When the Marquess Met His Match by Laura Lee Guhrke - An American Heiress in London 01 - When the Marquess Met His Match Page A

“Tell me, are you always this sure of yourself and your assessments?”
    “Well, I do this sort of thing for my living, you know.”
    “Granted, and if you had pegged me accurately, I might place more value upon your opinion. But as it is . . .” He shrugged. “You’ll have to do better than this if you want me to eliminate Rosalie from consideration. Aside from her youth and her inexperience with future-duchess duty, do you have any other reasons why I should not pursue her?”
    “You haven’t spent enough time considering other women?” She winced at her own words even before he began laughing.
    “Is there no way to satisfy you, Lady Featherstone? A day ago, you accused me of having too much experience with women. Now you say I haven’t enough?”
    Belinda gave in to temptation and stepped on his foot.
    He grimaced, but he didn’t miss a step. “Careful,” he warned. “Causing me pain won’t help convince me.”
    “Then stop toying with me.”
    “I like Rosalie, and I see no reason why my affection for her should not continue to grow. And she seems fond of me. You said yourself that fondness and affection is a solid foundation for matrimony—”
    “Yes, yes, I know what I said,” she interrupted, not in any mood to have her own words used against her. “But this fondness you speak of is superficial at best. The two of you aren’t well acquainted enough for anything deeper. Not yet. If you were to withdraw now, no one’s feelings would be hurt. And as I said, I will help you find someone else.”
    “I’m still not sure why that should persuade me.”
    Belinda began to feel truly desperate. “For heaven’s sake, what else do you want?”
    His lashes lowered, and the slow gaze he ran down her body was as tangible as a caress. “What else do you have to offer?”
    Her heart slammed against her ribs, and stupidly, she stumbled.
    “Steady on.” His hands tightened, keeping her upright until she could regain her balance. “For someone who moves in high society, you don’t dance very well. You keep treading on my feet.”
    “Your feet aren’t the only parts of your anatomy I’d like to tread on,” she muttered.
    That made him smile, the wretched man. “All the reasons you offer could apply just as well to every other wealthy American debutante in town. By your reckoning, I ought to steer clear of any woman who is young, sweet, rich, and who might have the slightest chance of falling in love with me.”
    That, she thought, would be ideal, but she refrained from saying so. “Rosalie is my main concern.”
    His smile faded to a serious expression and he eyed her thoughtfully. “What’s really behind this?” he asked. “You hardly know me, yet you are convinced my marriage to your friend would be disastrous. What makes you so sure? If you explained your reasoning, if you told me the truth, I might be persuaded to consider someone else.”
    “The truth?” As she repeated those words, something inside Belinda snapped. “You really want the truth?” She jerked out of his hold, grabbed him by the arm, and started off the dance floor with him in tow.
    “Leading again?” he asked, as she propelled him toward the French doors that opened onto the terrace. “I suppose next you’ll be wearing trousers and petitioning Parliament for the right to vote.”
    Belinda didn’t respond to that. She couldn’t. She was in no frame of mind for his nonsense. She was having enough difficulty keeping her temper in check long enough to get him outside where they could have a flaming row without being observed by all of society. She dragged him through the open doors and out into the cool night air. Fortunately, no one else was outside at present, and she only had to pull him a few yards away from the open doors before she could let fly.
    “If you want the truth, I shall be happy to give it to you.” She yanked her arm out of his and faced him. “I don’t want you to marry Rosalie because you’ll