me, he would be put in prison or hanged.” He prolonged the last word, savoring its long stretch of vowel.
“My lord,” began Arabella.
“Do me the courtesy of conveying my message,” he answered.
Looking hunted, once again, his hostess scuttled away.
His teeth were not clenched, Colin thought. Nor were his brows drawn together in a dark scowl, as the mirror seemed to imply. He was simply primed and ready to make his case as soon as he was given the opportunity to do so. All would be measured and reasonable; there would be no raised voices, no grasping her by the shoulders and shaking her until some sense made its way into that lovely, stubborn head and… Shocked at the gratification this picture held for him, Colin banished it.
Arabella peered around the door frame. “She refuses, my lord. She is quite unshakable. Indeed, I fear she is—”
Without another word, Colin strode from the room and up the narrow stairs, Arabella fluttering agitatedly behind him. In the upper corridor, he looked to her for direction, and she indicated a door on the left with shaking hands. Colin unhesitatingly threw it open and stalked into a small bedchamber hung with faded pink chintz. “You are the most infuriating woman I have ever met,” he said to Emma, who sat in the far corner at a rickety writing desk, “and possibly the most interesting I ever shall meet.”
“My lord!” she cried, springing to her feet. “How dare you burst into my room in this way?”
“I dare because you would not come down,” he said. “You left me no other choice.”
“On the contrary, I asked you to leave.”
“Well, I did not wish to do that,” Colin pointed out, as he tried to regain his careful calm. She looked particularly beautiful this morning, in a crisp gown of white muslin sprigged with blue flowers. The very air around her seemed to crackle with vitality—and anger. He must seize his chance. “You asked me the reasons I wish to marry you,” he said. “Well, that is one of the foremost among them.”
“What is?” snapped Emma.
“That you are the most interesting woman I have yet encountered,” he repeated. “I don’t believe you will ever bore me, or plague me with foolishness.”
“The same might be said for many women in London,” replied Emma.
“I have not met them,” he countered.
“It is a large city,” she replied coldly. “It must be filled with interesting women. I know it is teeming with much better matches.”
“That depends upon your requirements,” Colin said. “I have had rather too much experience of the marriage mart recently, and I can assure you that the qualities I mentioned are exceedingly rare. Indeed, I have found them nowhere else.”
“Then you have not tried, my lord.”
“Have I not?” He grimaced, remembering countless hours of insipid conversation and longing for escape. “These great matches you talk of so freely—do you know what they come down to? I am expected to marry some chit of seventeen who has just left the schoolroom.”
“Well, she needn’t be…”
“That is what my mother plots. She has been parading these girls before me since the day after I returned home, trussed up like Christmas parcels in ribbons and lace and well-schooled admiration.”
Emma suppressed a smile at the picture.
“They are polite and obedient and terribly eager to please,” he added.
“What more could a man want?” asked Emma tartly.
“And they are all dead bores,” he finished.
“Because you do not know them well,” suggested Emma, though she found she did not really wish to argue this case.
“I know them,” he replied. “I do not say it is their fault. They have had no time to develop thoughts of their own, and no encouragement to do so. But I will not be saddled with one of them.”
“Then don’t be,” exclaimed Emma, throwing up her hands. “But your preferences have nothing to do with me.”
“Yes, they do,” he said, in a tone that made her turn to
“My lord,” began Arabella.
“Do me the courtesy of conveying my message,” he answered.
Looking hunted, once again, his hostess scuttled away.
His teeth were not clenched, Colin thought. Nor were his brows drawn together in a dark scowl, as the mirror seemed to imply. He was simply primed and ready to make his case as soon as he was given the opportunity to do so. All would be measured and reasonable; there would be no raised voices, no grasping her by the shoulders and shaking her until some sense made its way into that lovely, stubborn head and… Shocked at the gratification this picture held for him, Colin banished it.
Arabella peered around the door frame. “She refuses, my lord. She is quite unshakable. Indeed, I fear she is—”
Without another word, Colin strode from the room and up the narrow stairs, Arabella fluttering agitatedly behind him. In the upper corridor, he looked to her for direction, and she indicated a door on the left with shaking hands. Colin unhesitatingly threw it open and stalked into a small bedchamber hung with faded pink chintz. “You are the most infuriating woman I have ever met,” he said to Emma, who sat in the far corner at a rickety writing desk, “and possibly the most interesting I ever shall meet.”
“My lord!” she cried, springing to her feet. “How dare you burst into my room in this way?”
“I dare because you would not come down,” he said. “You left me no other choice.”
“On the contrary, I asked you to leave.”
“Well, I did not wish to do that,” Colin pointed out, as he tried to regain his careful calm. She looked particularly beautiful this morning, in a crisp gown of white muslin sprigged with blue flowers. The very air around her seemed to crackle with vitality—and anger. He must seize his chance. “You asked me the reasons I wish to marry you,” he said. “Well, that is one of the foremost among them.”
“What is?” snapped Emma.
“That you are the most interesting woman I have yet encountered,” he repeated. “I don’t believe you will ever bore me, or plague me with foolishness.”
“The same might be said for many women in London,” replied Emma.
“I have not met them,” he countered.
“It is a large city,” she replied coldly. “It must be filled with interesting women. I know it is teeming with much better matches.”
“That depends upon your requirements,” Colin said. “I have had rather too much experience of the marriage mart recently, and I can assure you that the qualities I mentioned are exceedingly rare. Indeed, I have found them nowhere else.”
“Then you have not tried, my lord.”
“Have I not?” He grimaced, remembering countless hours of insipid conversation and longing for escape. “These great matches you talk of so freely—do you know what they come down to? I am expected to marry some chit of seventeen who has just left the schoolroom.”
“Well, she needn’t be…”
“That is what my mother plots. She has been parading these girls before me since the day after I returned home, trussed up like Christmas parcels in ribbons and lace and well-schooled admiration.”
Emma suppressed a smile at the picture.
“They are polite and obedient and terribly eager to please,” he added.
“What more could a man want?” asked Emma tartly.
“And they are all dead bores,” he finished.
“Because you do not know them well,” suggested Emma, though she found she did not really wish to argue this case.
“I know them,” he replied. “I do not say it is their fault. They have had no time to develop thoughts of their own, and no encouragement to do so. But I will not be saddled with one of them.”
“Then don’t be,” exclaimed Emma, throwing up her hands. “But your preferences have nothing to do with me.”
“Yes, they do,” he said, in a tone that made her turn to
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