His fists were clenched and Sara could well believe it. ‘We go to all this trouble, impose on your parents, gatecrash a party and the blo—confounded fool can’t keep his breeches buttoned for a week.’
‘Killing him is not going to help and you know it.’ Sara kept her back to the door, even so. ‘I strongly suspect Marguerite is leading him about by the...er...nose, as it were, and he is almost as young, and, I suspect, as inexperienced, as she is. I am sorry about telling Mrs Montrum and Lady Thale that we were betrothed, but I do draw the line at ruining my own reputation with two of the biggest gossips of the ton. We can always decide we do not suit after a week or so.’
‘Why should we do that?’ Lucian enquired. He rested one hip against the sideboard and folded his arms. At least, she thought, he was not bent on murder any longer. ‘If we had got inside the library just now, I fully intended asking you to marry me again and doing it properly this time.’
‘And I fully intended asking you why you would ever think of such a thing,’ Sara retorted. ‘One minute you are more than happy for us to be lovers, the next you are proposing to marry me.’
‘It occurred to me that I would be driven to drink by some sweet little innocent no older than my sister and with probably even less sense. You, on the other hand, have a great deal of sense and would make a very suitable wife.’
How very flattening. It was wonderful to find a man who valued sense, flattering that he attributed some to her, but even so, the most practical young lady wanted something rather less prosaic and more passionate in a proposal. Sara did not point that out: she did not need him spouting romantic nonsense he did not believe.
‘We would drive each other mad within days. I need my freedom, Lucian, and that includes the freedom to do things that you will not find suitable for your wife. I know what a good marriage is like and I do not want to settle for second best.’ That was probably not the most tactful way to put it and Sara realised it as soon as the words were out of her mouth. ‘I mean, the marriage would be second-best, not that you would be.’
‘So I am good enough to sleep with, but not to marry?’ Lucian enquired coldly.
‘It is not a question of good enough, you exasperating man! Being lovers and being husband and wife are two very different things.’
‘A married couple cannot be lovers? I suspect that you are thinking with your emotions, Sara, not working this through and considering the benefits.’
‘Of all the patronising things to say, Lucian Avery.’ She pushed away from the door and took one furious step towards him before caution stopped her where she was. Too close and they might well end up kissing again and that simply turned her brain to pottage. He had made it very clear that he wanted marriage for three reasons—one, he desired her, two, she was suitable and, finally, by needing no courtship she would save him a great deal of trouble and effort. ‘Marriage should involve emotions. I do not want some coldly calculated suitable match, I want a marriage of friends, of lovers, of shared interests and passions. Of equals.’
‘Men and women can never be equal, we are different.’ He straightened up, too, and came to stand in front of her, reached for her and drew her, stiff but unresisting, into his arms. ‘Delightfully different.’
‘I had noticed.’
Sara resisted the temptation to rest her forehead on his chest. Just because marriage to Lucian would be a disaster it did not stop her wanting him, stop her wishing it could work.
She tried to explain. ‘Men are usually larger and stronger, women have different anatomies with all the consequences of that, but everything else is simply differences we allow to exist or which society imposes. Gentlemen normally get a better education, so of course you are often better informed and have a firmer grasp of many subjects. Men are allowed freedoms that women are not, so you can become fitter, more adventurous, can travel more widely, have a say in political affairs. But...’ She paused to draw breath. At least he hadn’t begun arguing yet.
‘I have a good education, thanks to my parents’ enlightened views, and I have built on that. I know that as a woman there are limits on what I can do in public, I know I have no vote and no power. But I do have a brain and I do have opinions and I must and will decide how I live my life. If I married you we would constantly be at odds. You would want to decide everything, you would be mortified if I behaved unconventionally, you would never believe I could stand up for myself if I was attacked, physically or verbally.’
‘Marriage is a compromise, I imagine. Your experience of that is greater than mine.’
‘Yes,’ Sara agreed cautiously. She had expected a flat rejection of what she had said, not talk of compromise. ‘Yes, even when you believe you are in accord, there are still compromises to be made.’
‘If I promised equal decision-making in all aspects of our life together, promised to discuss everything fully with you and to take your opinions seriously, would you compromise by being at least as conventional a marchioness as your mother is and allowing me to leap to your defence whenever you are threatened or slighted? If we could agree on that, would that help you to decide? You are a woman of courage, Sara. Take a risk, follow your instincts.’
I love him, I desire him, I like him. Is that enough to risk the rest of my life on? Marrying Michael was so...safe. No doubts, no real compromises, an escape from a world that was alien and where I did not fit in. Now...I could cope with that world. Was I timorous before when I thought I was brave and bold? What are my instincts telling me? If I say yes, this is for the rest of our lives.
Lucian took half a step back as though to reassure her that he was not pressuring her. ‘Stop biting that beautiful lower lip of yours,’ he chided. ‘Or I will have to kiss it better.’
She came up on tiptoe and leaned in to press her lips to his. I love you. Is that enough? It felt right. Right but frightening. ‘Yes.’
‘Yes?’ Lucian caught her up, whirled her round and spun down the length of the room with her laughing, clutching at his shoulders.
This was such a different man from the one she had first met. He is happy, she realised. The thought of marrying me makes him happy. He set her on her feet at last, both of them laughing. Sara felt slightly weak at the knees, perhaps from the spinning, perhaps from the decision she had made.
‘I must go and find your father before those two old hens cannot resist cackling their secret. But first, I need to find Marguerite and knock some sense into the pair of them.’
Not literally, she sincerely hoped. He would never lift a finger to his sister, but Gregory was battered enough. ‘If you go and find Papa, I will locate Marguerite and give them both a trimming. I know I have no standing yet—but perhaps as your betrothed I might be allowed to help with this?’
‘With my abiding gratitude,’ Lucian said. ‘Tell Farnsworth he is within an inch of a horsewhipping now and if he steps out of line one more time I will not hold back.’
Sara ran upstairs. She had no great hope of finding Marguerite in her bedchamber and was not disappointed when the room was empty. Nor was there anyone in Gregory’s bedchamber. Cursing that she was going to have to search the entire house for them, and then probably find they had taken refuge in the summerhouse, Sara went to her own suite to repair the damage that Lucian’s kisses had doubtless created.
