Vander frowned at that. “I gather the guardianship reverted to Sir Richard Magruder if you did not marry?”
She nodded. “Unfortunately, Sir Richard made it clear that I would no longer be welcome in the house, and I would have had to leave Charles Wallace—Charlie—behind.” Mia’s voice trembled for the first time. “I could not allow that to happen. Moreover, Sir Richard is recklessly litigious and will lay waste to my nephew’s inheritance. In the last year, he has launched three separate court cases on behalf of the estate.”
Bloody hell. It all made sense now. Jilted and desperate, Mia used the only tool that came to hand: his father’s treasonous letter. Vander choked back another curse. “So you came to me with a proposition to marry for six months, which I promptly chucked into the fire.”
“My solicitor thought if you knew all the details beforehand—the fact that Sir Richard will almost certainly sue you—you would be even more disinclined to make me a duchess, temporary or otherwise.”
Somewhere in the back of Vander’s mind, in his very blood, a pulse pounded, and he knew what it was. His wife had been betrothed to marry.
To another man.
He took a moment to consider the emotion rationally. It wasn’t possessiveness. Hell, a few days ago he’d scarcely known Mia existed. That wasn’t entirely true: he had clear memories of her from years before, but he certainly wouldn’t have turned a hair if he had heard she’d married.
Not possessiveness. He was feeling lust, that was all. He lusted after his little wife, with her tempting curves and rumpled golden hair.
It must be something to do with the fact that she had just become his wife. That changed things. He’d seen perfectly sound men go mad when they thought that their wives were unfaithful.
Satisfied, Vander relegated that feeling to its proper compartment. Someday he would take Mia, whether it was for four nights or longer.
He simply had to convince her that he had no intention of enduring the charade that would be necessary to find a second wife, particularly considering divorce would further blacken his reputation and make the process more difficult. Mia was good enough, and he’d be damned if he would allow her to leave him on the grounds of adultery, and saddle his family name with yet another scandal.
Now he knew her weakness, he was not above exploiting it. “It seems that I am now Charles Wallace’s guardian,” he pointed out.
“That doesn’t mean we have to live together!”
He smiled at her. “Charles Wallace will live with me.”
He watched as the reality of it sank in. The battle was won. Over.
“In exchange,” he continued, “I will counter Sir Richard in court when he sues me for theft of the estate and whatever other charges he trumps up. I will raise your nephew as if he were my own son. I will endeavor to make the Carrington estate double in value by the time Charles Wallace is of age.”
“I would make a terrible duchess,” she cried. “Look how I dress.”
He shrugged. “Not exactly à la mode, but I don’t care.”
“Society will care!”
“I don’t go into society.”
Panic was settling into Mia’s bones, making her cold from the inside out. Vander meant it. She was caught in a trap of her own making.
He rose and moved toward her in a lazy stroll. “All I need is an heir, and I’ll take that from your body.”
“No, you won’t!” Mia snapped, unnerved by that grotesquely vulgar statement. “I’m not your wife, not really.”
“Yes, you are.”
She knew what he had in mind. He was going to kiss her. Once, Edward had kissed her for long minutes, and afterward Mia had felt flushed all over, and had a happily muddled feeling low in her stomach. He had laughed, and put her away, and said, “You’ll be the death of me before I get you to the altar.”