Page 6 of The Best Husband Money Can Buy

Chapter 3

Anthony Vaughn poured more coffee for himself and his guest. Even after two cups, he still felt he was standing next door to death. He shouldn’t have drunk himself into a stupor last night, and he definitely shouldn’t have invited so many of his rackety friends to join in a perverse celebration of his disastrous gaming loss. He wondered vaguely when the whores had come. There had been none present when he passed out.

He put that aside to concentrate on more important matters, namely, his amazing cousin, who sat across from him looking every inch the meek, dowdy governess. Yet it must have taken courage for her to come here and make her startling proposition.

Thinking back, he remembered her as a quiet child who tagged around after him with huge, speaking eyes. But there had been many children at Harley during the holidays. Except for the incident on the ice, he recalled very little about Emma.

First things first. He said, “You have forty thousand pounds?”

After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “If we were to marry, you would immediately have fifty thousand pounds at your disposal.”

It was enough to save Canfield, and make necessary improvements as well. Enough to live like a gentleman again. But still—marriage? It was a state he had not contemplated since dear damned Cecilia.

He studied his long-lost cousin intently. When he’d first seen her picking her way through the tangled bodies of his dissolute friends with cat-like care, he’d thought he was hallucinating. But he could not have imagined such a startling mixture of shyness and candor. She had the Vaughn height, square jaw, and dark hair. Though no beauty, she was presentable, or would be when decently dressed.

That was all very well for a cousin, but a wife? Yet what were his choices? Marry this disconcertingly direct but not unpleasant woman, or lose Canfield.

Put in those terms, there was really no choice at all. As a boy, he’d taken for granted that Canfield would be his one day. It wasn’t until his father’s death, when he realized that he was on the verge of losing the estate, that he had recognized how much he loved the place. More than loved—in a very real way, being Verlaine of Canfield defined him. Without it, he was merely an idle, careless fellow of good birth and small accomplishment, as useless as a dandelion.

He said carefully, “If you want children, it would have to be more than a marriage of convenience.”

Emma turned beet red and looked away. “I understand that, of course. What I meant was that it would not be a love match.”

An understatement. He asked, “What would you expect of me in the way of husbandly duties?” When she blushed again, he added, “I mean that in the broadest possible sense.”

She thought before replying. “If we were to marry, I would ask that you treat me with courtesy and consideration, especially in front of others. I do not want to become a laughingstock, the desperate woman who bought herself a husband who cannot care for her.” Her voice was rich and smooth as fine brandy, surprisingly provocative for a woman of her very proper appearance.

“That is hardly a problem. I would be no kind of gentleman if I treated you any other way,” he remarked. “What else?”

Her gaze dropped. “Though I want children very much, I would prefer for that part of the marriage to be delayed until we are…are better acquainted.”

A little relieved, he said, “A quite understandable desire. Do you have any other requirements?”

She shook her head mutely.

“If that is all you want, you would be a very easily pleased wife,” he said dryly. “If we do agree to this, we would need to marry immediately, within the next two days, for me to save Canfield. Would you mind that?”

After a brief hesitation, she said, “Not under these circumstances.”

He sighed and bent his head, running his fingers through his tangled hair. Marriage was for life. It was not a commitment he had ever thought to make to a virtual stranger. That was why he hadn’t looked around for an heiress when he discovered his financial problems. And, of course, he’d thought he would be able to save Canfield through his own efforts.

But how much did one person ever really know another? He’d thought he’d known Cecilia, and been pitifully wrong. Emma Stone would probably make an easy, sensible wife, and she was not quite a stranger. Growing up in the same extended family surely counted for something.

He raised his gaze and studied his cousin again. Her face was so pale that a ghostly scattering of freckles showed across her high cheekbones. She was as nervous as he, and with good reason. When a woman married, she gave her body, her name, and her worldly goods to her husband. Perhaps that was why Emma had made her proposal to a man with whom she had at least some acquaintance.

Honor compelled him to say, “Are you absolutely sure you want this, Emma? My situation is urgent, but yours is not. You’re young. You can afford to take more time searching for the mate who will best please you.” His mouth curved without humor. “Remember the old saying, ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure.’”

Her gaze slid away from his. “I could spend years looking, but it wouldn’t guarantee a better decision in the end. A man eager to marry a fortune is bound to make himself agreeable during the courtship. How would I know his true nature? With you, at least, I know that you are pleasant to servants and patient with small brats who follow you around.”

Bemused, he said, “Did I call you a brat?”

“Yes, though not unkindly.” She smiled a little. “Younger children are more aware of older ones than vice versa. It’s not surprising that you scarcely remember me, while I recall you quite vividly.”

Though Emma had courage and honesty, her opinion of her own worth was not high, he realized. His shock when she’d suggested marriage had hurt her badly. Obviously she didn’t think a man would marry her for any reason except money.

His thoughtful gaze went over her full, womanly figure. While his preference was for ethereal blondes, it would be no hardship to lie with Emma. No hardship at all. If he satisfied her in bed and treated her with courtesy everywhere else, she would be content with this marriage. As for him—he would have Canfield.

He hesitated a moment longer, knowing that his life was about to change forever in ways that he couldn’t even imagine. Then he took Emma’s cold hand between both of his and said very formally, “My dearest cousin, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

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