Free Meet the Earl at Midnight (Midnight Meetings) by Gina Conkle

you think about—”
    “Hear me out. Please.”
    His last word, less commanding, put her on equal footing. The dangerous brigand turned into a reasonable barrister laying out his middle-of-the-night case with persuasive gentility.
    “Go on.”
    “At the inn, you asked for freedom to pursue what you will. Why not here? With the full weight of the Greenwich name to support you? And there is the matter of your mother’s best interests…how you can best aid her.” His hands opened in appeal. “I’m happy to offer her my protection, if that helps. Besides, our arrangement ought to work well. Almost all my time’s devoted to my work. You’d be left to your own pursuits.” He finished with a rueful smile. “Most marital unions follow a similar formula with great success.”
    Fire haloed his shoulders and tawny hair from behind, casting a golden glow around Lord Greenwich. The dangerous brigand turned reasonable barrister was now an archangel with frightening appeal. Her head drooped as all of her fell prey to the lure he set.
    When was the last time a man proposed something beneficial to her?
    The offer was no longer a mad scheme, but began to sound logical, even congenial. With the Greenwich name, she’d be more likely to help her mother, too. Exhaustion pressed her from all sides, and Lydia nodded.
    “I’ll stay.”
    “Good. I’m glad we were able to have our discussion now.” He smiled, and faint lines creased the corners of his eyes.
    Somewhere in her chest, warmth swelled into a faint connection with him. Under that pleasantness, her eyelids drooped. Lydia wanted to ask for a blanket and curl up in his large chair, such was her tiredness and ease at that moment. An ember snapped and crackled behind the earl, and the fire sent a spray of sparks. Lord Greenwich got up and took the poker from its iron stand, jabbing the cozy blaze.
    “There is one thing,” he said, turning around to face her.
    “What’s that?”
    “We’ll wait one month, a necessary precaution, if you will. It will stress my timeline”—his full lips pressed into a flat line, looking like all the world pressed down on him—“but it must be.”
    His shoulders bunched under his shirt as he leaned both hands on the iron poker.
    “A month?” She shook her head, confused, until hot truth hit her.
    He said nothing, but his pointed gaze spoke volumes. That warm swell toward the earl, a tiny but growing thing, dissolved into lukewarm puddles of hard wax.
    “Of course. You mean to wait for some assurance that I’m not already pregnant.” The words came flat and lifeless.
    The way his eyebrows furrowed into a straight line, Lord Greenwich’s face reflected a grim barrister bearing judgment on the convicted. Was he waiting for her to burst into dreaded histrionics? The earl acted as judge and jury: to him, she equaled some kind of blowsy wench. Hadn’t he already said as much? Neck-stretching pride stopped her from saying anything further. She wouldn’t stoop to defend herself. None was needed.
    The province of a woman’s life was never truly her own. Men could drop their drawers as often as they pleased, but women always paid the price. Lydia’s smile stretched into a tight line.
    “Of course. One month.”
    She rose stiffly from the chair, chin tipped high to his stare that she was sure followed her. At the door, she mustered every last ounce of good manners for the final courtesy.
    “Good night, milord.”
    His lordship surprised her and set a hand on his chest and gave her a chivalrous bow.
    “Good night, Miss Montgomery.”
    Was there a flicker of regret in his eyes?
    Lydia slipped into the other room and shut the door between them. Molded panels pressed her back. She stared at nothing in particular, disappointed that his lordship was no different than other men after all. Nor did he think well of her. The very notion stung deeply.

Six
    Women are a necessary evil.
    —Proverb
    Excruciating need for a forbidden woman never made a