But when she picked up her candlestick from the small shelf she discovered it was only half burned. Something or someone must have blown it out.

The thought unnerved her. It couldn’t have been Lucien—he’d have woken her up to torment and tease her or even worse. The thought of Mrs. Humber looming over her was even more unnerving. Perhaps she’d blown it out at the last minute and been too sleepy to remember. That, or this drafty house had taken care of it.

She pushed open the curtains, holding her breath so she wouldn’t breathe in the dust. She couldn’t remember closing them, either. How very odd. Perhaps Bridget had come looking for her.

She got to her feet, heading back toward the double doors, not even considering that the study might now be occupied. She took one look at his bowed head and froze.

He was busy writing something, and he didn’t bother to look up. “I hadn’t realized you were quite such a devoted reader, my darling.” He looked up at her lazily, and his pale eyes were cool and dismissive. “You do realize it’s dangerous to wander around the house in the dark? I think I’d better keep the library locked so you aren’t tempted.”

It took her a moment to remember that she wasn’t going to hit him. She flashed him a bright smile. “Oh, that’s an excellent idea, my love. When there are books around I never get anything done. Do keep it locked.”

The look he cast her was sardonic. “It’s not going to work, you know.”

She came farther into the room, dropping down into the chair opposite the desk. “What isn’t going to work, my love?”

“This cheery acceptance and enthusiasm. You may pretend all you like, though I can’t imagine what you think you’ll gain by it. All I’ll gain is a compliant mistress, which makes things a great deal easier.”

“I’m a mistress, my love?” she said sweetly. “I thought we were to be married.”

“I was thinking it might be more effective if I simply made you a kept woman. Marriage vows are damnably eternal, and I’m not convinced you’re worth it.”

“Delightful! I gather from your servants that you’re easily bored, and it would be so awkward for you if you were tired of me but unable to publicly court another woman.”

“I don’t publicly court women. They come to me. As you did.”

“And you’re so good at it, dearest,” she cooed. “Living in sin suits me, as well. After all, I haven’t given up on the idea of true love and happy endings. Once we part ways I might go to the continent if there aren’t any blasted wars going on. Set myself up in Paris.”

He leaned back in his chair, surveying her out of narrowed eyes. “Do you mean to tell me you’re not in love with me, my angel?” he said in cool tones.

She furrowed her brow, trying to look adorable and presumably failing. “Did you want me to be, my darling? I’m certain I can manage it if you’d like. I thought you preferred a reluctant partner.”

“You’re not doing a very good job of being reluctant,” he grumbled, his annoyance breaking through.

She sighed. “I know. I have a terrible habit of being adaptable. Do remember that I have experience with being abducted. With Christopher St. John I never shed a tear. I told him what I thought of him, for what good it did, and when it came time to bed me I did my best to enjoy it.”

“Did you really?” He was now fascinated.

“Alas, I found the entire business messy, painful and almost comical. Those odd little appendages men have are so ridiculous.”

“Little?”

She remembered those moments at the inn, when whatever was beneath her was far from tiny. Perhaps it might be a good idea to change the subject.

“When I realized he was just going to keep doing it, I hit him over the head with a ewer and took off. I only wish I’d thought of that sooner and saved myself a lot of bother. But my point is: I’m very good at accepting things that are beyond my control. One would think ostracism from the ton would be the end of the world, but in fact I’ve been far happier in my little house, doing what I want, not having to think about the balls and parties and Almack’s and husbands. No one can tell me what to do, though my family does try, and I’m quite delightfully free. So if you choose to simply despoil me it will give me a great many more choices, including going back to Half Moon Street.” She smiled brightly, taking a breath after so much prattle.

“And what was this about love? I presume you were in love with Christopher St. John, weren’t you?”

Miranda pulled her feet up under her, getting comfortable. “The terrible truth is, I wasn’t in love with him at all. We weren’t supposed to run off together—I was simply going for a clandestine few hours at Vauxhall, just a little bit of masked adventure, and Christopher was very handsome, very attentive, and just a little bit wicked. What girl could resist wicked?”

“What girl could resist wicked?” he echoed, astonished. “Are you suggesting women love villains?”

“Well, we do find them terribly appealing. We keep thinking we can save them. It’s no wonder women flock around you. It can’t be for your charm of manner.” She batted her eyes at him.

His sharp bark of laughter surprised her. “I hope you aren’t equally enamored of villains, Lady Miranda.”

“Why? You’re clearly a villain. Don’t you want me to be madly in love with you?”

He considered it for a moment. “I’ll let you know,” he said finally.

“Lovely,” she said, rising. “I’m going to go discover my new wardrobe—what a delightful thing for you to do, darling. You know how women love new clothes. I glanced at them last night and I swear I’m going to have a hard time deciding what to wear.”

“Just as long as you wear nothing tonight when I come to you.”

She paused by the door, a slightly worried expression on her face. “Well, I’ll have to wear something. My monthly courses just began, and it’s awfully messy if I don’t … darling, are you ill?” She was all solicitude.

“Hardly,” he said amiably. “And how long do your monthly courses last?”

“Oh, a week or ten days,” she said airily. “And I’m afraid I’m blessed with a very heavy flow, but I assume you don’t mind. You’re such a man of the world you’ve doubtless dealt with this sort of thing before.”

She was gambling on his squeamishness, and she was more than willing to go into greater detail about her imaginary menses, but he simply nodded, not looking the slightest bit bothered. “I don’t have any particular problem with it, but I expect you’ll be happier if we wait.”

Ew, she thought. But then, everything about the entire process of mating seemed rather vile. “As you wish, my darling.”

“Stop calling me that,” he snapped, finally nettled.

“‘Darling’? Then what would you like me to call you?”

“Lucien will do.”

Lucien was the name she used when she trusted him. Lucien was the way she still thought of him, unfortunately.

“I was planning on being formal and calling you husband, or Rochdale in public, but then, if we don’t marry that won’t do. Endearments are so charming. If you call someone darling long enough you’ll start to believe it. And wouldn’t you just love to have me adore you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I was under the impression that you already did.”

One to him, she thought, keeping her smile firmly fixed on her face. “Of course I do. Will I see you at luncheon?”

He surveyed her for a long, contemplative moment. “I think I might find I have other things to do. I expect being around you and unable to touch you will be very difficult for me, and I might get snappish. I would hate to wound my sweet girl.”

Miranda almost gagged on the endearment. Oh, he was good at this. She simpered. “Nature has a way of being so inconvenient,” she said soulfully.

“Then again … there’s always your mouth.” Rat scum bastard, she thought with a loving smile, trying to ignore the color that rose to her cheeks. She knew exactly what he was talking about—Christopher had tried to get her to do that on the second night. It was a revolting thought, and Lucien knew it.

“I worship and adore you, dearest, but if you think you’re doing that to me you’re sadly mistaken.” She accompanied her statement with an affectionate beam.

“No, love. You’ll be doing that to me, and I quite expect you’ll want to. Would you care to wager?”

Son of a bitch, she thought. “I think it’s probably not a good idea to wager with my … what are you? My clandestine lover?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t decided. It might be marriage after all. I simply have to figure out which you’d prefer.”

“And then do the opposite.”

“Exactly.”

She looked at him, determined not to call him by name. “Dearest,” she began, “you really have the most mischievous nature. I’ll do my best to keep you guessing.”

He rose then, coming to the door, and she wished she’d gotten the hell out of there a little faster. She’d been a fool to sit and banter with him.

He was limping more than he had, and he was using his cane. That didn’t prevent him from putting his hand on her arm and turning her around to face him.

She didn’t resist. She wasn’t going to resist anything; she was going to smile and laugh and refuse to let him make her miserable.

He released her arm and slid his hand up her throat, to cup her chin, and she was suddenly terrified that he might kiss her. His kisses were dangerous, intoxicating, and she hadn’t quite discovered how to inure herself to them.

“My love,” he murmured, “I have the dreadful feeling that I probably never will tire of you. We may as well be married.”

She held very still. “A charming proposal.”