Maggie had resolved to make an effort at civility, but at Fred’s words, she couldn’t refrain from a sharp retort. “You presume to lecture me on good sense?”

“You’ll never regain your strength if you don’t rest.”

“How can I rest, when the first thing I hear upon my arrival in London is that you’re engaged to fight a duel?”

Fred’s face turned a mottled red—a particularly unbecoming shade when contrasted with his copper-colored hair. “I needn’t ask how you heard such a rumor. Your friend Miss Trumble, no doubt.”

“Do you deny it?”

He pokered up, his broad, stocky frame as stiff and unyielding as Sir Roderick himself. “I shall not admit it or deny it. Indeed, I shall not say another word on the subject. It’s the height of impropriety to be discussing such things with you.”

“Oh, do stop acting like your father!” Maggie glared up at him. “And why must you loom over me in such a disagreeable fashion? Sit down for pity’s sake. Here. I shall pour you out a cup of tea, and then we’ll talk like a lady of six and twenty and a man of thirty instead of bickering like two half-civilized children.”

Scowling, Fred grudgingly did as she bade him. His expression slowly softened as he watched Maggie preside over the tea tray. When she held out a cup to him, his tea prepared just as he liked it, he took it from her with a complacent smile. “What a good little wife you’ll be.”

A flicker of temper sparked in Maggie’s chest. “To whom, I wonder?”

“Why, to me, of course.”

The flicker quickly kindled into a low, smoldering flame.

Fred drank his tea, oblivious to Maggie’s worsening mood. He was dressed in what she assumed must be considered the first stare of fashion here in London. Skintight pantaloons, gleaming Hessians, and shirt-points so high that they inhibited the movement of his thick neck. To Maggie, however, he looked no different from the surly, squarely built bully of her youth.

She disliked him intensely. And yet, in six months, she would have to consent to be his wife. Mrs. Margaret Burton-Smythe. Then, he would not only have rights over her fortune, he’d have rights over her body as well. The thought of it had caused her many a sleepless night these past months.

“I didn’t summon you here to talk about that,” she said tightly. “I summoned you here to discuss this duel of yours.”

Fred lowered his cup. “I can see you’re concerned. And I can’t tell you how much it gratifies me to know you care about my well-being. However—”

“I care about Beasley Park.”

“However,” he continued, unperturbed, “even if I were to engage in a duel in the morning, it doesn’t follow that I’ll be the loser.”