How to Wed a Baron

“Justin,” she repeated, trying out his name, wishing her heart would kindly stop racing as if she’d just run up the long, curving flight of stairs at home. “Those were the king’s reasons, and your king’s, as well, I suppose. But I could have refused, you know.”

“How fortunate for you.”

She heard something in his voice, something that pulled all of her attention to him. “You had no choice?”

“Well, we all have choices, I suppose. Mine, however, were not acceptable to me.”

“Neither were mine,” Alina said, pushing up the pillows behind her so that she could sit back against them. She felt ridiculous, just lying there, while he stood over her like some…some…stallion. “Aunt Mimi made it very clear that if I refused this grand honor the king was gifting me with, I would be married off to someone of her choosing. She seemed entirely too delighted to have that power, so here I am.”

“I’ve been many things in my life, Alina, but I believe this may be the first time I am being seen as the lesser of two evils. I’m flattered.”

“You probably shouldn’t be, you know. I really never considered you. I’ve always wanted to travel to England. I want to meet the rest of my family, now that my parents are gone. It isn’t pleasant, you understand, to think that your single remaining relative is Aunt Mimi.”

Justin chuckled softly. “We must be thankful, then, that she didn’t decide to escort you here herself.”

Alina nodded, actually beginning to relax. Which was ridiculous. She was in bed, and he was standing there, and these newly awakened parts of her body were becoming more and more interested in having him continue to stand there. “She’s convinced Englishmen are all barbarians, so she refused to accompany me. She may even now be rubbing her hands together in glee, believing some great bear has already eaten me, or something.”

“There are no bears in England, Alina. At least not of the four-legged variety. I was told your mother was English, but I hadn’t given that fact very much thought. What’s your family name?”

“You’ll allow me to go see them?”

Justin shrugged. “I see no reason not to, do you?”

“No, I don’t. But Luka told me that English husbands are very strict, and that I will not be allowed to walk out alone, most especially in London, and that, as a wife, I will no longer have a mind of my own, but only my husband’s will and permission.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, which for some unknown reason suddenly seemed quite a natural thing for him to do. “God’s teeth! No wonder you don’t like me. He told you all of that? Did he tell you that we lock wives in the cellars if they dare to disobey, and keep them there on a diet of stale bread and ditch water for a month?”

Alina’s eyes widened at this, but then she noticed the tiniest bit of crinkling around the outside of Justin’s eyes. “You said that you and he had a long talk this evening. Did he tell you that I’m a very good shot and that I have a very bad temper?”

“He said you are prone to do whatever people tell you not to do. He didn’t mention any proficiency with firearms.”

“Oh. Then perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it, either. And not just with firearms. I am also extremely proficient at archery, and I know how to throw a knife so that it actually sticks in whatever it hits. That isn’t easy, you know, getting the handle not to hit first.”

“Now I’m intrigued,” Justin said, and she believed him, because he was looking at her with some interest. “Many Englishwomen are proficient at archery. Some enjoy shooting, although not many. But I don’t believe I’ve ever met a female who knows how to throw a knife without the handle hitting the target first. Why would you want to learn such a thing?”

Alina lowered her eyes for a moment, and then looked at him again. “Your English ladies were safe here, on your island, while Bonaparte seemed to go where he willed all across Europe. My father said that when the fox threatens the chicken house, even the hens must know how to defend themselves.”

“Luka told me your father died at Waterloo. I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” Alina said, sighing. “But he didn’t mean to die. If he did, he wouldn’t have left me with Aunt Mimi. He would have been certain to leave instructions that I be sent to England, I’m sure of it. But Luka isn’t so sure, as Papa never said anything to him.”

“Ah, yes, your mother’s family.”

“My family,” she clarified. She hadn’t really thought seriously about her mother’s family, not until her father was gone, but she’d daydreamed about how they would be. How they’d love her. “They live in Kent. I looked at a map, and it isn’t all that far away from London. It’s all down here the way Portsmouth is, at the fat end of the island, and not up near Scotland.”

“Yes, I am familiar with Kent. My own estate is located in Hampshire, also in the…fat part of the island. What’s your mother’s family name?”

“Farber,” Alina told him proudly. “My mother was Lady Anne Louise Farber, daughter of the Earl of—”

“Birling. Yes, I know the family title.”

She watched as Justin stood once more, his handsome features suddenly cold, hard. She sat up straighter, sensing that the ease they’d seemed to have found with each other these past minutes was just that, a thing of the past. “What’s wrong?”

His expression softened, but only with some effort, she was sure. “Wrong? Why, nothing, my dear, nothing at all is wrong. I just thought of something else I must discuss with the Prince Regent when next I see him. I must tell him how very clever, no, how fiendishly clever he is.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will, unfortunately. But not right now. It’s time you slept. Good night.”

“But…but you said we had to talk, that there was something you needed to tell me.”

His hand on the door latch, Justin turned, looked at her in the near darkness. She couldn’t see his eyes now, and she had the strangest feeling that this was because he didn’t want her to see them.

“Yes, it had to do with our destination. I’m afraid we won’t be traveling to London tomorrow. Instead, you’ll be heading off to West Sussex, and the estate of my friend Rafe, the Duke of Ashurst. And his wife, Charlotte,” he added almost immediately, as if he felt he should. “You’ll travel quickly, I’m afraid, with only a single night spent on the road and two full days in the coach.”

“And then we’ll go to London?”

“I will,” he said, and opened the door. “I most assuredly will be traveling to London. I’m convinced there is someone there who can barely contain his glee as he awaits my arrival.”

She threw back the covers and got out of bed. “But I won’t be going with you to see this happy person? Is that what you’re saying? You’re going to take me to this Ashurst, and this Duke, and leave me there?”

“You’ll remain with my friends until I return for you, yes.”

“But—why?”

He didn’t answer her. Instead, he closed the door and walked to where she was standing barefoot on the chilly wooden floor, and put a hand to her cheek, which made her feel very strange indeed. Not frightened. Not at all frightened. She fought to keep herself from tipping her head, so that she could press her skin more closely against his, feel the strength of his hand, the slight roughness of his skin.

“You’ve been badly used. I’m sorry, pet,” he whispered softly. “I’m so very, very sorry. But I’ll fix it, as best I can. I promise.”

“You make precious little sense, Justin,” she told him, caught between anger and fear…and a hint of something she felt fairly certain, after her instructional talk, Tatiana would have termed interest. Mostly, she knew she didn’t want him to leave. “How can you fix something I don’t even know is broken? How would I even know when you’d fixed it?”

He smiled, but it was one of those smiles that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Aren’t your feet cold?”

“Never mind my feet,” she shot back, deciding anger was perhaps the best option at the moment.

“Ah, but I find them adorable. Small and slim. Have you ever heard the expression I kiss your hands and feet?”

Alina curled her toes and clenched her fingers, and those parts of her that had been so happily slumbering shot out warnings that she might soon be in significant trouble if she didn’t apply some maidenly common sense and put a halt to this strange conversation, and that those previously slumbering parts weren’t all that averse to a little adventure.

“Once again you’re not answering my questions,” she pointed out, striving to regather her scattered wits. “We were speaking about my family, and suddenly you ran for the door.”

“I beg your pardon. I do not run for doors.”

“Very well, then, why did you come back?” she asked, believing the answer to that might be more important.

“Perhaps for this?” he offered, moving his hand so that now he was tipping up her chin. “One more look, and perhaps even a small taste.”

“Oh. I…that is…you shouldn’t have to answer every quest—”