Who in the world could this be?
He leaned forward slightly when the carriage door opened and a man exited. He recognized him from Almacks’ – he was Alexander Hayward, the Marquess of Howe. And then, Lady Emma stepped out after him.
He placed his glass down on the window sill and made his way to the front door as his mouth quirked in a humorless half-smile. What business could she possibly have here? Whatever her reason, he doubted it was sincere—or rational.
He hadn’t heard from her for a fortnight now though the rumors and stories about her person had swelled in the scandal sheets for some while now. It seemed thetonhad found a new target for their scorn and gossip. So much so, he’d felt badly for her. Badly enough at least to let go of his demand she wed him – for now. He still wanted to find a way to bring her to his side, because he needed a wife and she was the most convenient he could find. But he’d decided to give her a little time.
Yet there she was, approaching his door with a look of fierce determination that sparked his curiosity as he glanced at her from the side window by the door.
The butler led her in, and Evan barely had a moment to settle his features into a mask of indifference before she strode into the hall. She barely spared him a glance before curtly cursing and then stating, “Your Grace, I’ve come to discuss our marriage.”
For an instant, her words hung in the air like the snap of a bowstring. Evan’s surprise quickly shifted to guarded amusement. He gestured toward the drawing room.
“Well, that sounds like a matter that ought to be discussed in the drawing room, not the hall. Please, Lady Emma, by all means come through.”
He paused then and looked at the door where her brother lingered. “And you, Lord Howe. Will you join us?”
Her brother looked at him with an expression that was at once quizzical and disapproving. What had she told him about hisdemand, Evan wondered? He had to think this was all rather odd. However, to his credit, Howe shrugged.
“My sister has a matter to discuss with you and I shall keep my distance until she asks for my assistance, if you do not mind.”
“Of course not. Barnes,” he addressed the butler. “Please bring his lordship refreshments to the parlor. Make sure the fire is going.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Barnes said and then led the marquess into the parlor but not before the two men exchanged a curt nod. Then, he followed Lady Emma into the drawing room. He noted that she’d marched in as if she owned the place, exuding a sort of angry air though what she had to be angry about was anyone’s guess.
He settled into his seat, watching her take hers with stiff elegance. “What precisely brings about this unexpected reversal?” His tone held a razor's edge. “The last time we spoke you were determined that you would never marry me even if I were the last man on this earth.”
Lady Emma's hands were clasped tightly in her lap, the knuckles faintly white, betraying how this wasn’t a decision made lightly. Her mouth pressed into a thin line as if she’d rehearsed her words and was determined to see them through.
“I most certainly did not say that.”
“Recollections may vary,” he said and shrugged, well aware she hadn’t been quiet so forward with her words, though he’d understood the meaning of her stance at the time.
“I’ve no illusions as to why I’m here,” she began, her voice cool. “In light of recent events, my reputation has been irreparably damaged. I am an outcast in society. I expect my voucher to Almack’s will soon be revoked as well. I am at my wits end. A marriage to you”—her tone faltered briefly—”appears to be my only option if I hope to salvage any future.”
Evan tilted his head, weighing her expression. “And you’re willing to take my suggestion then?” he asked.
She gave a sharp nod. “I would hardly call it a suggestion, it was a demand as I recall it.”
He smirked. “It was. But you are now willing?”
“I am hardly willing,” she replied but then looked down as a sigh escaped her. “I am in need of a match. I’m not seeking sentiment or companionship. Just as you arranged with Ophelia—only on paper, nothing more.”
“Ophelia?” Evan’s lips curled into a wry smile, his eyes glinting. “It’s interesting that you think you know anything of what Ophelia and I arranged. The last time, you were blissfully unaware of anything she and I had planned, so much so you saw fit to wreck it all on a whim,” he watched her carefully, noting how she tensed at his words.
“I have learned more about it since speaking to her, Your Grace,” she shot back. “I was wrong to do what I did but I did it out of…” her words faltered as though she were not quite as certain anymore why she had done it. She shook her head slightly as if to rearrange her thoughts. “My only interest is in ensuring that neither of us suffer further damage to our reputations. I’d prefer this to be as unremarkable and unburdensome as possible. In exchange, I expect no interference in my life, and I will offer none in yours.”
Evan gave a low chuckle, settling back in his chair. “Lady Emma, I assure you, the idea of anything resembling marital harmony with you is as foreign to me as it is unwelcome.”
A flicker of irritation crossed her face, though she quickly suppressed it. “Then we’re agreed,” she replied briskly. “This will be a marriage in name only.”
“Indeed,” he said, watching her with that same mocking smile. “That was all I’d intended from the start. If you are prepared to marry a man you so clearly disdain, then I see no reason to object.”
A silence fell between them, filled only by the ticking of the nearby clock. Evan’s gaze didn’t leave her face as he considered this arrangement. If he were honest with himself, he found Emma’s sudden change in demeanor—from righteous interference to resigned acquiescence—unsettling. She sat there, rigidly composed, her expression fierce but masking something else. Was it shame? Resentment? Or was it some vestige of pridethat refused to let her accept her current situation without some struggle?
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, bringing him a few inches closer to her. “Forgive me for finding this arrangement peculiar,” he said, his tone softening. “It was barely a fortnight ago that you seemed appalled by the very idea of this union. Yet here you are, insisting upon it. Might I ask why?”
Emma looked away, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “I don’t need to explain myself to you. The scandal speaks for itself.”
