Page 19 of Notorious

She cocked her head and squinted. “No—why would you say that?”

“Is it my person you find repellent or something else about me?”

“Oh.” Her cheeks darkened. “Well, perhaps repellent was not the correct word.”

Gabriel waited for her to choose another word, but whatever she saw on his face made her look away.

He studied her while she fiddled with the seams on her gown, his mind bucking against the inevitable like a wild, unbroken horse resisting a bridle. What kind of life would he have with a wife who found him repellent? Good God. An entire lifetime spent with a woman who disliked him. He shook his head. Still, what other choices did he have? None.

Something occurred to him. “Is this about your money, Miss Clare? About the fact you have been hounded by every gazetted fortune hunter in Britain? Are you worried I am forcing the issue of marriage to get my hands on your money?”

She did not look up. “I know you are not marrying me for my money.”

The misery in her voice made him cringe. She truly loathed him. Or the institution of marriage. Or marriage with him. Whatever it was, he could not in good conscience force himself on her.

“I propose a compromise.”

Her head swung up, her silky brown brows arched.

“We could have a temporary betrothal.”

The muscles in her jaws flexed, but at least she did not fly off into a pelter. “Go on.”

He shrugged. “There really isn’t much more to it than that. Once I have dispensed with Visel, you could repudiate me and our betrothal. You could say you changed your mind. It hardly matters—nobody will ask you for an explanation.”

Her mouth tightened and her eyes narrowed until they were chips of gray stone. “You would have me wait until you fight a duel to defend my honor to jilt me.”

Gabriel gave an irritated hiss. “I just said that you would refute me.”

She crossed her arms over her generous bosom, the action momentarily distracting him. He didn’t believe he had ever considered her body before—he’d always been far too busy defending himself against everything that came out of her mouth. She was tallish and tending toward plumpness, at least from what he could see of her in the concealing gown she was wearing. Gabriel swallowed. She had a most impressive bosom.

“Mr. Marlington.”

He wrenched his eyes from the bodice of her homely gown and looked up to find her rather plain features a fiery rose, her eyes snapping. She also sounded like a person who had repeated the same thing more than once. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said that jilting you will make me not only an outcast, but a laughingstock.”

Her words were like the fine strands of a spider’s web—just like so many of the things English people said and did and expected. Gabriel might have lived here over five years, but he still had no idea as to their more subtle meanings much of the time.

He crossed his own arms in a mockery of hers. “I’m afraid you will have to explain this to me. After all, you know what an unlettered savage I am.”

She did not bother to refute his words. “If we announce an engagement and then break it off, it will be clear to anyone with a teaspoon of sense that you merely offered a fake engagement in order to pursue this asinine duel.”

Gabriel felt as though she’d slapped him. “Asinine?” he asked in a voice that did not sound like his.

Her smile was . . . insufferable. “Asinine.”

“I was defending you.”

“And so you did—you stopped him, for which I am extremely grateful. But this?” Her gaze flickered over him in a dismissive and highly insulting manner. “This duel is nothing more than a monument to your inflated sense of masculinity.”

Gabriel knew his mouth was hanging open, but he didn’t care.

“You think to engage in your manly pursuit, to end this sham betrothal, and then to continue on your way, leaving me a pariah.”

“What?” he bellowed. “I suggested this to spare you from the indignity of having to marry me. Of having to marry a savage—of having to marry at all when it is something you find so utterly repellent.”

“I would ask that you not raise your voice to me, sir.”