He slid a glance at the figure beside him. He had wanted to make her his wife…once, five years ago. But that was before disaster struck, before he knew that he had little to offer a wife but an empty title and a mountain of debts. And he’d be damned if he went to a bride empty-handed, unable to take care of her.

“And yet that’s just what I’m doing.” He sighed, allowing a moment of self-pity.

“If you mean that what you’re doing is avoiding answering my question, yes, you are quite correct. Really, Alasdair, I believe I’m about to be most offended. You can’t even answer a simple question when I put it to you? Is there something about me that offends you? I know it can’t be my appearance, because…well, modesty is a silly virtue, I’ve always felt. Clearly my appearance is not at fault, and I know it can’t be what I’ve said, because I haven’t once mentioned any of the things that outraged you so during your discussion of my genitals, and I’m fairly certain it can’t be this gown because it’s my cousin’s gown that I had altered, so really, if you’re offended, it’s Gillian’s fault, not mine, and I don’t think that’s at all fair of you to be offended with her since she is on a ship somewhere and can’t defend herself against your rude comments about her choice of gowns!”

It really was amazing, Dare thought to himself, that he was starting to understand how Charlotte thought. Oh, to be true, any lengthy conversation with her left his mind feeling a bit strained, but he really was getting the knack of the thing. He pulled the team to a halt before the small beige brick house he had rented for the time he was in London, and turned to tell her the truth. She tipped her head on the side, watching him with a gaze that seemed to see so much, and yet was the epitome of innocence. He thought of what his life would be like bound to a frivolous woman without a thought in her head for anything more serious than what gown to wear. He thought about sinking further into debt trying to support her. He thought about the dreams he had as a young man, now withered and crumbled to dust. He recognized the cold hand of despair touching his heart, and wanted to weep with the injustice of it all.

“Alasdair?”

He thought of all that until his gaze met hers, and then all he thought of was how indescribably lovely she was, how completely and utterly unique she was from every other woman of his acquaintance, and how he would rip to shreds any other man who thought to claim her.

“My lord?”

His jaw tightened as he acknowledged his unwanted feelings of possessiveness. So be it. He had made the decision, and now it was his duty to see it through. God alone knew how he was going to manage it. Marriage to any woman was not welcome, but to a woman so clearly bent on having her own way, regardless of his wishes…well, he would wed her and possess her, but in his own good time, in his own way. She’d just have to understand that he had no intentions of being trapped a second time.