“It’s rather marvelous,” he assured. “You’re not at all like anyone else I’ve ever met.”
“I find that hard to believe,” she said. “Surely you’ve met a man who’s interested in such things.”
“No, in general,” he said, his brow furrowing in dismay, “people of the ton are not interested in such things. They might be interested in collecting artifacts, but they’re not really interested in where they came from or their original purpose. They see them purely as ornaments or shows of wealth.”
She gasped. “You see this, too?”
He placed his cup on the silver tray, moved forward on his chair, and leaned toward her. “I am aware of the narrowness of the ton’s scope, Victoria.” His mischievous face grew quite serious. “You have made your confession. I shall make mine.”
“Recall,” she said swiftly, “I do not wish to be educated on—”
“No, no, no,” he growled. “I shall not be regaling you with tales of my boudoir. I wouldn’t wish you to run screaming out of the house. I do have a terrible reputation,” he affirmed. “That shall continue. I have no intention of stopping it, and you shall not get in the way of it.”
She swallowed. “I understand. I suppose it is not necessary for me to expect your loyalty.”
“Loyalty,” he echoed. Then he leveled her with an unyielding stare. “I shall be loyal to you. I shall be your advocate. I shall be at your side. I shall endeavor to make certain that your goals and your dreams are achieved. But I shall not be a true husband to you, Lady Victoria. Ever.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“I can never be a husband to you.” He braced his forearms on his thighs, and it seemed then he was making a vow. “I will marry you. We will arrange for the ton to believe that you and I are a happy couple, that we get on, that we are of an accord, and that you approve of my lifestyle. And I will pay you a great deal of money for you to be able to follow whatever endeavor you so wish. But you, Lady Victoria, shall leave me alone and allow me to do my work.”
“Your work?” she gasped. “Bordellos and mistresses and gambling?”
“Yes,” he said tightly. “Bordellos and mistresses and gambling, but I shall never bother you, your studies, or ask you into my bed. And you need never worry about me climbing into your sheets one night. Because I’m fairly certain, you don’t wish me there. Your feelings about marriage are clear, and I’m happy to respect them.”
She swallowed. In the cold morning light spilling through the windows, she suddenly was not certain that what he suggested was indeed what she wished.
Gentle yellow light played over his linen shirt, dancing across the lean muscle of his forearms, playing over the open V of his throat, across his hard face. He was everything that she was not. He was beautiful. He was desirable. He was…
A scandal.
She found her lips parting and her heart beginning to beat. She’d never wanted a man before. She’d never felt the need for one. It had all seemed a great mystery and completely bizarre to her that anyone would be willing to throw their freedom away for a bit of passion. But sitting here so near him, she understood a little why so many women would be willing to cast themselves at his feet, hoping for a kiss, hoping for his embrace, willing to risk everything to be in, as he put it, his bed.
Of course, no matter how beautiful he was, no matter how desirable, it would never be worth the risk, never worth being in his bed.
Her dreams and work would always be more important. And here he was saying that he would give it all to her. It was almost too good to be true.
“There must be some sort of catch,” she said, her voice hitching. “What are you not sharing with me?”
“Does it matter?” he asked before he leaned back into his chair, carefree again. “I promise it has nothing to do with you. And it won’t affect you at all.” He gave a shrug. “We shall be partners, friends even.”
“Friends?” The word was nearly inconceivable. She had few friends. Certainly none like him.
“Why not?” He smiled, slowly, as though the idea pleased him greatly. “We can be companions. I’m sure that I shall enjoy watching you with your pots and your artifacts and your work.” He waggled his brows, self-satisfied. “I will even buy you lots of land if you wish, where you think that you might find buried treasure.”
How she wished to castigate him for his buried treasure nonsense, but she could not, because he was offering her dreams. “I accept,” she said without reticence.
“Good. Done.” He clapped his hands together. “The contract shall be made.”
“Contract?” she asked.
“Of course. I would never wish you to take my word upon the subject. I shall have it put down by my solicitors. You, my dear, shall have ten thousand a year, to do with whatever you please. You may go to Italy for as long as you like. You may even go to Egypt if it pleases you when things settle a bit. You may go to the country in England. You may dig till your heart’s content, hire as many men as you please, and find whatever treasures you wish. Let history swallow you up, Victoria. For it is a far safer thing than anything else.”
She blinked. “It’s done, then. I shall sign anything that you require if this is true.”
He drew in a long breath. A breath which caused his chest to expand and strain the fine fabric of his shirt. “It is true, and I am grateful to you. You are proving the answer to my prayer.”
“I’ve never been the answer to a prayer before,” she breathed.