most women. They are always at least ten minutes late to add to the stir their appearance will create. That is what I expected.’
‘I don’t like to waste time.’ His touch distracted her so she hardly knew what she said.
He removed his hands and stepped around to observe her. His eyes took in her gown of black crêpe over a black sarcenet slip and the simple diamond necklace and matching ear drops.
‘Certainly you didn’t tonight.’
A