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‘Interested’? No one in her family was interested in her. No one inquired about her life or listened to her speak. And here was this man, this gentleman who was treating her family’s home in all honesty like a hotel, and he was asking her…because he was interested?

Do not think about how handsome he is.

“Lord Ravenshurst is a great man,” Gwen said haughtily, trying to walk forward at a more rapid pace, all the better for returning home more swiftly.

And if Baron Frasemere was left behind, so be it.

Baron Frasemere was not left behind. Quite to the contrary, he managed to keep pace with her to the point that Gwen after a whole street had to give up and slow down. “‘A great man,’ you say?”

“Yes,” Gwen said proudly. And a touch puffed.

But why shouldn’t she have been proud? She had managed to ensnare… Well, encourage… Well, elicit a proposal from a man like the Marquess of Ravenshurst. Any woman would have been proud to have accomplished so much.

“How is he great?” the baron asked politely.

And that was another thing that irritated her about this man, Gwen could not help but think darkly as they walked side by side along the bustling street. He was so—so damned polite! Showing her up yesterday at dinner when he’d offered to help his mother serve herself some potatoes, making Gwen look unfeeling when he’d inquired to her father whether he had been feeling well after that coughing fit the other day.

Was he only here to make her look bad, was that it?

“What do you mean? The marquess is a great man because he is a great man,” Gwen said stiffly, as though that explained it. Painfully aware that it did not, and that she had a stitch in her side, she slowed her pace and elaborated, “The Ravenshurst name is a very old name, a very old family.”

Baron Frasemere blinked. “Every name is old. Every family is old.”

“That isn’t the point,” blustered Gwen irritably, furious at how the man’s scent of musk and spices was utterly destroying her ability to think. “The point is he—he is wealthy, and he is polite, and he has asked me to marry him!”

There. That showed him.

It apparently did not show him. Lord Frasemere seemed to take this into consideration, and as they turned another corner onto a blessedly more quiet street, he said serenely, “I’m not sure those are good enough reasons to marry a man.”

The absolute cheek!

Who did this man think he was?! “Well, as you are neither father nor brother to me, my lord, I am sorry to say that your opinion that does not matter!” Gwen said tartly.

Thank God they had reached her street; soon, they would be inside and she could retreat to her bedchamber and this horrid day would be over!

No matter that it was almost time for luncheon. Over!

“I do not expect my opinion to matter to you at all,” said the baron gravely, though his lips had turned up in the corners in a way that made Gwen want to punch the wall. “I thought it might. That was all.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” said Gwen acidly, wishing to goodness he was not. “The Marquess of Ravenshurst is a very good man—”

“How is he good?” interrupted the baron placidly.

Oh, she was going to scream! “What on earth do you mean?”

The man walking beside her shrugged, as though the topic were of no import to him, and he merely liked attempting to break down a woman’s life into definable, little pieces.

And then the baron smiled, and Gwen had a horrible feeling that she would do anything, say anything, be anything to make this man smile again.

“‘Good,’” he said quietly, his voice lowering to a gravel that sparked heat through Gwen’s body the likes of which she had never known before. “‘Good,’ like…like he treats you well. He listens to you, really listens, then acts on what you say. He knows your favorite food, your favorite composer. He would walk in the rain for you, to see you, to just be close to you. He respects you, cannot go a day without you, and you know you can depend on him for anything. Anything at all.”

At some point, they had stopped walking, though Gwen did not know when. All she knew was that she was standing still, gazing up into the dark eyes of a man who spoke with such knowledge, such certainty, that she could hardly understand what was happening.

And yet nothing was happening.

And yet everything was happening.

“He… I am sure Lord Ravenshurst will be a husband like that to me,” Gwen managed to say, her voice naught much above a whisper.