His Convenient Marchioness. Elizabeth Rolls

to the present. ‘I have shocked you, sir, but I thought it better that you knew the truth.’

      Hunt took a deep breath. Headstrong, managing and distressingly independent she might be, but Emma’s honesty was bone-deep. She had told him in the full expectation that he would walk away without a backward glance. She would not even blame him. ‘Do you mind dogs in the house?’ he asked.

      She blinked. ‘No, but what does that—’

      ‘Excellent.’ There was really nothing to say about her scandalous marriage. It was not his place to approve or disapprove. After all, it was in the past and if it meant she did not wish to give her heart again...well, he wasn’t offering his own heart. Just his hand in marriage.

      Now she was staring, those deep blue eyes slightly suspicious. ‘I just told you I’m a walking scandal and you’re worried about dogs in the house?’

      He ought to be scandalised at what she’d done. Such behaviour argued that she was ungovernable. He knew that. And, yes, it would definitely cause a stir if he married her. But somehow that didn’t worry him. Emma Lacy was the sort who stuck to her word. She hadn’t tried to sugar-coat what she’d done, let alone hide it. She’d thrown it in his face before he could commit himself in any way. And if she had married Gus Bolt she’d still be married to him and he’d be dodging Amelia Trumble. Or worse.

      ‘Were you happy with Lacy?’ he asked at last and caught his breath.

      A tender smile softened the stubborn set of her mouth.

      ‘Oh, yes. Although what that has to say to—’

      ‘Good.’ He possessed himself of her hand and tucked it safely into the crook of his elbow as they started walking again. It felt right there. Completely right. This felt right. Logical. As long as he didn’t imagine her one day smiling that way at the thought of him. ‘I don’t think you would have enjoyed marriage to Gus. God knows I wouldn’t.’ Her jaw dropped. Now he thought about it, it would be as bad as being married to Amelia. ‘The man’s a dead bore,’ he went on. ‘You’ll need time to consider, but while you do so you may as well know exactly what I am—what I would be—offering.’

      * * *

      She hadn’t said no outright. Hunt told himself that as he walked them home in the lengthening shadows. A light drizzle had started, nothing very much, but no one wanted the children to take a chill.

      She hadn’t said no. Instead she had listened to his suggested settlement for herself and the children, and agreed to what he asked; that he be allowed to call on her while they considered. Walk with them, get to know her and the children. She had very firmly stipulated no gifts of any sort, whatsoever. Reluctantly she had agreed that he might buy the children a few sweets. He understood that; she did not wish to build hope in the children, only to crush it if either of them did not, in the end, want the marriage. He suspected that she fully expected him to step back.

      So he escorted them home and hoped. This could work. There was no reason it would not. He was attracted to her; more, he liked her. He liked the children. She was of his world, familiar with it, if temporarily out of place. She had not leapt at the chance of marriage. Even now she employed no arts to attract. If anything she was rather quiet, as if thinking. And yet the silence between them was not awkward. It was...companionable, that was the word. They had said what needed to be said for now, so they could just enjoy each other’s company. At least he hoped she was enjoying his company. Perhaps she thought he was boring, like Gus Bolt.

      As they reached her front door, she looked up at him, her expression serious. ‘Thank you for understanding that I need to think about this.’

      ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It is a huge step, marriage.’ It was a good thing that she would take the time to think about it logically and rationally. As he had done.

      She smiled. ‘Most men would think that they were the only ones who need to do any thinking about it. That a woman, especially in my situation, should simply say thank you very much—yes, please.’

      ‘Is that what Gus Bolt thought?’

      She flushed. ‘I suppose he might have. My father told me that Sir Augustus had offered and he had accepted. That it was all settled. Sir Augustus was presented to me as my betrothed. I doubt either of them expected me to say anything about it at all. As far as my father was concerned it was none of my business.’ She bit her lip. ‘When I protested my father said I was being missish. That the marriage would work well enough if I just did as I was bid.’

      Would Anne’s father have insisted on the marriage even if Anne had been repulsed? It didn’t bear thinking about. And here he was, perilously close to pushing Emma into marriage just because he could see no reason against it. She knew next to nothing about him. For all she knew he could be the sort of bastard who beat his wife. She had no one to protect her and ensure that the marriage settlement was equitable, or that her children would be protected. Women took a far greater risk in marriage than men.

      Predictably, the children were lagging behind. They came up, faces a little downcast. Georgie took his hand and tugged on it. ‘Will you come again, sir?’

      He smiled, his fingers closing on the little hand. That felt right, too. ‘Oh, yes. Your mother has said that I may. The day after tomorrow? If the weather is bad we could have an indoor picnic.’ Tomorrow he would see his solicitor and have the most careful and decent marriage settlement drawn up that he could devise. If he pretended that he was overseeing a marriage settlement for Marianne...he bit his lip. Or Georgie. Would he one day negotiate a match for Georgie?

      ‘An indoor picnic?’ Georgie giggled. ‘How do you do that?’

      The question pushed back the abyss. ‘You spread a picnic rug on the floor and sit on that, and you eat picnic food,’ he said. Surely if he sent a message to the kitchen for food suitable to an indoor picnic his cook would rise to the occasion?

      ‘What sort of food do you have for an indoor picnic, Mama?’ Harry demanded.

      Emma opened her mouth and shut it again, clearly uncertain.

      ‘That,’ Hunt said, ‘is a secret. You’ll have to wait and see.’ Along with himself.

      ‘But Mama has to know,’ Harry argued. ‘Because she’ll have to cook it with Bessie.’

      Hunt shook his head. ‘Not when I’ve invited you to a picnic. That means I bring the picnic, you provide the games and entertainment.’

      Georgie brightened. ‘Backgammon. Mama’s teaching me. And Harry can play chess.’

      ‘And what does Mama do?’ Emma’s voice was very dry, but there was a twinkle in her eye.

      ‘You keep us all in order,’ Hunt informed her. ‘I have no doubt that you’re very good at it.’

      She sighed. ‘Wonderful.’ Laughter danced in her eyes, luring him. ‘A managing female.’ She slipped a hand into her worn pelisse and drew out the house key. Hunt took it from her gently. There was little enough he could do for her until she agreed to marry him, but he could do this. He could show her that the Marquess of Huntercombe would be a courteous, kindly husband.

      ‘I’ll do that.’ And wondered if he had overstepped the mark. But she smiled, a little wistfully he thought, as he slipped the key into the lock and turned it. A courtesy and a minor one at that. But he liked the thought of doing things for her.

      Emma made the children say their goodbyes as soon as they were inside. ‘Off to the kitchen, both of you. Hang your damp things by the fire and tell Bessie I said you could have some hot milk.’

      ‘And cake?’ Harry wheedled.

      ‘A small piece,’ Emma allowed, as she pulled off her gloves. ‘Say goodbye to Lord Huntercombe.’

      Georgie knelt down, hugged Fergus and shrieked with laughter as he licked her face. She jumped up, gave Hunt a ravishing smile. ‘You don’t need my hankie, do you, sir?’

      Laughter