Free Tempting Fate by Alissa Johnson

to some decision. “Mother is under the impression that you’re seeking marriage, and that our disagreements could hamper your attempts to find an eligible gentleman.”
    “That’s absurd,” she scoffed. “She knows very well I’ve no interest in chaining myself to a husband.”
    “Chaining yourself?” He pulled a chair over to sit across from her, close enough that their knees almost brushed as he sat. “That’s a rather grim view of marriage, don’t you think?”
    “No,” she replied with all sincerity. “And I doubt you do as well, given that you’re past thirty and still unwed.”
    “Taking a wife is an entirely different matter. It’s a responsibility that requires a great deal of forethought, planning, and—”
    “I had no idea you were such a romantic,” she drawled.
    He shot her a hard look. “My wife, when I take one, will want for nothing—including romance.”
    She sighed, suddenly tired and a little fuzzy from the brandy. “I know,” she reached over and patted his knee congenially. “You’ll make some fortunate girl an excellent husband one day, Whit.”
    Whit shifted slightly in his seat. He wasn’t about to let her see how her brief touch, her nearness, was suddenly, surprisingly, interfering with his train of thought.
    She laughed at his wary stare. “No insult. I’m in earnest. You’re a catch and not just because of your wealth and title, though I can’t imagine that’s a detriment.”
    “Will you admit to having said this tomorrow, in front of witnesses?”
    “Oh, I’ll suffer the tortures of the damned first.”
    “Thought so. You’re just a bit foxed, aren’t you?”
    She thought about it, but having never before been foxed, she decided she couldn’t quite say for certain. She’d had a glass or two more champagne than was wise in the past, however, and rather thought she felt now as she had on those occasions.
    “I believe I’m a bit tipsy,” she admitted. “It’s your own fault, pushing that brandy on me.”
    “I hadn’t expected you to down it in one gulp,” he pointed out.
    She shrugged. “Quickest way to get rid of the vile stuff.”
    “A man once offered fifty pounds for a bottle of that vile stuff,” he informed her.
    “Really?” She puffed out a breath and shrugged. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste, is there?”
    “Apparently, not.”
    “I prefer champagne myself,” she said a bit dreamily, leaning back against the cushions.
    “Do you?” he asked on a chuckle.
    “Hmm. The bubbles are very agreeable.”
    “They are that…Perhaps we should resume this conversation in the morning.”
    It occurred to her that she should probably be offended by the laughter in his voice. And she would be, she decided—later. When it would be easier to concentrate on the matter. For now, she needed to turn her mind to Lady Thurston’s request.
    “I don’t think it’s necessary to postpone this,” she said, attempting to instill a touch of sobriety in her words. “I’m a bit worse for wear, I’ll admit, but I can follow the conversationwell enough. Your mother has asked us to call a truce, correct?”
    “Yes,” he replied, and she decided to ignore the twitch of his lips.
    “Very well. For how long?”
    “Until…” He frowned thoughtfully. “I’ve no idea. If my mother had been right, I’d have suggested we’d keep at it until you were comfortably settled with a husband.”
    “Ah, so it would be a permanent sort of arrangement. That might be asking a bit much for the two of us.”
    “I agree. I suggest we do the thing in stages.” He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “We’ll start by agreeing to remain civil for the duration of this house party and any events hereafter in which my mother—or someone likely to report to my mother—is present. Should we find the task to be accomplishable without any great hardship, we can reevaluate and decide at that time if we wish to make it a permanent