She flinched, looking at him with distrust plain in her gaze. “I don’t believe in such things.”
He pulled back at the bleakness in those clipped words. Had someone hurt her in the past? Was that the reason for her sudden defensiveness? Fury filled him at the very thought. It was an emotion that took him completely off guard. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, of course; after the horrors his father had perpetrated, he had developed a deep desire to protect at all costs those who had been wronged.
But with Miss Pickering it was something different, not the cold, controlled anger that typically drove him but a white-hot rage.
Now was not the time, however, to dissect such a response. Apparently, he was going about this all wrong. He would need a different approach, something that would reach a swift conclusion. He had taken enough time and resources from his business dealings as it was in chasing down the girls; he could ill afford much more.
“Ah, yes,” he murmured. “You are a naturalist. And I have been remiss in not laying all the facts before you, so you might better understand my reasons for wanting to marry a near stranger.”
Something shifted in her at that. She stilled, a calm coming over her, her lovely turquoise eyes, the very color of clear ocean water, steady on him. Yes, this was the approach he should have used from the first.
Clearing his throat, he began. “My wards are very important to me. But they need minding, someone to watch over them and guide them.”Someone to give them the love I can’t. There was a sudden slice of pain at that thought, quickly brought under control. No, he could never provide them the love and affection they so dearly deserved. Not if he was to make certain they remained safe and protected and free of the shame that kept him up at nights.
“I have never in my life seen them respond to anyone as they do to you,” he continued. “And, as they have spoken quite loudly on the fact that they would rather remain on Synne, and you would prefer to live here as well, it would be a simple matter of you moving out of your house and into Caulnedy. In short, Miss Pickering,” he continued, “I am looking for a marriage in name only. Which would give you all the freedom you could wish for.”
Longing filled her eyes at that last bit. But it was quickly gone, replaced by suspicion. “And where will you be?”
“I have a business in London I must see to.”
“What kind of business?”
She could be the prudish sort, of course, and balk at the idea of marrying a man who made his fortune in peddling sin. But in for a penny. Bracing himself for her immediate disgust, he stated bluntly, “I own a gambling club.”
To his relief, she merely nodded, as if it made perfect sense.
“I will be there most of the time,” he continued. “And so, you see, you will have all the independence you desire.”
“A marriage of convenience,” she murmured, as if testing the words.
“Yes.”
“And the marriage bed?” she continued, her cheeks flaming bright pink though she held his gaze steadily.
A vision slammed into his brain at that, an image of Miss Pickering lying in his bed, naked and rumpled and deliciously flushed from their lovemaking. Flames licked him from the inside out.
No, he told himself fiercely, this would not be a physical union. There was no desire involved. Well, he thought ruefully, he did desire her. Obviously. How could he not?
But this would be, as she had stated, a marriage of convenience. There would be no emotions involved. He would make certain of it.
“Physical relations will not be expected,” he managed. “This will be a business arrangement.”
She blinked, clearly not prepared for such an answer. Yet he could fairly see the cogs turning in her brain. He already had proof that she was intelligent and incredibly shrewd. As well, she seemed the independent sort; any woman who pursued such an unusual interest, breaking away from societal norms and forging her own path, could be nothing but. Surely she would understand the benefits that she would receive should they marry.
She opened her mouth to speak. He tensed, waiting for her answer. Before she could say yay or nay, however, a cheerful whoop reached their ears. Startled, they both glanced toward the house. Eliza and Nelly were standing on the back of the carriage, waving their arms energetically in their direction. A pinch-faced maid who he assumed had come with Miss Pickering was trying her best to coax the girls down.
It was not the best timing on the girls’ parts, but then again, when had they ever done anything they were supposed to?
He feared for a moment the sight of them in such a precarious position, revealing merely the tip of the gargantuan iceberg that was their improper behavior, might frighten Miss Pickering off. He turned her way, his defenses already in place, thinking quickly how he might mend this breach.
But she only looked at him with a healthy consideration.
“Mr. Hawkins,” she said.
He very nearly winced at the deception, something he had forgotten in the last minutes of persuasion. He had no idea why the girls had insisted on concealing his true identity. It was something he would have to quiz them on when he had the chance.
For now, though, he was loath to correct Miss Pickering’s view of him. It could very well sway her to accept him if she knew he was a duke, of course. Many would be more than happy to be a duchess, even independent spirits such as Miss Pickering. The truth could quite possibly win him the woman’s hand all the quicker, thereby ending his search for a bride before it had even begun. Something that desperately needed to happen, he thought as he took in the spectacle his wards were making of themselves with a wince.
But he did not want to secure Miss Pickering that way. He had spent more than a decade forging a successful life without leaning on his father’s title, making something of himself without relying on the chance circumstances of his birth. To gain Miss Pickering’s hand in such a way was abhorrent to him. If she would marry him, let her marry Ash, not the Duke of Buckley, a title he still saw as his father’s, no matter that he had reluctantly worn it since the bastard’s death some seven years ago.