Free A Lady Never Surrenders by Sabrina Jeffries

room, he said, “You look different tonight, Lady Celia.”
    How was she to respond? Make some coy remark? She opted for directness. “In what way?”
    “More like a lady than usual. Most of the time when I see you, you’re dressed in smocks for shooting.”
    “Oh. That’s probably true.”
    They walked a moment in silence. Then he said, “Perhaps we should lay our cards on the table.” His glittering green gaze met hers. “You need a husband to gain your inheritance. I need a wife to bear my heir. There’s no reason we couldn’t come to some agreement on the matter.”
    She gaped at him. The duke was making it easy for her, and with practically no effort on her part.
    So where was the exultation she’d expected? Where was the triumph that she’d beaten Gran at her game?
    “You are very direct, Your Grace,” she said, scrambling to find her purchase in this odd conversation.
    “I gather that your situation requires haste.”
    “Yes, but … well … this is hasty even for me. What did you do? Wake up this morning and decide to acquire a wife?”
    A thin smile cracked his reserve. “Not quite. I’ve given the matter some thought for the past few months, ever since Gabe suggested it.”
    “My brother suggested that you marry me?” she said irritably. Gabe truly doubted she could gain a husband on her own, didn’t he?
    “He planted the seed.” They walked out the ballroom door and headed across the courtyard toward the orangery. “May I be frank?”
    “You seem to be going that direction already,” she muttered. “I don’t think you need my permission to continue.”
    He chuckled. It was a surprisingly warm sound for a man she’d always thought rather cold. “As I’m sure you know, my father had a … problem.”
    “You mean, his madness?” As long as they were being frank…
    “Yes,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “Any woman who takes me on risks watching me go mad and perhaps passing it on to her children. So marriage to me might not be an advantage. I’ve known that for some time. It’s why I haven’t made any offers before. I am willing to risk marrying, for obvious reasons, but many women may not wish to take the same risk. I thought that perhaps in your case—”
    “Given my limited choices and the urgency of my situation,” she said cynically, “I might be willing to risk it, too.”
    “Exactly.”
    She struggled not to show her hurt feelings. She wasn’t sure which was worse, having a man desire her only because it was “a kind of challenge” or having a man want her only for the convenience of it. Was she really so very unmarriageable?
    Tears stung her eyes as they entered the orangery. The Buzaglo stove that had been newly installed kept it surprisingly warm for winter, and the gas lanterns cast a soft light over the tile walkway.
    Ten potted orange trees were ranged in a line along the windows. On the opposite wall was a row of benches so people could sit and enjoy the scent and sight of orange trees in bloom or in full fruit. But even the bright ribbons jauntily festooning the pots couldn’t cheer her.
    Because something else had occurred to her. How could she let Lyons make an offer if she meant to refuse him? He would think she was refusing because of the madness in his family. And if word got around that he’d offered and been rejected, it would worsen his situation. She couldn’t do that to him.
    But her only other choice was to marry him. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, either. It was hard to imagine spending her life with such a lofty personage. “So this would be strictly a marriage of convenience.”
    “Not exactly. I would hope we could have a normal, amiable marriage.”
    Amiable. Like friends.
    He stopped to search her face. “I shall give you time to think about it, my dear. I know I’ve sprung this on you rather precipitously. But may I assume that you are at least interested in my proposition?”
    She might be. If … “Tell me