Page 15 of The Countess Caper

She had gone straight to the Tewksbury mansion.

Never mind the summer ball in progress.

Never mind that she did not have an invitation.

She marched through the crowd, her hem wet with alley mud, and found him by the punch bowl, serving a debutante not yet eighteen and with stars in her eyes. Tessa had grabbed him by the hair and shoved his face into the wine punch.

She’d been evicted—eventually. Not before he had yelped and sputtered, not before his pristine cravat and coat dripped red, his eyes stung, his hair matted to his forehead.

She’d been evicted from the ball. From her cousin’s house. From Mayfair. From the ton.

And she would do it again.

Roarke ran a hand over his face. “I admit this was not how I planned to go about this.”

“Your marriage proposal.”

“Exactly right.”

She didn’t know what to think. She could not help but wonder if this was some elaborate ruse. “Let’s start here, then: why me?”

“You are unconventional.”

Right. That.

“I need someone who does not have traditional expectations.”

She stared at him. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“I need a wife in name only.”

“I see.” He wanted to marry her because he didn’t like her.

It just figured.

Not that she should be surprised. Earls did not marry ruined ladies. Even beasts.

He groaned. “I am muddling this up.”

She waited. It was silly to feel hurt.

“I promised my mother that I would marry again by my thirty-fifth birthday.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Truly?”

“Unfortunately, yes. It was a deathbed promise because she was very, very clever.” He sounded both fond and irritated. Loving. “She was afraid I would be soured against the entire institution because of my first experience.”

“The Beast of Dartmoor,” she murmured.

“It was a long time ago.”

“How long now?”

“Fifteen years.”

She sat back. “Oh.”

“We were married less than a year. We lived in the same house for exactly one week before she fled for London.”