He rounded the desk. “I am more than happy to help you with this endeavor … as long as you give me something only a woman can offer me.”
She stared at him, then cast him the chilliest look he’d ever receivedfrom a lady. “If you are proposing what I think you are, sir, you should know that despite my illegitimacy, I am not that sort of woman.”
Turning on her heel, she marched for the door of his study. That was when it dawned on him how she’d interpreted his pronouncement. How he’d phrased the damned suggestion.
“No, no, it’s not what you think.” He strode after her, and she increased her pace. “For God’s sake, stop and let me explain!”
She halted to look back at him, her hackles still fully raised.
“I’m talking about you acting as my fiancée.” When she blinked, he added hastily, “Just long enough to convince the court to make me guardian of nurture to my brothers. If you’ll help me with that, I’ll have more time to help you with your issue. Please, Miss Bernard, be my pretend fiancée for a while. That’s all I ask.”
Chapter 3
Giselle stared at him, trying not to show how he had wounded her pride. Of course, he would only want her as a “pretend” fiancée. He was far above her in rank, and an Englishman who could not be kindly disposed toward the French, no matter what he claimed.
Besides, why would he even prefer—“I do not understand. Why seek only a betrothal, and a false one at that?”
He shrugged. “I’m not looking for a wife at present. But my legal counsel has suggested that even having a fiancée could help me gain custody faster.”
Oh, so having a wife was the “trial all men must bear”?Merde.It was all she could do not to roll her eyes at him. Men were such children.
She edged closer. “I cannot blame you for balking at marriage to a Frenchwoman who was once a mere servant in a Verdun lodging house. I would not be the ideal wife for any English lord. But surely you could find an appropriate English lady of rank to be your wife, which would, if you are to be believed, solve your problems gaining custody of your brothers.”
“If an ‘English lady of rank’ became my betrothed,” he said impatiently, “she would expect to marry me sooner rather than later,which I’m not eager to do. I’m askingyouto be my fiancée because you probably don’t wish to marry me at all.”
She did not. He was right. Or anyway, she wanted him to be right. “That is truly why you would choose me for such a role? Because you think I would not marry you?”
His face closed up. “You know me well enough to know I wouldn’t make the best of husbands.”
“You certainly would not,” she said, as much to remind herself as him.
That brought a frown to his perfect brow. “And frankly, since you happen to be here asking a favor of me, I figured I’d ask one of you. We can help each other.”
“How could it possibly helpyouto be affianced to a Frenchwoman, considering how the English presently view my people?”
“I doubt that the Court of Chancery cares what nationality my betrothed is. They merely want to know if, given my reputation, I’m capable of acquiring a respectable wife sometime in the future.”
“And they would consider me a respectable wife?”
“Why not?” He approached her. “After all, a prominent duke and his family already embrace you as one of their own. Which you are, of course, but the court doesn’t know that.”
“Andcannotknow that,” she said emphatically.
“Certainly not. Jon and Tory are my friends, too. I would never want to damage their standing in society.”
She noticed he said nothing about damagingherstanding in society, but then that was to be expected.
“Still, your closeness to them counts for something,” he went on. “Besides, it makes sense I would end up engaged to a woman I met in Verdun, doesn’t it?”
“I-I suppose.”
He took her hands in his. “A pretend engagement will help your situation as well. Who would deny a passport to the betrothed of an English earl? Especially if it allows her to stay in England with her fiancé. We can say you wish to be here because of me. It would all make sense.” He squeezed her hands, sending a little frisson of sensation down her spine.
A very unwelcome sensation. Or so she told herself as sheslipped her hands from his grasp. “Still, is there no one else you would prefer to engage yourself to? Someone you might actually wish to marry when you are ready? Chloe perhaps?”
“Lady Chloe!” He snorted. “Jon’s sister has no interest in me. She certainly doesn’t wish to marry me.”
“Are you sure? Because she seems to enjoy your company.” And Giselle would not for the world hurt her. Chloe might be nine years younger than Giselle, but Giselle considered the woman a friend, and she had few enough of those in England.