this marriage any longer. Why should you care for convention?”
“What about Quentin?”
“I shall get him out of the country.”
“Where would he go?”
He laughed. The ironic, bitter edge had returned, revealing no merriment at all.
“To the devil, no doubt. It’s what I’ve been afraid of for years, but this marriage is a sorry answer, isn’t it?”
Joanna looked away. She felt embarrassed to face him. Perhaps she wanted the marriage, but only if she could trust him to give her the freedom he had promised.
“Not really,” she said. “I don’t mind so very much. I shan’t impinge in any way on your life. And I’ve thought about what you said. You’re giving me what I’ve always wanted, the chance at a life of my own, with the time and means to paint. It’s you who’s getting nothing in return.”
He folded his arms across his chest.
“No, I prefer it to the alternatives, if you are indeed willing. I shall have my father off my back, and Quentin close enough that I can still reach him. The rest doesn’t matter.”
“Yet you hesitate?”
“I have nothing to offer of what young ladies usually want in a husband. You won’t get my attention, or my interest. I shan’t be available to you, or supportive of you. I shall try to keep up appearances in public, but in private I shall always be preoccupied with other concerns that I will not share with you. Is that what you want?”
“I shall be in my studio. I don’t care what you do. I might as well ask if you care that I won’t give you anything that a wife usually gives a husband. You men are so very one sided in your assumptions, aren’t you?”
The weak moonlight caressed his profile, casting his bones into strong relief in shades of indigo and ivory.
Joanna wished she had her sketchbook and charcoal. She would like to draw him like this, in bold, strong strokes that would express as much of her own anger and distrust as reveal any truth about him.
“No doubt. Very well, then, we do understand each other.”
“And you will not kiss me like that again?” Joanna asked. “How can I trust anything you say? What you have demonstrated so far is that your word means nothing.”
He dropped his head and looked at her. The dim light shadowed his strong features and hid the intensity of his dark eyes, but she could see the wild humor that made him so very attractive curling the corners of his lips.
“Have I? I said that I would not act in lust. I will not and did not. I kissed you in your room, because you were unhappy and I thought I could comfort you. I did not mean it to become anything else. It was arrogant and foolish of me, and I’m sorry, and so I have learned my lesson.”
“So it ends there?”
Humor colored his voice again, a little mocking. “You will be my wife. I shall have every legal right to force myself on you if I wish. Yet on my honor I swear without reservation that I will never do so. Apart from any other consideration, I am in pursuit right now of some very lovely ladies, each of whom is only too eager to slake my baser male needs. Be reassured, Joanna. My word means a great deal.”
“Then I take the bargain,” Joanna said. “Because it’s all I shall ever have. And if this is your assurance that you will not take out your resentment and your rancor on me, then it’s good enough. It’s not my fault if I look like your first wife and bring back painful memories.”
“No,” he replied calmly. “It’s not that. Indeed, you are nothing like her.”
“Though I would like to know why Richard hates you.”
Only the tiniest hesitation betrayed him. “You must ask him.”
“I have. He said it made no difference now, so he wouldn’t tell me. Nevertheless, I will marry you tomorrow. Good night, Lord Tarrant.”
Joanna returned to the house and flung herself onto her bed fully clothed, pulling a pillow over her head.
Yet she could not bury or deny this appalling, unlooked-for, meaningless sense of
“What about Quentin?”
“I shall get him out of the country.”
“Where would he go?”
He laughed. The ironic, bitter edge had returned, revealing no merriment at all.
“To the devil, no doubt. It’s what I’ve been afraid of for years, but this marriage is a sorry answer, isn’t it?”
Joanna looked away. She felt embarrassed to face him. Perhaps she wanted the marriage, but only if she could trust him to give her the freedom he had promised.
“Not really,” she said. “I don’t mind so very much. I shan’t impinge in any way on your life. And I’ve thought about what you said. You’re giving me what I’ve always wanted, the chance at a life of my own, with the time and means to paint. It’s you who’s getting nothing in return.”
He folded his arms across his chest.
“No, I prefer it to the alternatives, if you are indeed willing. I shall have my father off my back, and Quentin close enough that I can still reach him. The rest doesn’t matter.”
“Yet you hesitate?”
“I have nothing to offer of what young ladies usually want in a husband. You won’t get my attention, or my interest. I shan’t be available to you, or supportive of you. I shall try to keep up appearances in public, but in private I shall always be preoccupied with other concerns that I will not share with you. Is that what you want?”
“I shall be in my studio. I don’t care what you do. I might as well ask if you care that I won’t give you anything that a wife usually gives a husband. You men are so very one sided in your assumptions, aren’t you?”
The weak moonlight caressed his profile, casting his bones into strong relief in shades of indigo and ivory.
Joanna wished she had her sketchbook and charcoal. She would like to draw him like this, in bold, strong strokes that would express as much of her own anger and distrust as reveal any truth about him.
“No doubt. Very well, then, we do understand each other.”
“And you will not kiss me like that again?” Joanna asked. “How can I trust anything you say? What you have demonstrated so far is that your word means nothing.”
He dropped his head and looked at her. The dim light shadowed his strong features and hid the intensity of his dark eyes, but she could see the wild humor that made him so very attractive curling the corners of his lips.
“Have I? I said that I would not act in lust. I will not and did not. I kissed you in your room, because you were unhappy and I thought I could comfort you. I did not mean it to become anything else. It was arrogant and foolish of me, and I’m sorry, and so I have learned my lesson.”
“So it ends there?”
Humor colored his voice again, a little mocking. “You will be my wife. I shall have every legal right to force myself on you if I wish. Yet on my honor I swear without reservation that I will never do so. Apart from any other consideration, I am in pursuit right now of some very lovely ladies, each of whom is only too eager to slake my baser male needs. Be reassured, Joanna. My word means a great deal.”
“Then I take the bargain,” Joanna said. “Because it’s all I shall ever have. And if this is your assurance that you will not take out your resentment and your rancor on me, then it’s good enough. It’s not my fault if I look like your first wife and bring back painful memories.”
“No,” he replied calmly. “It’s not that. Indeed, you are nothing like her.”
“Though I would like to know why Richard hates you.”
Only the tiniest hesitation betrayed him. “You must ask him.”
“I have. He said it made no difference now, so he wouldn’t tell me. Nevertheless, I will marry you tomorrow. Good night, Lord Tarrant.”
Joanna returned to the house and flung herself onto her bed fully clothed, pulling a pillow over her head.
Yet she could not bury or deny this appalling, unlooked-for, meaningless sense of
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