Page 7 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

“You suit me.” The words were out before he could call them back.

Try as he might, he could not regret them. It was the truth, by God. She was an uncommonly beautiful woman. He’d been physically attracted to her from the moment she came to stand beside him in the taproom.

On its own that wouldn’t have been enough. He was no callow youth to have his head turned by a pretty face. But there was something else about her. Something lost and vulnerable and oddly courageous. It roused more than his ardor. It roused his protective instincts. It made him want to shield her from harm.

Is that why Finchley had sent her to him?

The very idea unsettled Justin deeply. He was no hero. Indeed, his own past conduct fairly disqualified him as a man capable of protecting a woman. Finchley knew that.

But if Justin had any lingering doubts about his decision, Miss Reynold’s reaction to his pronouncement temporarily banished them from his mind.

Her face suffused with relief. Her soft hazel eyes glistened with what he very much feared were tears of gratitude. “You suit me as well,” she said.

“Undoubtedly. Your requirements are not very exacting.” He tugged at his collar. It felt damnably tight all of a sudden. “Security and a little kindness, is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And that I keep you safe.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “That most of all.”

“I can’t think what Finchley meant by sending her,” Boothroyd said. “If I’d had any inkling, I would’ve put a stop to it.” He gathered up his papers and thrust them back into his leather briefcase, grumbling all the while. “Not at all the thing. A lady like that. A catastrophe in the making. Mark my words.”

Justin paced the confines of the private parlor, only half listening to the rantings of his unhappy steward.

Miss Reynolds was gone. Boothroyd had arranged a room for her at the inn. He’d even ordered a meal sent up. She was probably eating it now. Or sleeping. Or perhaps she’d changed her mind? Perhaps she’d already managed to escape back to London or wherever it was she came from?

The possibility sent a bolt of apprehension through him. And it was no mystery why.

He wanted her badly. He wasn’t too proud to admit it. He wanted her as his wife. He wanted her in his home and in his bed. He’d been far too long without a woman. And Helena Reynolds, with her doelike eyes and softly curved body, had triggered an overpowering ache inside of him. Good God, he could still smell the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air. It was delicate, sweet, and disturbingly exotic. Jasmine. It reminded him of balmy nights spent in India.

“I’ll contact Finchley and we’ll see about the other responses to the advertisement,” Boothroyd said. “There were several, if I remember. I shall tell him to forward them all to me. And this time, when you find a suitable female, we’ll ask her to send her likeness or—”

“I have no wish to meet any other women,” Justin said. “I’ve already made my decision.”

Boothroyd frowned. “If you’ll forgive me, sir. Miss Reynolds is not at all the sort of person with whom a man in your position should align himself.”

“No?”

“For one thing, she’s too young.”

“As you keep saying. But a female of five and twenty is hardly a fledgling. Indeed, some might even accuse her of having reached an advanced stage of spinsterhood.”

“Yes, but—”

“And her age should be of no surprise to you. She admitted it to Finchley. And to me as well in her first letter. I don’t remember your voicing an objection then.” Justin stopped pacing and turned to face his steward. His eyes narrowed. “What is it about her that truly troubles you, Boothroyd? That she’s a fine lady? That a man like me will be the one to despoil her?”

Boothroyd’s spine stiffened. “You do me wrong, sir,” he said, very much on his dignity. “It’s my job to apprise you of unwise investments and, for a man in your position, marriage to a female of Miss Reynolds’s sort would be very unwise indeed. First she’ll want a wedding trip. Then a larger staff, new gowns, and a carriage and four. Expenses which you can scarcely afford. And what comes next with a pretty wife? Flirtations? Cuckoldom? Scandal?”

“Good God,” Justin muttered.

“If you’ll but take the night to think it over, I’m confident that tomorrow, when you consider the matter with your head instead of your—”

“Instead of my what?” Justin prompted, making no effort to hide his irritation. “Not my heart, I gather. We both know I haven’t one of those.”

Boothroyd’s ears turned a dull red. “You appreciate my meaning, sir.” He cleared his throat. “Which is to say that this is all perfectly understandable. You’re a man in your prime and a man does have his needs, I can attest. But such a bride—though she may temporarily quench a base urge of nature—will make your life a misery. I’ve seen it time and time again with attractive young wives. While a woman of maturity—a woman who is, perhaps, not quite as handsome—will be content with whatever you have to offer—”

Justin silenced Boothroyd’s sputtering with an impatient wave of his hand. The insinuation that he was acting solely out of some primitive need to couple with an attractive woman struck a little too close to home. “I’m in no mood to argue with you. I’m resolved to marry Miss Reynolds and that’s an end to it.”