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“A year,” she cried out. “But ...”

“The end of the Season is approaching, and then, come the next Season, there’ll be too many questions if my new wife has suddenly gone missing.”

She chewed at her lower lip. “If I do this, time will be carved out each day when I interview you.” And now she would set terms of her own. “I get my story, Malcom.”

“You get your story.” And he would get back his freedom.

Verity took several jerky steps toward the door. As if to flee. As if to escape. And then she shifted course and headed for the window. Drawing the gold velvet curtain back, she peered out at the street below. That glass panel reflected every troubled plane of her expressive face. Unaware as she was of the vulnerable display that window made of her, she proved, for all his suspicions of her, just how lacking in artifice she, in fact, was. “And ... will there be other requirements for me?” she murmured, her voice threadbare. “Carnal ones?”

Carnal ones?He repressed the grin pulling at his lips. “No, Verity. I’ll not make love to you”—he layered a deliberate pause into his words—“unless you ask me to.” In which case, he’d happily make love to her. He’d set out to tease, and yet a tantalizing image presented itself: Verity at the center of the enormous bed that was even now turned down. Verity, with her arms outstretched, reaching for him as she parted her legs and moaned his name.

He struggled to maintain an even breath.

“I wouldn’t ... ask you, that is. To ... to ...” Her toes curled into the carpet, scrunching the fabric and leaving little indentations upon it. “To do that,” she finished weakly. “What else would be required of me while we are together?”

“To maintain a proper facade of husband and wife.”

“Presenting ourselves before Polite Society.”

Did she seek clarification or to talk herself into that task? Malcom himself would rather face a firing squad, and by the greyish-white pallor of her skin, this proved one area where they were remarkably the same. “Aye.” This, however, would spare him from any more interested, potential fathers-in-law. “Those details you would be responsible for working out.” He knew few of the secrets Verity Lovelace carried, but he’d wager his own life that she’d gleaned how thetonlived.

Verity dropped her gaze out the window once more.

And as he stood there, he had the niggling feeling that she’d say no. And he didn’t know what in hell he’d do if she did. Because he couldn’t turn her over to the law, even if the termagant had betrayed him and stolen from him. Her spirit didn’t deserve to be crushed in Newgate. “What will it be, Verity?” he asked impatiently.

The young woman faced him. Fear and fury mixed in her eyes in an exquisite blending. Had he really found her ordinary at their first meeting? She was an entrancing specimen of courage and strength. “Very well,” she said quietly. “I’ll agree to your terms, Malcom.”

He schooled his features to keep from revealing his shock. Sweeping his arms wide, he made her a mocking bow. “Then I shall leave you to your own. Until tomorrow morning,wife.”

With that, he took his leave, unable to shake the feeling that the Devil was, in fact, female, and Malcom had unwittingly shaken hands in an agreement that could never end well for him.

Chapter 18

THE LONDON GAZETTE

RECENTLY MARRIED!

With the Lost Earl having wed, Polite Society is left now with questions not only about the gentleman himself but also about the woman he’s taken as his wife ...

E. Daubin

“You are cracked in the head.”

Aye, sometime between the moment Malcom had left Verity’s rooms and a long, sleepless night, Verity had come to thesameconclusion as her childhood nursemaid. Either way, it still couldn’t be spoken aloud. Any of this. “Hush.”

“I won’t,” Bertha said. Roughly turning Verity by the shoulders, she set to work slipping the pearl buttons into their respective hooks. “What have you gone and agreed to?”

“A plan that will save us,” Verity said tightly. Just as she’d been responsible since she was a girl of twelve for the welfare of not only a baby sister but also the older nursemaid who’d cared for that sister. And yet, how easy it was for Bertha to call Verity out for the salvation she’d grasped at.

“All you know of the man is that he’s ruthless.”

“I said hush,” Verity whispered, looking pointedly at the doorway. Servants were always underfoot. Such knowledge came from the servants who’d been sources while she’d worked atThe Londoner, as well as the short time she’d lived in Malcom’s household. “And he’s not ... ruthless.” She felt compelled to defend him. Because ... it was true. He’d saved her before, and offered her security. And he’d vowed not to touch her ... unless she wished it.And you want him to touch you as he once did before ...“Not entirely ruthless,” she muttered when Bertha forced her back around to meet her gaze.

“You’d romanticize what he’s done?” Verity may as well have sprouted a second head for the way her former nursemaid eyed her. And using the same charges that Malcom had leveled at her. “He’s threatened you at every turn, and now of a sudden you trust his word. Turn,” she muttered, guiding Verity about once more. She slid the last button into place.

Fully dressed, Verity faced her protective nursemaid. “What other choice do we have?” she demanded, and displeasure tensed the older woman’s mouth. “I’ll tell you the answer to that: none. The answer is none. We’ve no home, no employment, barely any funds. Now we do.”

“For how long?”