A Dangerous Love by Sabrina Jeffries

actually considered his money a liability, a demonstration of his poor character. He didn’t know whether to admire her ideals or deplore her snobbery.
    As if realizing she’d insulted him, she caught up,and murmured, “It’s not only the smuggling, you understand. I believe a woman—people—ought to marry for love.”
    He glanced at her. She stared off down the path as if she looked toward a future where some man might fall in love with her. It was hard to believe this Amazon had romantic notions about marriage. Mercenary, yes, or even condescending. But romantic? Extraordinary.
    “Isn’t that an unusual point of view for someone of your station?” he asked. “Doesn’t your sort believe it’s as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one?”
    “I don’t know what ‘my sort’ believes, but I personally believe it isn’t easy to fall in love with anyone, rich or poor.” She cast him a sidelong glance. “And what do you believe? That a man should marry a rich wife when he can? Or perhaps you already have a rich wife back in London.”
    “No,” he said firmly. “No planned or actual wife, rich or poor. I have…other matters that concern me more than marriage right now.” Matters that might make it even more difficult for the Swanlea Spinsters to marry. He squelched the guilt that rose in his chest.
    “So you don’t plan to marry at all, for money or for love?”
    “Not for money, and certainly not for love. I don’t believe such a dubious emotion exists—I’ve never felt it myself. People merely mistake desire for love, a dangerous error that induces men to act like fools and women to choose bad husbands when their…er…urges to lead them into disaster.” A caution he ought to remember when dealing with Lady Rosalind—for if anyone could lead a man into disaster, it was she.

    “What a cynic you are. From what I understand, love differs vastly from desire.”
    “But you don’t know for certain? You’ve never been in love yourself?”
    Her gaze swung to his, startled, then wary. The gold flecks in her hazel eyes echoed the glint of sunlight on the glossy oak leaves overhead. He held her gaze, a strange tension building in his chest as he watched faint color tinge her cheeks.
    Then she snapped her gaze back to the path ahead. “No, I don’t think so.”
    He resisted the urge to ask her the next logical question—if she’d ever felt desire—since any answer was liable to fire his own “urges.” “Don’t you think you’d remember if you had been in love?”
    That made her smile. “Yes, I suppose I would.”
    He suddenly wanted desperately to prevent her rare smile from vanishing. “Then your objection to marrying Knighton has nothing to do with some secret and vastly inappropriate suitor you’ve stashed away.”
    Laughter bubbled out of her, light and airy and immensely satisfying to hear. “No, indeed not.”
    “What about your sisters?” he asked, ruthlessly reminding himself of his greater purpose, which would be better served by delving for information than by flirting with Lady Rosalind. “Have they any suitors hidden away?”
    “Not that I know of.” She walked with a more relaxed gait now, her limbs looser, more fluid, as if telling him her thoughts on marriage had freed her to be more comfortable with him. “But I don’t check the deer park regularly. And there’s always the stables—you did find the grooms very incompetent, as I recall. They could be suitors in masquerade.”
    Fanciful woman. He knew very well she hadn’tbeen taken in by his criticisms. “Yes, who knows what devious elopement plans one of them might be hiding?” He crunched along through the leaves. “So your sisters don’t wish to marry Knighton either?”
    She hesitated before answering. “Juliet is difficult to read—unlike me, she desperately wants to remain at Swan Park. And Papa presses her on the matter constantly. Despite all that, however, I think she’d balk in the