The Runaway Heiress. Anne O'Brien

She was once more able to command her voice and her breathing. ‘They disowned her, you understand, when she married my father. They thought he was a fortune hunter and too irresponsible, so they cut all contact.’

      ‘Your father, I presume, was Torrington’s younger brother. I never knew him.’

      ‘Yes. Adam Hanwell. I remember nothing of him—he died when I was very young.’

      ‘And your mother?’

      ‘She was Cecilia Mortimer. She died just after I was born. That’s why I was brought up at Torrington Hall and Viscount Torrington is my guardian.’

      ‘As I understand it, the Mortimers are related to the Wigmore family.’

      ‘Yes. My grandfather was the Earl of Wigmore. I hoped the present Earl would not abandon me entirely if he knew I was in trouble. I believe he is my cousin. Do you think he would?’

      ‘I have no idea. And I cannot claim to be impressed by your plan.’ Aldeborough ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. ‘If they refuse to recognise you, you will be left standing outside their town house in Portland Square, with no money and no acquaintance in London. Or what if they are out of town and the house is shut up? Do you intend to bivouac on their doorstep until they return? It is a crazy scheme and you will do well to forget it.’

      ‘It’s no more crazy than you forcing me into a marriage I do not want!’ Frances was stung into sharp reply. ‘You have no right to be so superior!’

      ‘I have every right. There is no point in making the situation worse than it is already.’

      Frances sighed. ‘It seemed a good idea at the time.’ She raised her hands in hopeless entreaty and then let them fall back into her lap. ‘Do you think I could be an actress?’

      ‘Never!’ Aldeborough laughed without humour. ‘Every emotion is written clearly on your face. I cannot believe that you would actually consider such a harebrained scheme.’

      ‘No. But desperation can lead to unlikely eventualities.’ She tried to smile, but it was a poor attempt.

      The Marquis noted the emotion that shimmered just below the surface, prompting him to take the brandy glass from her. She did not resist. ‘Let us be sensible.’ He returned to lean his arm along the mantelpiece and stirred the smouldering logs with one booted foot. ‘I think that we are agreed that you have very few realistic options. There is no guarantee of a favourable welcome from Wigmore. You have spent far too long unchaperoned in my house—don’t say anything for a moment—so you must marry me as it is the only way to put things right.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘No. Think about it! Your reputation will be secure. We can call it a runaway match, if you wish. We saw each other at some unspecified event—unlikely, I know, but never mind that—and fell in love at first sight. With the protection of my name no one will dare to suggest that anything improper occurred. You will be able to escape from your uncle and a life that clearly has made you unhappy. And, until your own inheritance is yours, you can have the pleasure of spending some of my wealth and cutting a dash in society.’

      It sounded an attractive proposition. For long moments, Frances considered the clear, coldly delivered facts, smoothing out a worn patch on her skirt between her fingers. She raised her eyes to his, trying to read the motive behind the unemotional delivery.

      ‘But why would you do this? You don’t want a wife. Or, certainly, not me.’

      He laughed harshly. ‘You are wrong. I do need to marry some time. It is, of course, my duty to my family and my name to produce an heir. So why not you?’

      Frances blushed. ‘I am not suitable. I am not talented or beautiful or fashionable … Your family would think you had run mad.’

      He shrugged carelessly. ‘You come from a good family and the rest can be put right. And it will stop my mother from nagging me. What do you say? Perhaps we should deal very well together. Your view of marriage seems to be even more cynical than mine! As a business arrangement it could be to the benefit of both of us.’

      Frances still hesitated.

      ‘If for no other reason, you might consider my position. It may surprise you to know that I do have some sense of honour.’ His lips curled cynically. ‘I would not wittingly seek to be accused of abducting and ruining an innocent girl. I do have some pride, you know.’

      Frances took a deep breath. ‘I had not thought of that.’

      ‘Then do so. You are not likely to be the only sufferer here.’

      ‘But you already have a reputation for—’ She came to a sudden halt, embarrassed by her insensitive accusation.

      ‘Ah. I see.’ His voice was low and quiet. ‘So my damnable reputation has reached even you, Miss Hanwell, shut away as you have been in Torrington Hall. Do you expect me to live up to it? One more victim from the fair sex will make no difference, I suppose. Perhaps I should seduce you and abandon you simply to give credence to the rumours spread by wagging tongues. I am clearly beyond redemption. Perhaps I should not insult you with an offer of marriage.’

      Frances could not answer the bitter mockery or the banked anger in his eyes but simply sat, head bent against the wave of emotion. When he made no effort to break the silence that had fallen, she glanced up at him. The anger had faded from his face, to be replaced by something that she found difficult to interpret. If she did not know better, she might have thought it was a moment of vulnerability.

      ‘Well, Miss Hanwell?’

      ‘Very well. I think I must accept your offer, my lord. I will try to be a conformable wife.’ She could hardly believe that she was saying those words.

      ‘You amaze me. So far all you have done is argue and refuse to listen to good sense.’

      ‘But … I never meant …’

      ‘There is no need to say any more. Come here.’ She stood and moved towards him. He turned her to face the light from the candles at his elbow and looked at her searchingly for perhaps the first time, turning her head gently with his hand beneath her jaw. Her skin, a trifle pale from the emotions of the past hour, had the smooth translucence of youth. Her eyebrows were well marked and as dark as her uncontrolled curls. Her remarkable violet eyes expressed every emotion she felt—at the moment uncertainty and not a little shyness. But equally he had seen them flash in anger and contempt. She had a straight nose, a most decided chin and softly curving lips. She was not a beauty, he thought, but a little town bronze would probably improve her. It could turn out to be not the worst decision he had made in his life. She dropped her eyes in some confusion under his considered scrutiny.

      ‘Look at me,’ he demanded and when she automatically obeyed he wound his hand into her hair and his lips sought hers. It was a brief, cool caress, but when Aldeborough lifted his head there was an arrested expression on his face. Frances had steeled herself against his kiss, but was now aware that his grasp showed no intention of loosening. She drew in a breath to object, but before she could do so Aldeborough placed his hand gently across her lips and shook his head.

      ‘I must request your pardon if you are displeased. Are you displeased, Frances Rosalind? It seemed to me that we should seal our agreement in a more … ah … intimate manner, even if it is to be a marriage of convenience. What do you say?’

      Frances was unable to say anything coherent or sensible and was overcome with a sudden anger both at Aldeborough’s presumption and her own inability to respond with a satisfactory reply that would leave him in no doubt of her opinion of men who forced themselves on defenceless women, even if they had just agreed to marry them.

      ‘Let me go!’ was all that she could manage and thrust at his shoulders with her hands as she remembered the humiliation of his embrace in the coach. It was to no avail. Her confusion obviously amused Aldeborough for he laughed, tightened his hold further and bent his head to kiss her once more. But this was different. Aldeborough’s mouth was demanding