Page 76 of A Convenient Fiction

“Being dangerous?” He shrugged a shoulder. “Gamblers are only dangerous to the people who owe them money.”

“George claims that he owes you ten thousand pounds.”

“Ah.”

“Is it really so much as that?”

“It makes little difference now. Given the circumstances, I expect I’ll have to forgive George his debts. There’s no hope of him repaying them. I knew that well enough when I played against him.”

“What about Henrietta?”

“What about her?”

“You were going to marry her. To live at Edgington Park with her and her father. To learn about farming. That’s why you came here, isn’t it? Why you forced an introduction out of George? You wanted an estate of your own.”

“That’s all over.”

Laura gave him a searching look. “How do you know? Have you spoken to Henrietta?”

One corner of his mouth hitched up. “Are you asking me if I went to Edgington Park? If I called on Henrietta before coming here?”

“Did you?”

“Of course I didn’t. I came straight from the railway depot. Just look at the state of me.” He paused before adding, “I didn’t have to talk to Henrietta. I knew I was finished with her the night you and I waltzed together. I realized then…”

“What?”

He gave a short, husky laugh. “I won’t bore you with sentiment.”

Butterflies unfurled their wings in her stomach. “It wouldn’t bore me. Indeed, I’d very much like to hear it.”

“There’s little point. I’ve thought about our situation a good deal, and it seems to me that, going forward, we’d do better to leave sentiment well out of it.”

The butterflies vanished. In their place, she felt a vague tremor of foreboding. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ve compromised you, quite publicly. There’s nothing we can do to mitigate the damage—except to marry.”

“Each other?”

He scowled. “Well I’m certainly not suggesting that you marry George.”

Under other circumstances, Laura might have smiled at his reaction, or even laughed. But there was nothing humorous in his proposition. He was talking of a marriage void of sentiment. A cold and formal union, entered into for no other reason but to save her reputation.

He didn’t love her. Didn’t care for her.

“It needn’t be anything more than what it is,” he said. “A means of redeeming your honor. I won’t make demands of you. I won’t expect you to—”

Her eyes searched his. She saw something there. A flicker of sadness. Of grim resignation. “Expect me to what?”

“To pretend to feelings that you don’t have. I know what I am. And I know what I deserve.” His jaw hardened with resolve. “You’ll have my name, that’s all. In every other respect, you may go on as you always have. If that’s…If that’s what you wish.”

“What you’re describing—”

“Call it a marriage of convenience.”

Laura’s brows knit. “It doesn’t sound like a marriage of any kind. It sounds like a lie. A fiction.”

“A convenient fiction, then. But one based in law. The marriage itself will be real enough. I have the license to prove it.”