How the Marquess Was Won by Julie Anne Long Page B

knew it must be Redmond property.
    “Is there a condition associated with the land?”
    He looked up at her sharply, surprised at the astute question, perhaps. He smiled, faintly, and the smile seemed almost bittersweet. “Of course. Little in life is unconditional, and naught is unconditional when it comes to Isaiah Redmond. But I’m a man who understands actions and consequences and business. I can’t in truth object. And the condition . . .” he paused “. . . it’s not an onerous one.” He turned to her, and delivered the words carefully. “The property is attached to another dowry.”
    Not an onerous one. The condition, she knew with clarion certainty, was Lisbeth Redmond.
    She was speechless. He was going about the business of marriage the same way he’d gone about the business of his life. Purposefully.
    “The question remains . . . who takes care of you, Miss Vale?”
    A sly ambush of a question to distract her from what he’d essentially just admitted.
    She dodged it. “I might ask the same question of you, Lord Dryden.”
    He seemed genuinely puzzled. “Oh, I’ve a host of servants. Marquardt, I suppose, in particular. And the likes of Sophia Licari—”
    “ Not ,” she said softly, lest he expound along those lines because she really didn’t want to know, “quite what I meant. And not quite the same thing.”
    He was about to acquire a wife who would need looking after and coddling, as she was sheltered, delicate, and demanding. Yet another person for him to take care of.
    To whom did he surrender his burdens? He probably didn’t know how to surrender his burdens.
    He looked at her a moment longer, then looked away. “With regards to my containment , as you’ve called it . . . in my defense, I never told any of those women who threw things that I loved them.”
    Oh, for God’s sake. Men.
    “Well, there you are, then. Of course they would never dream of falling in love with you in absence of a declaration. How dare they hurl things at your head?”
    He laughed. Sounding very much like a wicked little boy.
    “They’re human , you know,” she said huffily. “Not everyone has the advantage of your sort of self-control.”
    “Hold.” The warning note was back in his voice. “Do you think for an instant I think of them as otherwise? As objects ?”
    “No, I just—”
    He leaned away from the pillar, took a step toward her. Apparently he needed to stand very straight to make his point.
    “Miss Vale, it’s a business arrangement that suits both humans right down to the ground. It is entered into voluntarily, and I am generous and attentive and much more skilled , I’ll have you know, than even any rumors you may have heard about me. I doubt Signora Licari would tell you otherwise. And though I cannot prevent hurt feelings, sought-after women are often as arrogant as the men who seek them, and I can assure you that the main thing hurt is pride when an association comes to a close.”
    She suspected he knew she wasn’t nearly as sophisticated as he was, and was using words like “much more skilled” as a weapon.
    “And humidors. And vases,” she managed.
    “On occasion, yes.”
    And then all at once it was strangely difficult to breathe. “Much more skilled.” The reaction was delayed and potent and she knew he’d wanted her to think about it. In seconds, she’d discovered that she’d swum out into deeper waters than she’d ever crossed.
    He watched her.
    She spent a silent moment flailing inwardly before she spoke.
    “Nevertheless, my point is . . . they’re . . .” she gestured “. . . women. They’re not . . . Mr. Isaiah Redmond, with whom you can conclude a transaction with a shake of the hand and a hearty thank-you. You can apply the rules of business all you like, but emotions are . . . emotions are anarchic. They resist . . . legislation. Even by you.”
    Too late she realized she sounded a trifle vehement.
    He stared at her. “Know a little