For All Eternity by Heather Cullman Read Free Book Online

at the man before her. If she was to avoid prison, she must remember to pretend that she fancied him and behave accordingly. That meant casting him an adoring gaze or two.
    As she attempted to do exactly that, he kissed her hand and all she saw was the back of his head. For several beats she stared at the hair that grew there, shocked to discover that it was quite nice. Lovely, in truth, with its lustrous burnished brown waves. In the next instant he straightened up again, and all favorable thoughts vanished as she found herself faced with his scar.
    Though she wanted nothing more than to look away, she commanded herself to hold steady, suddenly determined to see beyond his disfigurement. If she was to be his wife, she must know the shape of his nose and lips, learn the curve of his brow and the color of his eyes. Who knows? She might find something besides just his hair to like.
    Thus resolved, she tried to force her gaze a few inches higher to peer into his eyes. But, alas, it was no use. As always happened, it remained morbidly fixated on the long white line that ran from cheekbone to jaw.
    As she stared in grim fascination, she heard him say, “You’re looking exceedingly lovely this morning, Miss Barrington.”
    She started at the sound of his voice and self-consciously dropped her gaze to the floor. Confound it! She had to be more careful. It wouldn’t do at all for him to catch her gaping at his scar like it was a hanging spectacle at Newgate Prison. Especially since there was always the danger of her forgetting herself and grimacing her revulsion.
    Feeling her face flame at the thought of such a fiasco, she replied by well-bred rote, “You’re looking well, too, my lord.”
    His hand covered the back of the one he still held, sandwiching it between both of his. “I assume you know the purpose of my visit?”
    She nodded slowly. Here it came.
    “Excellent. Then, you have had time to consider my offer. Before I ask for your answer, however, there are a few matters I feel we should discuss. Shall we sit?” Oh, botheration! She should have guessed that he would insist on prolonging this miserable business. Seeing no other choice but to grant him the time, she dipped her head in assent and allowed him to lead her to the tete-a-tete by the window.
    When they were settled, he again took her hands in his and began, “First off, I want you to know that above all else, I desire to make you my wife.”
    She nodded, settling her gaze modestly — and safely — on his fashionable yellow gloves.
    There was a beat of silence, as if he were deciding how to proceed, then he cleared his throat and said, “You are young, Miss Barrington. Exceedingly so. And because of your extreme youth, I feel it my duty to explain to you what awaits you as my wife. Marriage is, after all, not something to be entered into lightly or with ignorance.”
    Her duties as his wife? Her stomach gave a sickening lurch. Oh, dear! He wasn’t going to talk about dirty verses and feathers, was he? Worse yet, maybe he was going to inform her that he was one of those beastly men who Lydia’s brother had said liked to stand on their heads — naked — while their wives teased them all over with a daisy. It was all she could do to suppress her shudder at the thought of suffering such a trial.
    “As my bride,” he continued, “you will, of course, gain the title of countess. Later on, and I pray that it is many years from now, you shall become a marchioness.” Countess? Marchioness? She looked up abruptly and smiled a genuine smile in her relief. That part of marriage she could stomach. Easily.
    He smiled in return. “I’m glad to see that that prospect pleases you.”
    “Yes,” she murmured, bowing her head again before her gaze could rivet onto his scar.
    “As you most certainly know by now, my title comes with an enviable position in society. Indeed, there isn’t a door in England that will be closed to you, should you wish to enter. There is