Page 23 of A Virgin for the Rakish Marquess

“Lady Diana, you wound me,” he said in the most blatantly fake way possible.

“I assure you I do not,” she threatened.

“Still, your words strike truer than any blade.”

“Have you been struck by a blade, My Lord?”

“I cannot say I have. I avoid violence at all costs.”

“Pity.” Diana smiled. “I avoided violence at all costs as well, but lately, that decision has been seriously tried.”

“Judging by your sharp tongue, My Lady, I would guess you are battle-ready. This way perhaps, My Lady?” He gallantly led her before she retorted.

For a while, they walked down a beautiful path shaded by trees, a bit far off the usually frequented ones. Diana had a troubling suspicion that he led them there out of concern, having noticed how demanding it was for her to maintain her composure under the ton’s scrutiny. But she shook that thought away. That meant that the Marquess had considered her feelings—which was an absolutely absurd thought.

“So, how do you feel, being auctioned off like an ancient vase?” he asked out of the blue.

Diana looked up at him with a glare that said,Where did that come from?

“I am guessing part of your… mood is attributed to this.” James shrugged.

“At least I am not shattered yet.”

“Oh, so you were listening!” he exclaimed, amused. “And here I was thinking I was wasting one of my favorite stories only to your sister-in-law’s amusement.”

“I am sure you got more stories like that to keep ladies amused, My Lord.”

James smiled, slow and lazy, but his eyes didn’t reflect his mirth. They were too steady, too knowing, like a wolf playing with his prey before killing it.

This infuriating man was not just a rake. He was dangerous. He should be declared illegal.

Diana turned her attention to the flora of the park to keep herself in check, calculating the proper duration of a promenade so she could be released from his company.

“My Lady, I understand that this unfortunate auction has redrawn the ton’s attention to your person. Most women of your standing would be delighted by that turn of events,” he mused.

Diana’s fury flared, and her hands curled into a fist. She took a sharp breath.

“I suppose you find it unfathomable that a woman might prefernotto be claimed like a prize?”

“No, I don’t.”

What?

Diana had devised a perfect layout of how the conversation would go. He would dismiss her wish to stay unmarried and degrade it to a petulant child’s tantrum, to which she would answer accordingly. Then, he would say, “That is the fate of a lady like you,” and possibly add a flirtatious joke, to which shewould retort firmly. But now, all the hard work she did in her mind flew out of the window because of his firm, seriousno.

She turned her head to study him, searching his face for some hint of mockery. But there was none. He was taking her answer seriously.

“That surprises you,” he noted.

Diana hesitated. “It does.”

“You did not think me capable of these opinions.”

“I did not.” She could not deny it.

“Ah. You thought that I found it natural for a woman to seek a marriage that would allow her husband to continue his debauchery while she smiled prettily for the sake of appearances.”

Diana blinked. Those were supposed to be her lines. Even better worded than she would have said herself. And, worst of all, he seemed honest—as honest as a man of his reputation could be.

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