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She looked away, apparently displeased that he had noticed.

“They are children, Your Grace. They repeat what they hear from their parents. I cannot blame them for that.”

“Most people would.”

“Then most people are rather foolish.”

Ambrose smiled faintly. He was beginning to think Ernest had understood something about this woman that he himself was only now discovering.

“I believe I could offer you some protection from those who would happily see you burned at the stake,” he said.

Marina gave him a disbelieving look. “How generous. And what would you expect in return?”

“Your help.”

“With what?”

He paused, watching her closely. For all her teasing, he suspected she would take his answer seriously. He had seen enough of her that afternoon to believe she possessed precisely the sort of heart he needed.

“To protect an abandoned child.”

Four

“An abandoned child?”

Marina stared at the duke, quite certain that she had misunderstood him. Only moments earlier, he had announced his intention to marry her, as casually as another gentleman might have requested a cup of tea. Now he was speaking of a child in need of protection, and she could scarcely decide which revelation deserved her attention first.

She ought to have ordered him out of her cottage. Instead, she found herself noticing how extraordinarily handsome he was, even beneath that enormous hat. His broad shoulders filled the space before her, and his dark eyes seemed determined to discover every thought she would rather keep to herself.

It was most inconvenient.

“Do you have a child, Your Grace?” she demanded. “And if so, where is the mother? Why should you require my assistance?”

“It is a little girl named Emma. The child came into my care only a few days ago.”

Marina blinked. “A few days ago?”

He studied her expression, then gave a faint sigh. “If you are attempting to determine whether I have produced an illegitimate offspring and now wish to conceal the evidence, you may spare yourself the trouble. She is my niece.”

“I was attempting no such thing,” Marina replied indignantly. “And even if she were your daughter, the circumstances of a child’s birth would be no concern of mine. Children are innocent of their parents’ decisions.”

Something changed in his expression, though she could not have said precisely what. He regarded her for a moment before inclining his head.

“Then we are in agreement.”

“Not entirely. You have still told me very little. I had not heard that you possessed a sister.”

“Would you like me to send for the family records, Lady Whitmore? Perhaps you would prefer to examine every branch of my family tree before we proceed.”

“That will not be necessary,” she replied, drawing herself up. “Although I should think a gentleman proposing marriage might expect to answer a question or two.”

“Only a question or two? How reassuring.”

Marina narrowed her eyes. The wretched man appeared to find her irritation entertaining. Worse still, she was beginning to find his equally entertaining, which was precisely the sort of foolishness she could not afford.

She had spent six years learning to enjoy her independence. Her cottage, her books, her glasshouse, and Luna were all hers, and no one could tell her how to live. She had no intention of surrendering that freedom merely because an arrogant duke had appeared on her doorstep with an astonishing proposition.

And yet there was a child.