Page 26 of A Highly Unlikely Duchess
Theodore blinked.
“That is all I am asking,” she said. “If you don’t want to marry me, then court me. If it comes to nothing, then I will have other prospects simply from having been courted by you. A duke. One who famously wanted nothing to do with marriage. That alone will bring callers back to my door.”
Theodore stared at her.
He had come here to discourage her. He had prepared for resistance, for feeling, for the version of Emily that believed in love matches and would not be moved. He had not prepared for this, for a woman sitting across from him, dismantling his discouragement with calm, methodical efficiency.
“You have thought about this,” he said.
“I have thought about very little else,” she said honestly.
Theodore sat back, watching this version of her that was cooler, more deliberate, and considerably harder to read. He did not like it.
Not because it was unimpressive. It was impressive. That was rather the problem. But underneath the impressive composure, something sat that he could not reach, and it bothered him theway locked doors did. He did not necessarily need to know what was behind a locked door, but he did not like not knowing.
He turned his head slightly. Then he smiled.
“The child,” he said conversationally. “Is it yours?”
Emily's eyes sharpened. “You cannot ask me that.”
“I think I can,” he said, keeping his voice entirely pleasant. “I have been wondering. You have not said a lot about this child, and I find that I am curious.” He tilted his head. “Is it yours?”
“That is an extraordinarily impertinent question.”
“It is a reasonable one, given the circumstances.”
“It is none of your concern.”
“You are asking me to consider marrying you,” Theodore said. “I would argue it is entirely my concern.”
“Well, are you going to marry me?” she retorted. A muscle in her jaw moved, just once.
Theodore looked at her. “I have not decided.”
“Then until you decide,” Emily said. “It is not your concern, Your Grace.”
“That is not how this works.”
“That is precisely how this works,” she said. “You do not get information about my private affairs simply by expressing a vague interest in possibly considering the idea of perhaps one day making a decision.”
“A vague interest?” Theodore repeated. “I danced with you twice.”
“You danced with Lady Cecily Hartwell for the better part of an hour at the Alderton ball,” Emily said. “I do not imagine she received a full accounting of your private affairs.”
Theodore opened his mouth, then closed it.
“The child is my concern,” Emily said. “My responsibility. That is all you need to know at this stage.”
“At this stage?” he said. “So there are stages.”
“There are always stages.”
“All right, and at what stage precisely do I get to know anything of substance?”
“When it is relevant,” she said.
“It is relevant now.”
