Rogue in the Regency Ballroom: Rogue's Widow, Gentleman's Wife / A Scoundrel of Consequence. Helen Dickson
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Am I supposed to take your proposal seriously?’
Once again his gaze fell on her and narrowed, half-shaded by his lids as he coolly stared at her. Amanda was immediately angry with him. She straightened her back, her chin thrust forward a notch in an effort to break the spell he wove about her with his eyes. ‘I assure you, Mr Claybourne, that I am very serious.’
‘Tell me your reason for wanting to marry me.’
‘That’s easy. I need a husband—a temporary husband.’
‘Just what, exactly, makes you so desperate for a husband that any man will do?’
‘Desperation makes a person do queer things.’
‘Why me? The City Gaol is full of rogues. Surely any one of them would suit your purpose.’
‘I want your name,’ she said quite simply. ‘Claybourne—a name that is the same as the aristocratic Claybournes in England—a name that is not uncommon and a coincidence, I am sure—a name that will satisfy my father. I want a rogue I can guarantee won’t bother me once the knot has been tied.’ Her lips quirked. ‘In a manner of speaking, of course.’
He cocked a brow and nodded slightly as he began to understand. ‘Guarantee! Now there’s a controversial word if ever there was.’
‘Not the way I see it.’ His eyes never left her, glimmering and changing with his thoughts. Amanda thought, here is a man who reveals nothing of himself, and he rules himself like steel. And yet, she must win him over, she must make him do what she wanted. She must force him to marry her and give her his name.
‘And do you mind telling me what’s in it for me?’
‘I could offer you ease and comfort for the time you have left. I will ensure that, before they hang you, you will want for nothing.’
‘Only my freedom—and my new wife.’ He raised one thick, well-defined eyebrow, watching her for every shade of thought and emotion in her. ‘Would you be prepared to spend a night with me in my prison cell, Miss O’Connell, and perform the duties of a wife?’
Startlingly aware of the wifely duties to which he referred, Amanda stared at him aghast, unable to stem her expression of repugnance as she cast a swift glance at her surroundings and then at the man himself. ‘Of course not. I couldn’t possibly.’
Kit’s face was inscrutable as he watched her pert nose wrinkle as her gaze swept over his shabby garb. Briefly anger flickered behind his eyes, but then it was gone. ‘Then, under the circumstances, I must respectfully decline your offer.’
‘You cannot possibly ask that of me. You are, after all, a common criminal and far below my own social level,’ Amanda burst out before she could stop herself. Shaken to the core by the bewildering array of sensations racing through her body that his question had aroused, she tried to fight the power of his charm. For a second the intensity of his dark eyes seemed to explode and an expression she could not comprehend flashed through them, then it was gone. His eyes met hers in fearless, half-challenging amusement, saying things she dared not think about.
Kit smiled sardonically. ‘We are not all as fortunate as you, Miss O’Connell. However, it is not for the want of trying on my part.’ His deep voice was thickly edged with irony. ‘How pathetic I must seem to you if you could believe I would agree to your outrageous request. Marriage is the last thing I need right now.’
Automatically Amanda took a step closer to him. ‘Please—I ask you to reconsider.’
‘Give me one good reason why I should sacrifice myself on the altar of matrimony for your sake—a woman unknown to me until now?’
‘Have you no dependants I could take care of—?’
Kit’s eyes turned positively glacial. ‘Now you really do insult me, Miss O’Connell,’ he retorted, his voice scoffingly incredulous. ‘What family members I have are not charity cases and are more than capable of taking care of themselves. As for myself, I have everything I need. Why should I want more? You could have saved yourself the embarrassment of this unnecessary visit—but, since you are here, perhaps you should tell me why you are so intent on marrying me, a murderer sentenced to hang any day.’
‘I came to America to find a husband, Mr Claybourne,’ she told him coolly, ‘a husband of my own choosing. My father gave me eighteen months to do so, informing me that if I didn’t find a man he would be proud to receive in the allotted time, a man worthy of his only child, he would find one for me. Since titles are paramount to my father, he will choose the man of the highest rank who offers for me—and he will have a choice to make,’ she said, unable to suppress the bitterness that crept into her voice, ‘since his bottomless income will be like a beacon to every impoverished aristocrat in England. Unfortunately, my aunt’s demise means that I have to return to England sooner than expected, and marry a man my father has chosen for me.’
‘And isn’t that how most marriages in upper-class families in England come about? Although I always did find it distasteful the way British aristocrats see marriage as a cold-blooded business arrangement.’
‘So do I. Such a marriage is not for me.’
‘So, you do not run with the pack, Miss O’Connell?’
‘I have a mind of my own, if that is what you mean,’ she replied.
‘So you have. And how will marrying me solve your dilemma, should I agree to your offer? As I see it, when you return to England you will still be minus a husband.’
‘If I return a widow, then Father must respect the customary year of mourning. By the end of it I shall be twenty-one and able to do as I please.’
Kit looked at her hard. Despite her delicate features and feminine beauty, Amanda O’Connell was apparently a woman made of steel, a woman who put her own interests first. If nothing else, Kit decided as he appraised her, they certainly had that in common. And he had to give her credit. At least she was honest about what mattered to her. In retrospect, he rather admired her courage, if not her standards.
‘And how would you explain the demise of your unfortunate husband to your father, Miss O’Connell?’
Amanda lowered her head, feeling that her courage and control were beginning to slip. ‘I would tell him that you became ill on the voyage and died. After all, it’s not uncommon for people to die of fevers and all manner of things on board ships.’
Kit contemplated her bowed head. ‘Look at me,’ he said. His voice was very quiet. Unwillingly she met his eyes. ‘You must want to marry extremely badly—have you not had the good fortune to entrap the wealthy bucks of South Carolina’s society? Wasn’t there one who could cause your maidenly heart to beat to the strains of love?’
Amanda’s green eyes snapped with disdain, and for one brief instant Kit glimpsed the proud, spirited young woman behind the carefully controlled façade. ‘Love—what has love got to do with anything? The answer to your question is no, I am desperate, Mr Claybourne—had I been given any other choice I would not be here.’
‘It is kind of you to consider me the lesser of two evils,’ Kit remarked with smiling sarcasm. ‘But my answer is no.’
A deadly calm came over Amanda, banishing everything but her regret that she had been foolish to come to the gaol and humiliate herself before this common horse breaker. She knew with rising dread that no one could push Mr Claybourne into any decision not of his own making. For the first time since she had devised this wild scheme, she knew the real meaning of failure. Her small chin lifted primly, her spine stiffened, and before his eyes Kit saw her put up a valiant struggle for control—a struggle she won.
‘It’s the best I can do at this time. However, since you refuse to marry me, then I shall have to reconsider my options. Good day to you, sir. I am sorry to have wasted your time.’
Kit watched her move towards the door with her head raised haughtily. His stomach quivered and he felt the blood run warm in his