Page 31 of Not his Marchioness
He indicated the stairs. She ascended them, taking in columns, oil paintings, and bronze figurines.
“Are you a collector?” she asked.
“Not I. My mother.”
“I see,” she murmured.
“She was a collector… among other things,” he said.
She couldn’t quite place the bitterness in his voice, but she let it go. They were not here to become friends. They were allies, co-conspirators, in this charade.
The library was modest; it probably contained two hundred volumes. Nothing like her father’s. Rhys didn’t say a word about the other rooms, merely followed her.
If she was going to redraw their boundaries, she’d have to be blunt.
“I believe we must revisit our agreement,” she declared.
“Already?” He raised an eyebrow. “Have you found the terms lacking?”
“No. But I fear we were not clear with one another.” She looked up at him when she caught the scent of sandalwood.
She paused. The scent had always made her swoon for reasons she could not quite explain. Combined with that sparkle in his eyes, it affected her in ways she did not care to explore.
“Is that so?” he asked, leaning against the window frame with one arm over his head.
“Yes.” She turned to face him fully. “You may do as you please, but I require space, and I demand to be involved in any decisions regarding our joint appearances. I won’t be your puppet, and I will not be paraded about like a conquest.”
Rhys crossed to the sideboard, poured himself a drink, and offered her one. “I take it this is about my accepting Lady Swanson’s invitation to her birthday party next year.”
“An invitation issued to us both, but accepted by you on my behalf without my knowledge. That will not stand.”
“Are you always this charming?”
“Only when I’m trapped.”
He chuckled, sipped, then murmured, “It is a birthday party, not Newgate Prison, my dear. But very well, I shall inform her that I had not consulted you, and we shall let it be.”
She sighed. “I do not wish to make our union look unstable. Since you already agreed, we shall attend. But from now on, I expect to be consulted. I am not your plaything to be taken out of its box whenever you need.”
He raised his hands in defeat. “No parading about. But I must demand something in return.”
“Go on, then.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I reserve the right to tease you when you look too pleased with yourself.”
“So… always then,” she said flatly.
She knew she sounded high in the instep, but she could not let him think she was a wallflower to be pushed about.
A beat of silence followed. Then, she asked more quietly, “There is another matter. One we spoke of before. The heir.”
Rhys went still. Then, almost too casually, he shook his head.
“We spoke about this and agreed. We won’t produce an heir. My second cousin, Lawrence, will inherit the marquisate. He isa bufflehead but has a decent steward. He will not steer the ship into the rocks, I am certain.” A pause. “No need to worry. I have no interest in pretending we’re something we’re not.”
She was relieved, but hid it quickly.
“Good,” she said. “Well, I shall retire to bed. It has been a long day. And…” she trailed off, aware she’d almost asked him what his plans were.
