Page 48 of The Marquess Wins a Wife

“It’s gaudy,” he said. “But that is the aristocracy for you. We do tend to enjoy our extravagant displays of wealth. Have you packed?”

She twisted the ring on her finger; an absent nervous gesture. “Yes, but I wasn’t certain what I ought to take.”

“Anything you leave behind can be replaced,” he said easily.

Such a simple claim, when one had the funds to do precisely that. Perhaps she did not have even a fraction of the material belongings he possessed, but what little she did was steeped in sentimentality. Memories could never be replaced, no matter the funds at one’s disposal.

“We’ll be leaving for London more or less immediately,” he said. “You should so inform Imogen, Georgie, and Jo.”

“And Willie.”

Now it washisturn to be surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

“And Willie,” she reiterated.

“Willie is staying here. I’m certain—”

“Willie is coming to London. He’sfamily.”

“He is most certainlynotfamily. And what’s more, he detests me.”

“Then endeavor to make yourself less detestable,” she returned. “Willie is coming—orIamnot. I will not leave him behind.” Her hands clenched, and the setting of her ring bit into the flesh of her fingers.

“You do realize it isfartoo early for us to be experiencing marital discord,” he drawled, and his booted feet thunked onto the seat beside her as he stretched out, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Twenty minutes might be a record worst.”

It seemed safest to say nothing at all—but she had never been particularly adept at holding her tongue, even when it might be to her benefit. “I won’t compromise on this.”

His low chuckle filled the carriage. “For these last weeks, Lizzie, we have been firmly in your territory…but London ismine, and that is where we will reside for the foreseeable future. Do you think it wise to antagonize me?”

Her heart tripped into a strange, unsteady rhythm. “I think it wise to be clear in my intentions,” she said. “I don’t wantto be at cross purposes with you—”

“Then don’t be.”

“—but I won’t abandon Willie,” she gritted out between clenched teeth.

“Stubborn chit,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders as he leaned his head back against the wall of the carriage. One of his hands drifted down to scrub at his eyes; a gesture, she thought, of concession. “I hope you do not intend to makeeverythinginto a battle.”

Did that mean she hadwon? “I’ll remind you, my lord, that mystubbornnessis what kept you alive.”

“Only after youshotme.” Those blue eyes flashed open once more, and his lips lifted in a devious smile. “What will you give me, then,my lady?”

“I beg your pardon,” she said, flustered. “Giveyou?”

“In return for my monumental sacrifice.”

“Monumental!”

“Massive, really. Truly, I should be considered a paragon of generosity and saintliness.”

The day he was a candidate for sainthood was the day Hell froze over in its entirety. The mere suggestion seemed somewhat akin to blasphemy. By the gleam of his eyes, the vaguely predatory tilt of his smile, she suspected a trap. “What is it that you want?” she asked, tentatively.

“Only,” he said, “the pleasure of your company for our journey to London.”

Her breath sighed out in relief. Of all the things he might have asked, it wasn’t really so very much—

“Alone.”

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