“Gabriel?” she asked. Unease laced that one word—his name. And just like that, he was Gabriel again to her and the decision was made.

He swiped Mrs. Wollstonecraft’s work from the seat and welcomed the comforting weight of the book in his hands. “I will speak bluntly, Jane,” he said as he turned to face her.

A wry smile formed on her lips. “I’d prefer bluntness to this stilted silence.”

He returned her smile with a faint one of his own. “I have never been the one with ready words. That skill has been reserved for my brother.”

“I’d have you be sincere to filling that quiet with platitudes and false cheer.” False cheer.

“Your three thousand pounds is dependent upon our marriage,” he said on a rush, before the wrongness in his decision cemented in his mind or before his own courage to move forward in this uncertain marital state registered.

Jane opened her mouth and closed it. And then tried again. “What?”

“Marriage,” he supplied, though he far suspected that she very well heard and understood. “To me.”

She furrowed her brow and then shook her head slowly back and forth. “I don’t understand.” Her whisper-soft statement may as well have thundered about the room for the absolute still of the parlor. “Marriage?” She paused. “To you?”

Was the prospect of marriage to him really so unpalatable to the lady? He bristled, feeding the indignation which was far safer than any other more dangerous sentiments that could or would suggest there was any other reason to care about Jane’s response. He set aside her book. “As I said, you will receive the funds for your school if you wed me.”

She gave her head a forlorn shake and then looked away. “I see.” By her flat, emotionless tone he suspected she saw nothing at all.

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“Marry me.”

Her gaze shot to his. “Are you asking me?” She squared her shoulders at that same high-handed order he’d made just the prior evening.

Gabriel nodded. “Marry me?” he said again and this time the words were a question.

Jane eyed him with a wary confusion. “But you don’t want to marry me.”

No. He didn’t wish to marry anyone and especially not a woman who roused these tumultuous sentiments within him that he didn’t recognize or care to identify.

“Why?”

It took a moment for him to register her question. “Why?”

She nodded. “Why would you wed me to help me secure my funds? What benefit is that to you? You will not have a proper wife, a lady as your hostess.”

Why, because there was little choice except marriage. He opened his mouth but then immediately pressed his lips closed and searched for a suitable response that would not offend a woman who was now presented with marriage to him. Gabriel forced a wry grin. “I expect it is fairly clear why we should wed.” I want you… No, that is not what now drove his offer. It was the protection and security of his name. That was the impetus behind his proposal.

“No, it is not clear, Gabriel,” she said slowly, as though picking her way through a conversation in Latin when she only spoke French.

He strolled over and stopped before her. “Very well,” he said and brushed the back of his hand along her jaw. Like silk. Who knew satiny soft skin could be so very erotic?

Jane tipped her head at a slight angle, leaning into his touch in a trusting way that jerked him back to the perils of her.

“You are ruined.” She went taut and drew slightly back. That movement forced his hand down to his side. He grimaced. “That is you are unmarriageable.” Was there really a difference between the two? He thought not and, by the dangerous narrowing of Jane’s eyes, she also thought not. He’d spent his life scolding and passing judgment on his rogue of a brother. Now he’d have traded his left hand for a handful of charming words to help him wade through this quagmire with Jane.

“You would marry me because of…” Her cheeks pinked. “Because of what transpired.” What transpired? That was a good deal more polite than referencing the passionate exchange that had found her with her skirts up about her delicious lower limbs and her skirts wrinkled. “All so I could secure my funds?”




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