“I believe Michael will ask for her.”
“Is that what you want?”
Adrian paused. “No. It’s not. But like most women, she’ll want love in the bargain. I can’t promise that.”
“Then tell her the truth, all of it. She’s a smart woman and obviously cares for you.” Joel leaned back. “If you want my advice, I would talk to her soon. It doesn’t appear there’s much time.”
Malcolm climbed into the rented hackney and tapped on the roof with his cane. All of his hard work might come to naught, and all because of Adrian Spencer. The chit had fled. He’d had to take what modest funds he could raise and chase after her. The cards had not been kind to him lately and he was, again, in dun-city. His creditors were after him. If he wasn’t careful he would end in debtors’ prison, or deported to the continent. And, if the cent-per-centers caught up with him before he had the money, he would end up floating in the Thames.
It had been an absolute stroke of luck when Lady Longhaven sat at his table to play cards. Good fortune had indeed been his when the game was whist. She was known to be a terrible player. With a little encouragement and a few glasses of wine, she’d lost heavily.
A walk out onto the terrace for a breath of fresh air, another glass of wine—this one laced with a touch of laudanum—and she had signed the note without questioning what was on the paper.
And then, when an accident had claimed both Lord and Lady Longhaven, leaving no one to dispute his claim, his plan had seemed so very simple.
Windsford! How Charles hated him. Adrian had everything, everything that should have been his. If his brainless twit of a mother had only married Elliot Spencer when she had the chance, instead of his weak and useless father, all would be different.
Charles had bested Adrian once and he would do it again. He would have the lovely Angeline, and everything else for which he’d planned so carefully.
Chapter 14
Adrian relaxed in the swaying carriage, and eyed Angeline thoughtfully. If she believed he offered marriage only as a way to protect her, she would hie off to England as soon as she attained her twenty-first year. Although he’d threatened, he wouldn’t be able to stop her. Pride, and a misguided belief in the emotion called love, would not let her accept anything less.
Passion, he could promise her, and fidelity. But, love, well . . . that left one vulnerable.
He would give her the protection of his name, children, and anything else that lay within his considerable means.
He’d cared greatly for Pricilla, but there’d been no risk of falling in love. Their union had seemed the perfect match, one that would have advanced both his plans and goals and her desire to become a countess. She’d been a biddable, somewhat timid woman, and he’d wanted to make her happy.
Although Pricilla had indicated some reluctance to sharing the marriage bed, Adrian had considered her lack of enthusiasm just maidenly jitters, and planned on siring quite a few children by her. While she was busy having his children and acting as his hostess, he would press forward with his political career.
With Angeline, the attraction was different. She was vivacious and innately sensual. He’d never been as driven or as lustful for any woman. Inordinately beautiful as she was, having children with her would be a natural consequence of his unquenchable desire for her. Her response to his caresses had been full of passion and augured well for their future.
If she refused his offer of marriage, he would use passion to entice her into his bed and into marriage. The risk lay in his ability to avoid falling victim to that passion himself.
Angeline leaned back against the soft squabs of the carriage and surveyed Adrian through her lashes. The kiss last night had both surprised and thrilled her. From the look on his face, he’d been as shocked as she at her response.
His gaze met hers. The corners of his mouth lifted as if
“Is that what you want?”
Adrian paused. “No. It’s not. But like most women, she’ll want love in the bargain. I can’t promise that.”
“Then tell her the truth, all of it. She’s a smart woman and obviously cares for you.” Joel leaned back. “If you want my advice, I would talk to her soon. It doesn’t appear there’s much time.”
Malcolm climbed into the rented hackney and tapped on the roof with his cane. All of his hard work might come to naught, and all because of Adrian Spencer. The chit had fled. He’d had to take what modest funds he could raise and chase after her. The cards had not been kind to him lately and he was, again, in dun-city. His creditors were after him. If he wasn’t careful he would end in debtors’ prison, or deported to the continent. And, if the cent-per-centers caught up with him before he had the money, he would end up floating in the Thames.
It had been an absolute stroke of luck when Lady Longhaven sat at his table to play cards. Good fortune had indeed been his when the game was whist. She was known to be a terrible player. With a little encouragement and a few glasses of wine, she’d lost heavily.
A walk out onto the terrace for a breath of fresh air, another glass of wine—this one laced with a touch of laudanum—and she had signed the note without questioning what was on the paper.
And then, when an accident had claimed both Lord and Lady Longhaven, leaving no one to dispute his claim, his plan had seemed so very simple.
Windsford! How Charles hated him. Adrian had everything, everything that should have been his. If his brainless twit of a mother had only married Elliot Spencer when she had the chance, instead of his weak and useless father, all would be different.
Charles had bested Adrian once and he would do it again. He would have the lovely Angeline, and everything else for which he’d planned so carefully.
Chapter 14
Adrian relaxed in the swaying carriage, and eyed Angeline thoughtfully. If she believed he offered marriage only as a way to protect her, she would hie off to England as soon as she attained her twenty-first year. Although he’d threatened, he wouldn’t be able to stop her. Pride, and a misguided belief in the emotion called love, would not let her accept anything less.
Passion, he could promise her, and fidelity. But, love, well . . . that left one vulnerable.
He would give her the protection of his name, children, and anything else that lay within his considerable means.
He’d cared greatly for Pricilla, but there’d been no risk of falling in love. Their union had seemed the perfect match, one that would have advanced both his plans and goals and her desire to become a countess. She’d been a biddable, somewhat timid woman, and he’d wanted to make her happy.
Although Pricilla had indicated some reluctance to sharing the marriage bed, Adrian had considered her lack of enthusiasm just maidenly jitters, and planned on siring quite a few children by her. While she was busy having his children and acting as his hostess, he would press forward with his political career.
With Angeline, the attraction was different. She was vivacious and innately sensual. He’d never been as driven or as lustful for any woman. Inordinately beautiful as she was, having children with her would be a natural consequence of his unquenchable desire for her. Her response to his caresses had been full of passion and augured well for their future.
If she refused his offer of marriage, he would use passion to entice her into his bed and into marriage. The risk lay in his ability to avoid falling victim to that passion himself.
Angeline leaned back against the soft squabs of the carriage and surveyed Adrian through her lashes. The kiss last night had both surprised and thrilled her. From the look on his face, he’d been as shocked as she at her response.
His gaze met hers. The corners of his mouth lifted as if
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