Innocent in the Regency Ballroom. Christine Merrill

noticed, had he not been too mutton-headed to concern himself with current affairs. There was nothing at all romantic about it, for it was not the man itself she admired, but the positions he represented.

      And it was not as if the papers had included a caricature of the duke that she was swooning over. She had no idea how he might look in person. So she had made his appearance up in her head out of whole cloth. By his words, she had assumed him to be an elder statesmen, with grey hair, piercing eyes and a fearsome intellect. Tall and lean, since he did not appear from his speeches to be given to excesses, in diet or spirit.

      If she were to meet him, which of course she never would, she would wish only to engage him in discourse, and question him on his views, perhaps offering a few of her own. But it would never happen, for what would such a great man want with her and her opinions?

      She would never in a million years have imagined him as a handsome young noble, or expected to find him stone drunk and face down in the street where he had very nearly met his end under her horse. And never in a hundred million years would she expect to find herself standing in front of his bedchamber.

      She raised her hand to knock, but before she could make contact with the wood, she heard his voice from within. ‘Enter, if you are going to, or return to your rooms. But please stop lurking in the hallway.’

      She swallowed annoyance along with her fear, opened the door, and stepped into the room.

      Adam Felkirk was sitting beside the bed, and made no effort to rise as she came closer. His seat might as well have been a throne as a common wooden chair, for he held his position with the confidence of a man who could buy and sell the inn and the people in it, and not think twice about the bills. He stared at her, unsmiling, and even though he looked up into her eyes it felt as though he were looking down upon her.

      The man in front of her was obviously a peer. How could she have missed the fact yesterday?

      Quite easily, she reminded herself. A day earlier he could manage none of the hauteur he was displaying now. Unlike some men, the excess of liquor made him amiable. Drunkenness had relaxed his resolute posture and softened his features.

      Not that the softness had made them any more appealing. Somehow she had not noticed what a handsome man she had chosen, sober and clean, shaved and in fresh linen. She felt the irresistible pull the moment she looked at him. He was superb. High cheekbones and pale skin no longer flushed with whisky. Straight nose, thick dark hair. And eyes of the deepest blue, so clear that to look into them refreshed the soul. And knowing the mind that lay behind them, she grew quite weak. There was a hint of sensuality in the mouth, and she was carnally aware of the quirk of the lips when he looked at her, and the smile behind them.

      And now he was waiting for her to speak. ‘Your Grace …’ she faltered.

      ‘It is a day too late to be so formal, madam.’ His voice, now that it was not slurred, held a tone of command that she could not resist.

      She dropped a curtsy.

      He sneered. ‘Leave off with that, immediately. If it is meant to curry favour, it is not succeeding. Your servant explained some of what happened, while he was shaving me. It seems this marriage was all your idea, and none of mine?’

      ‘I am sorry. I had no idea who you were.’

      He examined her closely, as though she were a bug on a pin. ‘You expect me to believe that you were unaware of my title when you waylaid me to Scotland?’

      ‘Completely. I swear. You were injured in the street before my carriage. I was concerned for your safety.’

      ‘And so you married me. Such a drastic rescue was not necessary.’

      ‘I meant to marry someone. It was the intent of the trip.’

      ‘And when you found a peer, lying helpless in the street—’

      ‘As I told you before, I had no idea of your title. And I could hardly have left you alone. Suppose you had done harm to yourself?’

      There was a sharp intake of breath from the man across the table from her and she hoped that she had not insulted him by the implication.

      ‘I am sorry. But you seemed insensible. You were in a vulnerable state.’

      ‘And you took advantage of it.’

      She hung her head. ‘I have no defence against that accusation.’ She held out the mock licence to him. ‘But I am prepared to offer you your freedom. No one knows what has occurred between us. Here is the only record of it. The smith that witnessed could not read the words upon it, and never inquired your name. I will not speak of it, nor will my servant. You have but to throw it on the fire and you are a free man.’

      ‘As easy as that.’ The sarcasm in his voice was plain. ‘You will never trouble me again. You do not intend to reappear, when I choose to marry again, and wave a copy of this in my face. You will never announce to my bride that she has no legal right to wed me?’

      ‘Why should I?’ she pleaded. ‘I hold no malice towards you. It is you that hold me in contempt, and I richly deserve it. Do I wish to extort money from you? Again, the answer would be no. I have ample enough fortune to supply my needs. I do not seek yours.’

      He was looking at her as though he could not believe what he was hearing. ‘You truly do not understand the gravity of what you have done. I cannot simply throw this on the fire and pretend nothing has happened. Perhaps you can. But I signed it, with my true name and title, and sealed it as well. Drunk or sober, for whatever reason, the result is the same. I am legally bound to you. If my name is to mean anything to me, I cannot ignore the paper in front of me.’

      He stared at the licence, and his eyes looked bleak. ‘You are right that no one need know if I destroy it. But I would know of it. If we had been in England, it would be a Fleet marriage and would mean nothing. But by the laws of Scotland, we are man and wife. To ignore this and marry again without a formal annulment would be bigamy. It matters not to me that I am the only one who knows the truth. I cannot behave thus and call myself a man of honour.’

      She willed herself not to cry, for tears would do no good. They would make her look even more foolish than she already did. ‘Then you shall have your annulment, your Grace. In any way that will suit you. I am sorry that scandal cannot be avoided, but I will take all the blame in the matter.’

      ‘Your reputation will be in ruins.’

      She shook her head. ‘A spotless reputation has in no way balanced my shortcomings thus far. What harm can scandal do me?’

      ‘Spotless?’ He was eyeing her again. ‘Most young girls with spotless reputations have no need to flee to Scotland for a hasty marriage to a complete stranger.’

      ‘You thought I was …’ Oh, dear lord. He thought she was with child, which made her behaviour seem even more sordid and conniving then it already was. ‘No. That is not the problem. Not at all. My circumstances are …’ she sought a word ‘… unusual.’

      ‘Unusual circumstances?’ He arched his eyebrows, leaned back and folded his arms. ‘Tell me of them. If we have eliminated fortune hunting, blackmail and the need to find a father for your bastard, then I am out of explanations for your behaviour.’

      He was staring at her, waiting. And she looked down into those very blue eyes, and, almost against her will, began to speak. She told him of her father. And her brother. The conditions of her inheritance. The foolishness over the book. ‘And so, I decided that I must marry. It did not really matter to whom. If I could find someone on the way to Scotland … And then you fell in front of the carriage.’

      He was looking at her most curiously. ‘Surely you hoped for better than a total stranger.’

      ‘Once, perhaps. But now I hope only for peace and quiet, and to be surrounded by my books.’

      ‘But a girl with the fortune you claim …’

      It was her turn to sneer at him. ‘A plain face and disagreeable nature