Seduction In Silk: A Novel of the Malloren World (Malloran) by Jo Beverley

married and absorbed by her husband and his run-down estate in Devon. She may write to you, but if you wish, leave her letters unread.”
    His words flowed lightly over her and she recognized that the stream was as much to give her time as to convey information. He gave nearly everything and asked hardly anything in return. Simply her vows at the altar.
    How could she believe that? But nor could she believe him a shameless liar. Athena too had judged him honest, and she had more experience of the world.
    There was still a husband’s legal authority to fear, but if Perriam kept his word on the rest, that had weaker teeth.
    She realized she was looking at the basket and accepted another truth. She felt all the pressure to make this pact for the twins, but she’d been undermined by his gifts.
    Ginger, brandied cherries, and a peeled orange.
    What a weak, self-indulgent woman she was. After such a slight brush with luxury, the thought of living in penury all her days made her shudder.
    She peeled off a segment of the orange and bit into it, taking the time to savor the sweet juiciness, to admit its power. Taking one last moment to find an acceptable alternative. There was none.
    “Very well, Mr. Perriam, I will marry you. But if you renege on any of your promises, I will shoot you, and the pistol will be loaded.”
    She saw neither triumph nor fear.
    Very wise. Even now she might find the resolution to back out if he gloated.
    Instead he offered her another segment of orange. “We could wed on Sunday and gain extra blessings.”
    “Sunday! That’s only four days away. We need banns.”
    He put the segment on the table in front of her. “I don’t have time for banns. It must be by license.”
    “
I
need more time . . .”
    “To do what? You can purchase all you want later.”
    “Not a new gown for the wedding.”
    “You must have something that would do.”
    Would do? That showed how little he thought of the matter.
    “You’re harrying me, Mr. Perriam, and I will not allow it.”
    “You’ve agreed, Miss Mallow. What point in delay? I admit my need for haste. I have obligations in London which I’ve already neglected.”
    His tone infuriated her, but she liked the words. He wasn’t in haste to capture her, but to fulfill the requirements of a will and return to his life and responsibilities—his life far from Perriam Manor.
    “If you don’t care for a Sunday wedding,” he said, “shall it be Monday? A word to the new rector and it’s all arranged.”
    Claris realized something. “I don’t want to marry here.”
    Before she could explain, he said, “Ah, your father’s death. It must be a terrible memory.”
    For a moment, that puzzled her. The only terrible memory she had of that day was her shocking relief that her father was dead. She supposed her father falling dead at her feet should have shocked a normal woman, but her dislike of marrying there came from something else.
    She didn’t want to marry in Old Barford because the villagers would stare and speculate on what the Mad Rector’s daughter was doing now.
    “Marrying elsewhere must delay things,” she said.
    “Not at all. With a special license we can marry anywhere. A little more difficult to obtain than an ordinary license, but not unduly. We can be wed within the week.”
    Within the week?
    She’d agreed, but not thought it would be so soon.
    “May I make a suggestion, Miss Mallow? No, first, may I call you Claris now we’re betrothed?”
    Claris couldn’t see reason to object. “And you, sir? What shall I call you?”
    “I was christened Peregrine, but my friends call me Perry.”
    Too informal by far. “I prefer Perriam.”
    “As you wish,” he said, undaunted. “Now, I suggest that you remove from here to the home of my friend Lord Ashart.”
    Claris stared. “The marquess? He is your friend?”
    “I’m staying at Cheynings. Is it so odd?”
    She laughed and then clapped her hand over her mouth before it turned wild. When