Albright. Don’t you remember me?’
‘The bluestocking?’
Chloe hated that word. If a woman had a glimmering of intelligence and opinions of her own she was labelled a bluestocking. Which came with the subtext, eccentric, unfeminine and likely to run off to Wales to live with another woman in a man-hating household.
‘No,’ she said coldly, getting down from her unladylike position kneeling on the chair seat. ‘I am a scientist. A geologist to be exact.’
‘Plutonist or Neptunist?’ he demanded, startling Chloe. Not even her own family remembered that much information.
‘Plutonist. Which are you?’
‘I don’t know enough about it to form an opinion.’
A sensible answer. Chloe added intellectual humility to the other good points Kit possessed, which included being the nicest man she knew after her own brother. She hoped he hadn’t changed, it would be dreadful to propose to a man she could not like, even if it was all a ruse.
‘I have James Hutton’s work on the subject if you wish to borrow it,’ she offered. ‘I’m reading the final volume.’
Kit drew in a deep breath through his admirably straight nose which caused his equally admirable chest to expand while he narrowed his penetrating blue eyes at her and swept the dark blond hair from his forehead with one long-fingered hand. Aah…Chloe told herself that it was a perfectly rational female response to feel shaken, and stirred, by the display of so much masculinity.
‘Lady Chloe. We have moved from a proposal of marriage to the formation of the earth. Might we return to the former topic? Unless I misheard you?’
‘No, I did say it.’ Now was the time to blush prettily, but she had never mastered the art. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing. You’re in a fix. You’ve known me for ever, so we might have formed an attachment.’
‘I can recall you as a child. You used to help James get around.’ Her brother had poor eyesight from an early age, but he’d never let it hold him back. ‘But since then? You are out, aren’t you?’
‘I am two and twenty,’ Chloe said. ‘I have had three Seasons and danced with you during all three.’ And you did a very good job of convincing me you were having a delightful time. ‘I did not take. I am much happier as a scientist.’
From Kit’s face she could see he was not at all surprised she had not taken. Had his charm when they had danced been simply good manners? He had been amusing, interested and…special when they had talked. Handsome, of course, but that was not why she had felt as she had. As I do. It was inexplicable, irrational, and somehow that had convinced her as nothing else would have done that she truly had lost her heart. An impossible daydream, of course, but at least she could help him out of this situation.
As Kit’s expression shifted from baffled to mildly pitying she tore her gaze from his face. ‘Where have I put those quills?’
‘The two in your hair?’
Oh Lord… Her spectacles slipped and Chloe looped them into the chain around her neck with one hand while she plucked out the quills with the other. Most of her hair came down.
‘Tell me, Lady Chloe…’ She found Kit standing right beside her. ‘…Why should you want to marry me?’ He lifted his hand and cupped her chin. His thumb brushed across the point, sending shivers down her spine and Chloe wondered what he would say if she told him the truth.
Because being yours is my dearest fantasy and now I can pretend, if only for a very little while?
Chloe was a rational woman. A scientist. Intellectually she knew she was unlikely to melt because a handsome man was caressing her chin, but it felt uncomfortably as though she was about to test the theory. She realised Kit had asked her a question.
‘You are in a difficult position and I can help you. James said you needed a prior engagement and a reason to keep it quiet. The scandal over my sister Penelope’s engagement would work. How could I be celebrating my own betrothal when poor Penny has broken off with Andrew White?’
‘Strong-minded lady, your sister.’
‘Of course! She found the beast having an orgy with Lady Isobel Jervis and she is still very upset.’
Kit released her chin. ‘That’s better. You had a smudge.’
Wonderful. ‘Thank you.’ I think. Her skin still tingled.
‘I agree your suggestion is feasible and would certainly convince Squire Woolmer, but what benefit is there for you?’
‘The knowledge that I had prevented an unhappy marriage taking place? The gratification of assisting an old friend of James’s?’
‘It seems rather a drastic way of offering help.’ His gaze moved to the stacks of books, the papers and the tray of rocks beside her chair. ‘Surely there is a gentleman who wishes to fix his interest with you?’ he asked. ‘I have no wish to be called out.’
‘There is no one else. You are perfectly safe.’ That brought the colour up over his cheekbones and she realised it must seem as though she doubted his courage. ‘I mean, there is no danger you would be hurting anyone.’
‘No? What about you?’
He was admirably scrupulous. ‘There is no risk to me.’ Liar.
‘Would we convince anyone?’ Kit still seemed doubtful. ‘What do we have in common?’
‘We don’t have to tell anyone except the Woolmers.’ He frowned at that, and she could see he might have scruples about the deception. They could discuss details later, but, after all, this would just be a temporary thing, until Antonia Woolmer fixed her interest elsewhere, and then they could discreetly ‘discover’ that they did not suit.
‘We are both intelligent and well-bred so Mr Woolmer would not be surprised at an engagement between us on, er…dynastic, grounds. Of course, people do say I am eccentric, but I assure you I have been trained to run a large household and I do not spend all my time hitting rocks with a hammer. He will see that I’m plain, and that might surprise him because you are known to be a high-stickler…’
‘You are no such thing.’ Kit frowned at her, doubtless searching for some feature he could compliment her upon and finding himself stymied by spectacles, wayward brown hair, freckles from being outdoors without a hat and, unlike her siblings, an undistinguished nose. ‘And I’m known to be what?
‘You must admit that you only flirt with the loveliest women.’
‘I —’
‘Thought I heard your voice, Chloe.’ It was James, head tilted to one side as he worked out who was in the room and where. ‘What are you doing? Keeping poor Kit from his brandy?’
‘Not at all,’ Kit said. He sounded a trifle strained, but that must be the effect of having to remain polite in the face of her proposition, instead
