"Shall we continue?" Beau asked, looking larger than usual in his greatcoat and hat.
"You like truth very well, it seems," she said, smiling at him.
"I do." He nodded with a smile. "I may well have contracted a daily need for it."
Clarissa held her tongue. She would not put the words in his mouth to spit back out at her. He would do this on his own.
"Do you play coy now?" he asked.
"No," she said pleasantly. "Let us return to my question of last evening. Why do you want to marry me?"
"Why?" he blustered, clearly taken aback. It was most amusing. "Why does any man want to marry?"
"For heirs?" she said. "Any woman could do that for you."
He really was blushing now, but she would not relent. She would not bind herself to a man because he found her amusing or entertaining. Let there be more to their union than that, even if she dwelled in Ireland alone. But with this man, would she be left alone?
"You are the most confounded woman," he grumbled.
"I suppose I am, and it's best you know it now. Perhaps if you ask me to marry you, our conversation will progress more smoothly," she suggested, giving up her earlier transigence.
He turned to face her, stopping them on the path. Her feet were cold. It didn't matter. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, the most masculine, the most marvelous. His eyes, so green in the gray world of winter, demanded something of her. Pity, she supposed. He looked a man beset and just a bit bewildered. A man on the brink of matrimony would have such a look; Lindley had looked so when he had offered for Miss Brookdale. It must be the way of men to have to be hounded to the altar. She felt completely calm. She knew what she wanted. She only waited for him to say it.
"Let me ask you instead why you so clearly want to marry me," he said, adjusting his hat when it was already set perfectly upon his head. When she paused, he crowed, "You see? It is not so simple a question to answer. No one should be put in such a position. I withdraw-"
"No," she interrupted him. "I want to answer you. This is more in the matter of a practical arrangement, and I believe we should be truthful about both our purpose and our expectations."
"Come now. I expect no such answer. This borders on incivility-"
"I disagree. Let us be honest with each other at the very least; even if this is to be our last conversation."
At his silence, she only smiled. He had not liked hearing that gently voiced threat.
"I have come to the point in my life when marriage is expected," she said, her voice grave. "I have a duty to my family to marry well. Your title and your income make you quite desirable."
"High on your list, you might say," he interjected curtly. He looked irritated. It didn't alarm her, as it didn't signify; men were so easily irritated.
"I do say," she said brightly. "You are my first choice, most especially because of the desirability of your Irish estate. You are in a county I particularly admire, and all agree that your house is outstanding."
"To hell with all that!" he roared, obviously pushed beyond his endurance for honest communication.
Oh, he was definitely angry. And he had used foul language. If he thought to shock her into silence or submission he had calculated poorly; she had ten brothers, three of them in the army.
"My lord? I am not accustomed to such speech," she said tartly. "Can you not refrain? This is a point I had not considered; is such intemperance a permanent feature of your character?"
Apparently it was.
Beau, his face a mask of barely controlled frustration, pulled her into his arms. He was not gentle. She was not afraid. She felt lost against the size of him-lost and then found.
"There is more to me than my estate, Clarissa, and more between us than titles," he said in a growl, his mouth bare inches above hers. "That is a truth you shall not deny."
He kissed her then, and, bold as she was, she welcomed it. It was a hard kiss, an angry kiss, a kiss of threat and promise. She felt only the promise.
His mouth was hot and heavy upon hers, yet she did not turn from it, for there was passion, too, and she was hungry for his passion. She knew the truth of his desire for her in his kiss. She could not-would not-turn from that.
Dalton, appearing at the entrance to the garden, ended it.
Beau lifted his head from hers, his eyes green points of fire in a face chilled by winter. She felt burned, and shivered.
"I'm afraid I'll have to insist that you marry her now, Beau," Dalton said, cheerily enough, all things considered. "You certainly have fixed yourself." He almost laughed.
"I had already asked your sister to marry me," Beau said, pulling Clarissa to his side and holding her there. "This was her answer."
"Ahhh." Dalton grinned.
He didn't believe a word of it.
The marriage took place on Friday of that week, a small affair of family only. Still, they filled the salon. Chadwick and Braden, both in the army, were unable to attend. Leighton was busy in Ireland and couldn't make the crossing in time, and Alston and Harden were touring the continent, trying to avoid trouble, they wrote. So only Albert, Lindley, Jane, Dalton, Russell, and Perry attended the ceremony from her side. All wore smiles. On Beau's side was his paternal grandmother, Lady Claire, a delightful woman with the same green eyes as her grandson.
Beau still looked a trifle angry, which puzzled Clarissa completely. Oh, well, that would pass. He had the wife of his choosing. She had done her duty to her family and married well without a whimper of complaint. At least not in the last week.
During the wedding breakfast, she sat quietly congratulating herself as the conversation flowed around her. Beau was oddly quiet as well; perhaps he was equally self-congratulatory. They had made a good match, each of them, and deserved a small moment of victory. Before the breakfast was quite over-she had hardly finished her tea-Beau announced to the room that they would be leaving immediately on their wedding trip. It seemed a bit precipitous to her, but she was not of a mind to cause any commotion over it. She was eager to see Montwyn Hall.
Naturally Jane would accompany her.
Naturally Albert had to stop her as she was entering the coach to congratulate her once more on her excellent judgment. And again, as it had the last ten times he had offered such words of praise, the compliment rankled. It should not. She had made the best match of the season. She was on her way to Ireland even now, for that was the final destination of their bridal itinerary. Ireland. She would be in Ireland again. Home. Once she was settled, Beau would return to England. Which was where he belonged, being English. She would remain in Ireland, alone.
The thought brought less pleasure than it had even a week ago. Alone was such a lonely-sounding word. Would he really leave her alone? Pish, she would have Jane… and Ireland. She would not be alone.
But she would not have Beau.
Did he honestly mean to leave her alone?
At present, he did not. Beau had her bundled into the coach with Jane snug against her side before she had quite finished her farewells. Beau sat across from them, warm in his greatcoat, solemn and silent.
And so he remained throughout the day; even Jane with her pleasant and hopeful nature could not stand against such a wall of silence.
Clarissa had no energy to make the effort. All her thoughts were of Ireland; the man who had made it possible, her husband, she barred from her thoughts. Though it was a most difficult thing to do with him sitting just across from her, his knees brushing against her skirts, his green eyes studying her. Still, she persevered. It was to be only the first of many barriers she would set between them, because, ultimately, she would bar him from her life. She had married well, done credit to her family, acquired access to an Irish estate, and, once she'd produced a child or two, giving him his heir, their paths would hardly cross again.