She knew a great deal about Nicholas Wynter, Lord Harteley. Her mother had kept accounts on every man who had frequented her establishment. Arianna had scoured them searching for any clues regarding her father. While her endeavours had proved fruitless in that regard, she had been rewarded with bits and pieces about Lord Harteley. An overwhelming relief had taken hold when she realized that he’d never once bedded the infamous Jewel.
She watched now as Harteley savoured his wine while glancing around.
“You are obviously a lady of means,” he said quietly. He pinned her with his blue gaze. “How did you acquire your wealth?”
“My mother. She is responsible for all of this. I grew up here with nannies, and governesses, and tutors.”
“And what of your father?” he asked, but she detected no curiosity in his tone.
A portion of the truth would have to be revealed now, and he would come to understand the formidable task she placed before him. “I have only the foggiest notion as to who he might be.”
And then only if he’d been one of her mother’s numerous paramours or gentleman callers. It was quite possible he’d held a special place in her heart and she’d never noted his name in her records. It was also possible that he was someone of whom she’d been incredibly ashamed and so she’d never written out his name.
A true gentleman, Harteley didn’t bring the question to his lips, but his unwavering gaze asked it just as loudly.
“They were never married,” she admitted.
She saw understanding enter the depths of his blue eyes. “So by champion … you seek a protector. I fear you have misjudged me. I have not the means to take or provide for a mistress — not that I don’t find you beautiful and utterly charming—”
“I care little how you find me, My Lord.” Lie. She cared deeply. She wanted him to be infatuated, to want her as she wanted him. “It is not a protector I seek, but a husband.”
“With your questionable background, you expect to entice a suitable gentleman into asking for your hand?”
She easily caught the rough edge of disbelief in his voice. She was illegitimate, born in shame, although her mother had never allowed her to feel that way. It was only as she’d grown into womanhood that she’d begun to understand her life would include the freedom to do as she wanted but never the respectability that her mother had tossed aside in order to survive. It was the very reason that she’d not asked Harteley outright to wed her. She’d fancied him since she was a child, caught glimpses of him over the years. He deserved a respectable lady. But if while in her company, he were to decide that he wanted more from her …
She would very likely cast aside respectability as her mother had. The heart, after all, could be far more convincing than society, and because she’d lived on the edge of society, she was more accustomed to listening to her heart. Even now it was urging her to cast aside her original plans, to take him as a lover.
The flames from the candles on the table cast a dancing mosaic of shadow and light over the rugged features of his face. He had grown into a handsomeness that was breathtaking, and yet there was a harshness to it, tempered by disappointment. She wondered if he’d known the extent of what he would inherit. So little. Mounting debt and no means to earn the coins needed to alleviate his burden.
“I intend more than that, My Lord. I intend to marry a titled gentleman.”
“You reach beyond your station, Miss Vernon.”
“I have coins aplenty,” she stated. “I know most marriages are based on what is held in the family coffers.”
“I should think you deserve better than that.”
It was the first comment he’d made that gave her hope that her true reason for inviting him here might not be in vain. “And you deserve better than what your father left you.”
His eyes narrowing, he leaned forwards. “How do you know of that?”
“He came to trouble by visiting the unsavoury parts of London, and I … well, I have some knowledge regarding those portions of town.”
“A true lady would not know of such things.”
“I never claimed to be a true lady. However, I wish to be, and I’m willing to do whatever is required. What of you, My Lord? What will you do to be free of debt?”
For the first time since they sat down to dinner, she could see a spark of interest in his expression. “Did you have something in mind, Miss Vernon?”
“Indeed, My Lord. I wish you to marry me.”
God help him, but he wanted to laugh. Instead he excused himself from the table and wandered to the corner where she’d been gazing when he’d first entered the room. He could see a fountain and a white gazebo. He had no reason not to accept her offer. She’d spoken true. A full coffer often married an empty one.
He could restore his estate to its splendour. He could maintain his London residence. His pride would take a bit of a bludgeoning as he’d not be marrying the daughter of a peer. He’d be marrying a woman who’d arrived in the world with a shady past.
He heard her soft footsteps. He slid his gaze towards her, almost becoming lost in her eyes. He’d not been able to tell their shade until they’d sat for dinner and the flames on the table had illuminated them. They were unusual, so pale that her eyes seemed to be little beyond brightness. He couldn’t explain it, but they reminded him of something.
“Must he remain while we discuss this?” he asked, indicating the stoic butler.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Jones, please leave us.”
“Miss—”
“I shall be fine.”
The butler grunted in obvious disapproval, before leaving the room, the door closing quietly in his wake. Harteley turned, pressed his shoulder to the window, and folded his arms across his chest. “You could have anyone. Why me?”
“I can’t have anyone. The circumstance of my birth ensures it.”
“Still, I am left with the impression that you’re not being totally honest with me regarding this arrangement.”
She nodded, glanced down, then lifted her gaze in what he was coming to recognize as her defiance against the world and its unfairness. “My mother is dying.”
He heard true sorrow and bereavement in her voice, and couldn’t prevent his tone from indicating the same. “My condolences.”
“She’s not yet dead. As I said, she’s provided all this for me. My entire life, she has strived to give me what she never had. She has very little time left. I want her to know that I am to marry above my station. I believe it will bring her … peace.”
“And you believe I can be easily bought?”
Her lips parted slightly, and not for the first time that evening he wondered what it might be like to press his against hers. He couldn’t deny that she appealed to him on a primal level. Sharing a marriage bed with her would certainly be no hardship. Lord, who was he striving to convince? Bedding her would be bloody marvellous. He’d want to take her here, in this room, with the sunlight streaming in. He’d have no reason to imagine her as anything other than the beauty she was.
“Have I judged you poorly?” she asked.
“Unfortunately for you, no.”
Her green eyes widened at that. “Why unfortunately?”
“I take after my father. I’m a selfish man who cares about only what benefits and satisfies me.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Unfolding his arms, he took a step towards her. “You should, Miss Vernon. If I am to accept your offer for marriage, I believe it imperative that you understand exactly what you have bargained for.” With one hand, he cradled her face and stroked his thumb at the corner of her mouth. “I would not be denied.”