How the Marquess Was Won by Julie Anne Long

when I saw it go sailing by. Fortunately, my sense of self-preservation was honed during the war. I ducked; it struck a vase, which shattered, and which my man Marquardt subsequently swept up without a single change of expression. And then Signora Licari stormed out. I’d given her a very handsome necklace along with a polite speech about how it was time to part ways, and she threw a humidor. What do you make of that, Miss Vale?”
    She took a moment to picture the scene, enjoying particularly the notion of the graceful marquess diving in defense, maybe throwing his hands up over his head, taking cover behind a settee . . .
    Only what he deserved, likely.
    “Lord Dryden, it strikes me that—”
    “Interesting choice of word.”
    “—you consistently . . . associate . . . with women—”
    “Associate!” He found this very funny. “ What a delicate choice of euphemism.”
    “—who are possessed of fiery temperaments. Which is interesting, when yours is so very . . .” she searched for just the right word “. . . contained.”
    His reaction was immediate and wholly unexpected. He went rigid. His head turned toward her so swiftly she took a small step backward.
    When he spoke, it was so coldly she was reminded uncomfortably that he was titled, wealthy, feared, and respected. For very good reasons.
    “Very what?” Each word was given equal anvil weight and delivered slowly. He pronounced the H in what perhaps a little too emphatically.
    “Contained,” she repeated bravely, matching his gravity, wondering why on earth he should find this troubling. For it wasn’t untrue. And it wasn’t an insult. Necessarily.
    He stared at her for a moment. Then narrowed his eyes, which was unnervingly like being viewed through crossbow slits.
    And then turned away from her and of course reacted by remaining . . . contained.
    His posture, even as he mimed holding up the pillar, was flawless. No sloping shoulders for him .
    He drew deeply upon the cheroot.
    He spoke after he exhaled more smoke. “Explain.”
    “Have you considered it’s the very thing causing the women to react so . . . profoundly? The containment?”
    He gave a short humorless laugh. “I’m entertained by the care you take with choosing words, Miss Vale. I’m still not certain of your meaning.”
    “If you are so very . . . cool all the time . . . very poised, if you will, very controlled . . . Well, consider . . . for example, consider how a fire must burn hotter and higher to compensate for a cold temperature in a room. So if you bring an association to an end very coolly and politely , as you’ve just said, shall we say, tempers may . . . boil over. Things may be thrown.”
    “And that’s what I am?” he asked sharply. “Is that what you think? I’m cold? Hard? The broadsheets think so.”
    “No.” The word was emphatic and immediate and soothing; she sensed she’d drawn blood, hurt him somehow. But in truth, it was a thought she’d entertained about him before. “No.” Instinctively, she softened her voice. “I do know the difference between . . . cold . . . and an abundance of caution.”
    More carefully chosen words.
    He was a clever man. But he wouldn’t tolerate the implication that he was vulnerable, that he was self-protective, for everyone knew he was invulnerable. Impenetrable. His nerves were steel, his heart was a fortress, his mind was a trap, and et cetera. His legend was built upon it.
    He exhaled shortly. It wasn’t quite a sigh.
    “I’m hardly dis passionate, Miss Vale.”
    “Oh, I didn’t think for a moment that you were.”
    He looked sharply. He knew her innocence was feigned, that it was provocation cloaked in careful words.
    He smoked thoughtfully for a moment. She rubbed at one arm. It might be tropical inside the Redmond house, but it was most definitely autumn here in the courtyard.
    “You see, Miss Vale . . . I was responsible for a great deal at a very early age. I was