My Lord Murderer by Elizabeth Mansfield Read Free Book Online Page A

and you won’t find it at all necessary to scream and create a vulgar scene.”
    Gwen glared at him for a moment. Then, with a shrug, she sat down at the table and propped her chin in her hand. “The ‘vulgar scene’ would be of your creating, not mine,” she said, “but you’re right in believing that I’ve no love of such display. Very well. Have your ‘parlay’ and be gone.”
    “May I sit down?”
    Gwen merely waved to the chair nearest him. He sat down and smiled at her disarmingly. “Lady Rowle,” he began, “since I have, albeit unintentionally, robbed you of a husband, I would like to make restitution.”
    “Restitution?” Gwen recoiled at the word. Was he suggesting some sort of financial settlement? “You cannot mean to … to pay me off ?” she exclaimed, horrified.
    Drew’s smile faded instantly. “Good God, no! How could you think such a thing! Hang it, I’m doing this very badly…”
    “What did you mean, then?”
    “Well, to be blunt, ma’am, I’d like to provide you with another husband.”
    Gwen gasped. “Another husband?”
    “Yes, indeed. I have in mind a gentleman not quite thirty, vigorous, in good health, of acceptable birth and breeding, with an affectionate nature and a kind heart,” Drew said, a mischievous twinkle evident in his eyes.
    “Indeed!” Gwen said icily. “Pray, who is this paragon?”
    “Far from a paragon, my dear, but I’m convinced you can turn him into a passable husband. It is I .”
    Gwen did not blink or react to this declaration with any sign of surprise or interest. She leaned back in her chair and surveyed Drew with eyes that glittered coldly. “You’ve had your little joke, Lord Jamison. Is this why you’ve assaulted my door these many mornings? It hardly seems worth it.”
    “Joke, ma’am? You call my offer a joke?” he asked in mock offense. “I offer you my titles, my estates, my wealth, myself … and you think it a joke ?”
    “Will you be serious?” she said in disgust. “You forced your way in to see me at the cost of considerable time and effort. You must have had some purpose other than this rather tasteless nonsense.”
    Drew met her look of scorn with one of straightforward honesty. “Sorry. My joke wasn’t meant to offend. Besides, it expresses my intentions truly enough. I mean to wed you, Gwen Rowle. I haven’t expressed myself well, I know. I started at the end. What I intended was to make a beginning here today. To ask you to let me call. To court you … with all of the pomp and formality and ritual you’d find pleasing.” He rose and bowed. “May I have the honor of calling on you soon, Lady Rowle?” he asked with a smile.
    Neither his words nor his smile had caused her expression to soften, but now her eyes began to smolder, and she leaned toward him with a look of burning scorn. “I knew you were cruel and murderous,” she said venomously, “and now I see the arrogance that breeds the rest!”
    “Lady Rowle—!” he said, startled at the vehemence of her dislike.
    “You are surprised I think you arrogant? What else but arrogance would lead you to imagine that I’d even consider marriage to the man who murdered my husband?”
    “The accusations of murder that you’ve hurled at my head so repeatedly are a definite impediment to our budding relationship,” he remarked, unruffled. “It would help the development of our intimacy in great measure if you tried to accept the fact that I did not murder your husband.”
    “Intimacy! I’ve not the slightest desire to develop an intimacy with you! And as for accepting the fact that you’re not a murderer, why should I accept such a lie? Did you not, a few moments ago, admit that you deprived me of a husband?”
    “Yes, Lady Rowle. To my everlasting regret, I did. It was an accident, not murder.”
    “So you would have the world believe. But I am not fooled.”
    He looked at her keenly, the smiling glint in the back of his eyes fading. “My word means