Rogue in the Regency Ballroom: Rogue's Widow, Gentleman's Wife / A Scoundrel of Consequence

Alone with Mr Claybourne at last—alarmingly, nerve-rackingly alone. Amanda stood looking at him by the light slanting through the small window. With his wide shoulders and lean waist, there was no concealing that here was a man alive and virile in every fibre of his being. He had far and beyond the most handsome face she had seen in her life.

However, she felt a moment of unease. It might have been the way his eyes were looking at her, touching her everywhere, an inexplicable lazy smile sweeping over his lean face as he surveyed her from head to foot, that suddenly made her feel as if she had walked into a seduction scene, which momentarily threw her off balance.

She averted her gaze and casually widened the distance between them, stalling for time, steadying her confused senses, while he stood several feet away, towering over her. When she looked at him again his broad shoulders blocked out her view of anything but him. She tried to turn away, but his extraordinary eyes drew her back. She had never met anyone quite like him, and she felt conscious of nothing except the lingering riot in her own body and mind. Despite his deprivations, his manner bore an odd touch of threatening boldness, and she was beginning to regret insisting that she be left alone with him.

Forgetful for the moment of why she was there, with hard-won poise she coldly remarked, ‘Do you always look at a woman in that way, sir?’

His broad, impudent smile showed strong white teeth. ‘Forgive me, ma’am. I suppose I could find several things to occupy my attention, but nothing that’s nearly as enjoyable as looking at you. So much loveliness in my prison cell certainly is a wondrous sight for eyes deprived of feminine beauty for so long that it is not easily borne.’

His smiling eyes were studying her closely and Amanda was aware of the tension and nervousness in herself. There was a pink flush on her cheekbones, much to her increasing annoyance. His direct, masculine assurance disconcerted her. She was vividly conscious of his close proximity to her. She felt the crazy, unfamiliar rush of blood singing through her veins, which she had never experienced before. Instantly she felt resentful towards him. He had made too much of an impact on her.

‘You are conceited, sir. Despite your deprivations, you do not appear to have forgotten how to flatter a woman, and I don’t doubt you have used it on a good many.’

‘There have been some along the way, but I never lie, and you are unsurpassed. For what reason does a lady come visiting a condemned man in his cell—and looking as grand as a Southern belle going to a ball?’

Forcing herself to ignore the fluttering in her stomach on hearing the rich, deep timbre of his voice, Amanda raised her chin. ‘My name is Amanda O’Connell.’

‘And I am Christopher Benedict Henry Claybourne,’ he replied, bowing his head respectfully, yet without removing his gaze from her face.

‘My …’ she breathed, impressed ‘… such a grand array of names for a convict.’

He grinned. ‘My father always did have aspirations of grandeur. However, most people call me Kit. And what of you, Miss O’Connell? You are from England?’

‘Yes. I’ve been staying with my aunt, Mrs Lucy Cummings, at Magnolia Grove for the past twelve months.’

‘I have heard of Mrs Cummings.’ There were few who hadn’t, Kit thought. Her husband had been an important, influential man among Charleston’s elite, with some rather high connections in the county and beyond.

‘She died recently, and as a result I have to return to England.’

Folding his arms across his broad chest, Kit tilted his head on one side and looked at her quizzically. ‘Miss O’Connell, forgive me, but I am bewildered as to why you should seek me out. You seem to have gone to a great deal of trouble. I do not believe you would brave the City Gaol merely to pass the time of day.’

‘I have a proposition to put to you.’

‘Yes?’ Kit prompted.

Straightening her back and raising her head imperiously, she met his gaze direct. ‘I—I want you to marry me.’

Chapter Two

Kit uncrossed his arms. ‘Good Lord!’ The words were exhaled slowly, but otherwise he simply stared at her, his eyebrows raised in disbelief, wondering if he had heard correctly. ‘You don’t mince your words.’

‘Before you say anything, I should tell you that my father, Henry O’Connell, is extremely rich and I have a fortune at my disposal.’

He gave a derisive laugh, his easy manner of a moment before forgotten. The absolute arrogance of the woman! ‘You are charming, of course, Miss O’Connell, and as a man I cannot help but admire you—want you—but not as a wife. Your oh so delectable backside might be sitting on a gold mine, but what possible good can it be to me in this hell hole?’

Amanda flinched. He was laughing at her, looking her up and down with those casual, derisive eyes. Giving him a speculative look, she was deeply conscious that his easy, mocking exterior hid the inner man. There was a withheld power to command in him that was as impressive as it was irritating, and despite her reason for being there, she was determined he would not get the better of her.

‘How dare you mock me?’

‘Mock you? Good God, woman, have you taken leave of your senses?’

At any other time Amanda would have snubbed the man for his impertinence, but she remained cautiously alert. ‘I understand what you might think, but I am neither dim-witted nor crazy.’

‘You do overwhelm a man, Miss O’Connell. Am I supposed to take your proposal seriously?’

Once again his gaze fell on her and narrowed, half-shaded by his lids as he coolly stared at her. Amanda was immediately angry with him. She straightened her back, her chin thrust forward a notch in an effort to break the spell he wove about her with his eyes. ‘I assure you, Mr Claybourne, that I am very serious.’

‘Tell me your reason for wanting to marry me.’

‘That’s easy. I need a husband—a temporary husband.’

‘Just what, exactly, makes you so desperate for a husband that any man will do?’

‘Desperation makes a person do queer things.’

‘Why me? The City Gaol is full of rogues. Surely any one of them would suit your purpose.’

‘I want your name,’ she said quite simply. ‘Claybourne—a name that is the same as the aristocratic Claybournes in England—a name that is not uncommon and a coincidence, I am sure—a name that will satisfy my father. I want a rogue I can guarantee won’t bother me once the knot has been tied.’ Her lips quirked. ‘In a manner of speaking, of course.’

He cocked a brow and nodded slightly as he began to understand. ‘Guarantee! Now there’s a controversial word if ever there was.’

‘Not the way I see it.’ His eyes never left her, glimmering and changing with his thoughts. Amanda thought, here is a man who reveals nothing of himself, and he rules himself like steel. And yet, she must win him over, she must make him do what she wanted. She must force him to marry her and give her his name.

‘And do you mind telling me what’s in it for me?’

‘I could offer you ease and comfort for the time you have left. I will ensure that, before they hang you, you will want for nothing.’

‘Only my freedom—and my new wife.’ He raised one thick, well-defined eyebrow, watching her for every shade of thought and emotion in her. ‘Would you be prepared to spend a night with me in my prison cell, Miss O’Connell, and perform the duties of a wife?’

Startlingly aware of the wifely duties to which he referred, Amanda stared at him aghast, unable to stem her expression of repugnance as she cast a swift glance at her surroundings and then at the man himself. ‘Of course not. I couldn’t possibly.’

Kit’s face was inscrutable as he watched her pert nose wrinkle as her gaze swept over his shabby garb. Briefly anger flickered behind his eyes, but then it was gone. ‘Then, under the circumstances, I must respectfully decline your offer.’

‘You cannot possibly ask that of me. You are, after all, a common criminal and far below my own social level,’ Amanda burst out before she could stop herself. Shaken to the core by the bewildering array of sensations racing through her body that his question had aroused, she tried to fight the power of his charm. For a second the intensity of his dark eyes seemed to explode and an expression she could not comprehend flashed through them, then it was gone. His eyes met hers in fearless, half-challenging amusement, saying things she dared not think about.

Kit smiled sardonically. ‘We are not all as fortunate as you, Miss O’Connell. However, it is not for the want of trying on my part.’ His deep voice was thickly edged with irony. ‘How pathetic I must seem to you if you could believe I would agree to your outrageous request. Marriage is the last thing I need right now.’

Automatically Amanda took a step closer to him. ‘Please—I ask you to reconsider.’

‘Give me one good reason why I should sacrifice myself on the altar of matrimony for your sake—a woman unknown to me until now?’

‘Have you no dependants I could take care of—?’

Kit’s eyes turned positively glacial. ‘Now you really do insult me, Miss O’Connell,’ he retorted, his voice scoffingly incredulous. ‘What family members I have are not charity cases and are more than capable of taking care of themselves. As for myself, I have everything I need. Why should I want more? You could have saved yourself the embarrassment of this unnecessary visit—but, since you are here, perhaps you should tell me why you are so intent on marrying me, a murderer sentenced to hang any day.’

‘I came to America to find a husband, Mr Claybourne,’ she told him coolly, ‘a husband of my own choosing. My father gave me eighteen months to do so, informing me that if I didn’t find a man he would be proud to receive in the allotted time, a man worthy of his only child, he would find one for me. Since titles are paramount to my father, he will choose the man of the highest rank who offers for me—and he will have a choice to make,’ she said, unable to suppress the bitterness that crept into her voice, ‘since his bottomless income will be like a beacon to every impoverished aristocrat in England. Unfortunately, my aunt’s demise means that I have to return to England sooner than expected, and marry a man my father has chosen for me.’

‘And isn’t that how most marriages in upper-class families in England come about? Although I always did find it distasteful the way British aristocrats see marriage as a cold-blooded business arrangement.’