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Did the mercenary woman ever do anything out of the goodness of her heart?
Did she have a heart?
“Vanessa, Are you utterly mad?” Kingston exploded, jumping to his feet the moment the door snicked closed behind the woman.
A peculiar calm settled over Vanessa.
Yes. This was the answer she’d sought. She’d never imagined such a thing, but it was the perfect solution. She needed to wed Kingston every bit as much as he needed to marry her.
“Listen to me, Kingston. It makes absolute sense. We marry. I provide you with the funds you need to do whatever it is you need to do. And I am safe from Owen's attempts to marry me off or have me committed to an asylum.”
A dangerous growl reverberated in Kingston’s chest.
“He wouldn't dare commit you,” he said with such menace that she shivered despite the roaring fire blazing behind the intricate screen.
She shook her head. “I believe he would. He’s already threatened to do so. You heard him imply as much tonight too.”
“I’ll kill him,” Kingston stated flatly. Emotionlessly.
That was another solution—and a tempting one, if Vanessa were wholly honest—but one that would see Kingston hanged and his brothers and sisters in the poor house. Except of course, she’d never let them be sent to the poor house.
She wasn’t like Mrs. Jessie Dorrian-Lane, for pity’s sake.
“No need for anything quite so dramatic, though I am flattered you’d champion me,” she demurred with a pleased upward sweep of her mouth. “A bloodied nose should suffice for the rutting rotter.”
Kingston made a sound somewhere between a cough and a choke before slipping once more into the composed, flippant flirt she knew so well.
“I wasn’t aware your mother had died too, Nessa. Please accept my condolences. I’m sure these months have been most difficult for you.”
Emotion clogged her throat, and looking down, she nodded and smoothed a hand over her black skirt. “They have been.”
Vanessa wouldn’t pretend otherwise. She had plenty to eat and a very comfortable home, but the grief and loneliness had taken their toll. Not to mention Owen’s harping on about her getting married.
“I should warn you, Kingston. I’m given to cursing on occasion.” She lifted what she hoped was a properly repentant gaze to his. “Typically, only when I’m distraught,” she murmured.
In turn, he blinked rapidly and shook his head. “My God, you are a phenomenon. A rarity.”
She wasn’t sure that was a compliment.
However, Kingston was an answer to her prayers.
A husband she could trust not to attempt to wrest control of her fortune from her. She liked him well enough. After all, they’d known each other for decades, and he’d been Gabriel’s closest confidant. He was practically family already.
A short marriage to him would resolve her issues and his, as well.
Why, it was a positively brilliant idea if she didn’t say so herself.
Her imprudent foray into Fortuna had proved exceptionally fruitful, indeed.
Kingston hadn’t said no yet, and Vanessa pressed home her advantage before he could, not quite believing her good fortune. “Once we’re married, Kingston, Owen cannot bother me any longer. Then, after a few months, we’ll have the marriage annulled.”
“Why?” Hands on his narrow hips, Kingston gazed down at her.
She knitted her forehead. “I’ve just explained why.”
Quite thoroughly too.
“No. That’s not what I mean. Why would you make such a sacrifice? You aren’t like the other women who seek The Wicked Widow of Whitechapel's’ services. Desperate women. Ruined women. Women who’ve been passed over time and again. Women who have no other remedy.”
