Page 77 of A Convenient Fiction

Her heart skipped a beat. “You’ve obtained a marriage license?”

“Why do you think I went to London?” He reached into an interior pocket of his coat and withdrew a folded paper. “It’s a special license.”

Her eyes widened. She’d only ever heard of such a thing in novels. It permitted a couple to marry wherever and whenever they pleased—without the burden of calling the banns. She took it from Alex, her pulse accelerating as she read it over. “We could marry tomorrow if we wished.”

“We could.” He regarded her steadily. “Does this mean you agree? That the arrangement meets your approval?”

Arrangement.

She swallowed. “If this is a proposal, it’s a very poor one.”

“I hadn’t thought one necessary. Doesn’t the proposal you made me at Talbot’s Pond still stand?”

“You refused me at Talbot’s Pond.”

“Stupid of me.” He reached out and took her hand, engulfing it in the strong clasp of his fingers. “Laura…”

Her heart was somewhere in her throat. “Yes?”

“That day at the pond…I meant what I said about there being no place in my life for unfettered emotion. I can’t care about anything too deeply. Every time I have—” He broke off. “Let’s just say that things haven’t ended particularly well.”

“Was there another lady you cared for?” she asked. “A relationship that went wrong?”

“What? No. There’s never been another woman. Not one who’s tempted me the way you have.” A fleeting smile touched his lips. “You’re a siren.”

Heat crept up her throat and into her cheeks. “I’m certainly not.”

“You are. I don’t think I’ve had a rational thought since the day I first encountered you. You’ve disrupted all of my plans. Thrown my entire life out of balance. Good God, you lured me back into the sea. No one else in the world could have done that.”

“You make it sound as though whatever you feel for me is against your will. As if I’ve cast a malevolent spell on you.”

“A spell, yes, but not a malevolent one. I daresay the effects of it will pass once we part.”

His words chilled her. “You intend to marry me, and then…leave Lower Hawley?”

“Not immediately, no. We’re trying to quell an existing scandal, not ignite a new one. We must live together for a time. A month or two, at least. And then—at some point in the future—if you wish it, we can quietly go our separate ways.”

If she wished it, he kept saying. If she wished to have a marriage of convenience. If she wished to part from him. As if he was reluctant to inflict himself on her. As if living with him—being his wife—were some awful punishment he hoped to spare her from.

“Would you have done Henrietta the same courtesy?” she asked.

“Henrietta was different.”

She stiffened. “I see.”

“No, you don’t.” His hand tightened around hers when she tried to withdraw it. “I didn’t care for Henrietta.”

“Oh.” Her voice was a mere thread of sound.

He did care for her after all. Cared for her so much that he was willing to leave her. It was some sort of logic. The ridiculous masculine kind, no doubt.

“Whatever you choose to do,” he went on, “you’ll have my name, and any financial support you require. Having a husband may even carry some weight with that London solicitor of yours.”

“More than you know,” she said. “But surely you needn’t contemplate leaving. Just because things have gone wrong in the past—”

“Things don’t go wrong, Laura. I go wrong. I’m not a good man. It’s been many years since I aspired to be one.”

“Nonsense. You may not be a good man, but…you’re not a bad one, either.”