Marriage of Inconvenience. Cheryl Bolen

      Merely nodding, her eyes fixed on Trevor’s diamond studs, her limbs trembling, she refused to meet his lordship’s gaze.

      The orchestra began to play a waltz.

      “I beg that you do me the goodness to stand up with me, Miss Peabody,” Lord Aynsley said. “I came here expressly to see you.”

      She was still hiding behind Trevor, who had the audacity to smirk, then beg to take his leave.

      With no Trevor to shield her, she could not have felt more vulnerable had she stood barefoot in her shift in front of Lord Aynsley. She wished to decline. She wished to run to her bedchamber. She wished to never see Lord Aynsley again for as long as she lived. But the good manners Maggie had instilled in her prevailed. Lifting her gaze to his, she nodded and placed her hand in his.

      When they reached the crowded dance floor and his hand fitted to her waist, she sincerely hoped he did not detect the tremor that rumbled through her body.

      That his dance movements were flawless surprised her. How could he be so fine a dancer when the man never attended balls? Obviously she was not the only person surprised that Lord Aynsley knew how to dance. If she was not mistaken, every eye in the ballroom was on him.

      So much for her plan to be uncivil to him. Maggie would most definitely hear of it and become livid. “You, my lord, are the last person I would have expected to see here tonight,” she finally said. At least Maggie could not accuse her of being rude to his lordship. Against her own better judgment, Rebecca was actually speaking to the odious man.

      “Why do you say that, Miss Peabody?”

      “Your distaste for social gatherings is rather well known.” Is that one of the reasons she had selected him for her potential husband?

      “It wasn’t always that way, you know.”

      “Yes, I have surmised as much, owing to your competence at dancing.”

      “I thank you for the compliment.”

      “I did not compliment you.”

      “But you said my dancing was competent. Is that not a compliment?”

      “I do not wish to compliment you. I do not understand why you’ve come tonight. I do not even want to be dancing with you! Is it your desire to humiliate me that’s brought you here?”

      His dance step slowed, and he looked down at her, his jaw clenched with concern. He squeezed her hand. “Never that. How could I when you’ve so singularly honored me?”

      Odious man! “If you were possessed of decent manners, you would not mention so embarrassing a topic.”

      He chuckled. And held her a bit tighter as swirling couples in rustling silks waltzed around them.

      She looked up into his amused face. He was tall enough to have rested his chin on the top of her head. “You have not answered me, my lord. Why have you come tonight?”

      “To tell you the truth, I’m here because I wish to know you better, Miss Peabody.”

      “You, my lord, know all you need to know—and obviously dislike what you know.”

      “Forgive me if I’ve given that impression.” He paused, a contrite expression on his serious face. “Perhaps I wish to know if you are, indeed, as mature as you assure me you are.”

      Good heavens! Was he actually contemplating the offer she had made him more than two weeks previously? In that instant, an odd sense of well-being exploded inside her. She was suddenly incapable of responding. If ever she needed to converse in a mature, intelligent manner, it was at this moment. And for the first time in her life, Miss Rebecca Peabody was speechless.

      Also for the first time in her life, Rebecca Peabody wished she had no need for her spectacles. She wondered if Lord Aynsley would find her becoming in the peach-colored dress. Had Pru arranged her hair in a flattering fashion?

      When the orchestra stopped playing and she found herself being escorted from the dance floor by Lord Aynsley, she was still moritfyingly mute. Even when he failed to relinquish her arm and led her down two flights of stairs and along the marble entry hall to Lord Warwick’s library, she could not find her tongue.

      Lord Aynsley led her into the library, a room that was lit only by a single taper in a wall sconce and the fire blazing in the hearth. He closed the door behind him and solemnly gazed into her eyes. “I wish to take this opportunity to get to know you better, Miss Peabody.” Then he walked to the hearth. “Do you not find the room cold? I beg that you join me.”

      * * *

      It was a moment before she joined him, and in that moment he took the opportunity to study her. She looked far too fetching in that gown that duplicated the color in her cheeks. The girl was possessed of the creamiest complexion, which was a perfect setting for those deep brown eyes of hers. She was really quite lovely—even in her spectacles.

      “So you wish to determine if I’m truly mature?” she asked.

      He peered down at her. “I do.”

      “The only way to do that is to converse.”

      “I agree.”

      “Then, my lord, I would like you to explain something to me. I’ve a keen interest in politics and I keep up with Parliament the best I can, but I’ve been unable to determine if you align yourself with the Tories or the Whigs. You must own, you seem to embrace both factions.”

      Could there be another young lady in the kingdom who had such knowledge of Parliament’s activities? He would vow many of his colleagues in the House of Lords had been unaware that he played one side against the other in order to achieve his goals. A smile broke across his face. “You’re very astute, Miss Peabody. I’ve found that to accomplish what I wish to accomplish I must not alienate either faction. It’s my intent to make both sides think I’m with them.”

      “Pray, my lord,” she asked, gazing up at him with those mesmerizing eyes, “what is it you wish to accomplish?”

      “Reform.” He had never told this to another person before. “I must ask that you tell no one I’m a reformer. Such knowledge would dilute my effectiveness in Parliament.”

      Her eyes began to dance. “Yes, I can see that it would.”

      Not many young women, he would vow, understood so well the compromises that were the backbone of politics.

      “I suppose that’s one of the reasons I wished to marry,” she said.

      “You’ve lost me. What was one of the reasons you wished to marry me?”

      She scowled at him. “Really, my lord, must you allude to the humiliating act that reacquainted us?”

      How ungallant of him to refer to the offer she had so brazenly made. “Forgive me, but please do explain one of those reasons for wishing to be wed.”

      “The reforms,” she said.

      Excitement began to course 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