probably won’t turn a hair at that mark on your cheek.”
He burst into laughter. She sounded like someone reassuring a merchant awaiting his imports that pirates were far and few between.
“You would be terribly bored here,” she insisted.
There was no doubt in his mind but that he would spend the rest of his days in this precise place. Unless Arbor House became too small for all the children he hoped they’d have. “Perhaps I will pay my father a visit now, as we are not far from Walford Court.”
He watched her eyes lighten and added, “But I will return home for dinner, if you wouldn’t mind holding the meal for me. Would it bother you if my father disowned me? I think there’s a reasonable chance that he will.”
“Not at all,” she said, before adding, “but it doesn’t matter what I think.”
“You are my wife. What you think matters.” Their eyes caught for a moment and he put everything in that look, telling her silently that there was no chance he would leave the marriage. Under any circumstances.
She swallowed, and he thought she probably understood.
“I am your husband, Phoebe,” he stated. “The marriage may not be a legal one yet, but it will become one tonight.”
“Why would you want me?” she whispered. “You . . . the children . . . I’m not a lady, Griffin. I’d make a wretched viscountess.”
He couldn’t help grinning. “Do you imagine I’ll be a suitable viscount? We can cause our scandals together. I would like children of my own blood, but I don’t mind that Colin will inherit my title. Frankly, inasmuch as your dowry brought my father’s estate back out of debt, you should have the right to choose its successor. And you did.”
“About the children—”
He put a finger over her lips before she could make whatever apology she had in mind. He didn’t want to hear about the children’s father, not now. The man was dead.
“I want you, Phoebe.” His voice had dropped to a husky key that spoke for itself.
She responded with a look of panic. Yet the ripple in her slender throat as she swallowed sent another slash of lust through him. He was in bad shape.
“My mother . . . I am . . .” A moment of silence. “All right.”
It felt as if she had accepted his marriage proposal again, not that there’d been a first one. Their marriage had been a business matter settled between their fathers, with talk of jointures and dowries and settlements.
This was a simple matter between a man and a woman.
“It’s a bad bargain for you,” he said, voicing what he was thinking. “I spent years on the wrong side of the law, I’m lame in one leg, and ferocious to boot. Scarred and tattooed.”
She looked him over. “I don’t care about your scars, but there is one thing that concerns me. I have no doubt but that you had something of a harem, Griffin. I will not tolerate it here. You’ll need to stay on the right side of the law, and out of other women’s beds.”
His smile threatened to burst out, but he reined it in. Damn, but she was a tough woman. It was thrilling. “There will never be another woman for me, Phoebe. Not even if I finally meet a woman named Poppy. And I don’t find theft interesting in itself.”
She nodded, and he held out his hand to bring her to her feet. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had women in the last fourteen years, because he certainly had. But not one of those women had moved him like Phoebe.
It must be some odd thing attached to a marriage license.
“Would you like me to go with you to visit your father? As a buffer, as it were?”
That was rather unexpected. “No need,” he said. “I imagine you have things to do here, with the children.” Clearly, she was nothing like his mother. He had been lucky to see the viscountess once a fortnight, if that. Not that he had missed her; how can one miss someone of whom one knows nothing?
“Nanny is more than capable of handling bedtime.”
“I’ll be home for supper,”
He burst into laughter. She sounded like someone reassuring a merchant awaiting his imports that pirates were far and few between.
“You would be terribly bored here,” she insisted.
There was no doubt in his mind but that he would spend the rest of his days in this precise place. Unless Arbor House became too small for all the children he hoped they’d have. “Perhaps I will pay my father a visit now, as we are not far from Walford Court.”
He watched her eyes lighten and added, “But I will return home for dinner, if you wouldn’t mind holding the meal for me. Would it bother you if my father disowned me? I think there’s a reasonable chance that he will.”
“Not at all,” she said, before adding, “but it doesn’t matter what I think.”
“You are my wife. What you think matters.” Their eyes caught for a moment and he put everything in that look, telling her silently that there was no chance he would leave the marriage. Under any circumstances.
She swallowed, and he thought she probably understood.
“I am your husband, Phoebe,” he stated. “The marriage may not be a legal one yet, but it will become one tonight.”
“Why would you want me?” she whispered. “You . . . the children . . . I’m not a lady, Griffin. I’d make a wretched viscountess.”
He couldn’t help grinning. “Do you imagine I’ll be a suitable viscount? We can cause our scandals together. I would like children of my own blood, but I don’t mind that Colin will inherit my title. Frankly, inasmuch as your dowry brought my father’s estate back out of debt, you should have the right to choose its successor. And you did.”
“About the children—”
He put a finger over her lips before she could make whatever apology she had in mind. He didn’t want to hear about the children’s father, not now. The man was dead.
“I want you, Phoebe.” His voice had dropped to a husky key that spoke for itself.
She responded with a look of panic. Yet the ripple in her slender throat as she swallowed sent another slash of lust through him. He was in bad shape.
“My mother . . . I am . . .” A moment of silence. “All right.”
It felt as if she had accepted his marriage proposal again, not that there’d been a first one. Their marriage had been a business matter settled between their fathers, with talk of jointures and dowries and settlements.
This was a simple matter between a man and a woman.
“It’s a bad bargain for you,” he said, voicing what he was thinking. “I spent years on the wrong side of the law, I’m lame in one leg, and ferocious to boot. Scarred and tattooed.”
She looked him over. “I don’t care about your scars, but there is one thing that concerns me. I have no doubt but that you had something of a harem, Griffin. I will not tolerate it here. You’ll need to stay on the right side of the law, and out of other women’s beds.”
His smile threatened to burst out, but he reined it in. Damn, but she was a tough woman. It was thrilling. “There will never be another woman for me, Phoebe. Not even if I finally meet a woman named Poppy. And I don’t find theft interesting in itself.”
She nodded, and he held out his hand to bring her to her feet. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had women in the last fourteen years, because he certainly had. But not one of those women had moved him like Phoebe.
It must be some odd thing attached to a marriage license.
“Would you like me to go with you to visit your father? As a buffer, as it were?”
That was rather unexpected. “No need,” he said. “I imagine you have things to do here, with the children.” Clearly, she was nothing like his mother. He had been lucky to see the viscountess once a fortnight, if that. Not that he had missed her; how can one miss someone of whom one knows nothing?
“Nanny is more than capable of handling bedtime.”
“I’ll be home for supper,”
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