referred to earlier, absentmindedly touching his short beard. "Do you think those ladies are to be admired?"
Isabel mustered all the dignity she could while hiding behind a tree and spying on loose women. "No, I don't approve of how they make a living. They are selling their bodies to men."
"Yes. Just like getting married."
"You're probably right."
"So if I married you, you would agree that I own your body? This makes me see marriage in a whole new light."
She laughed. "Very amusing, Marshall, but you are the one who suggested it. I only agreed. And you will never own me because I will never allow it."
"But marriage--"
"I would never marry you," she swore, embarrassed that she ever made it seem like she would. In real life, he was beneath her anyway. Isabel Darton could not marry a second son.
"You wouldn't marry me?" He pulled her closer to him. "Then let's look at this from a much different angle. Would you prefer to be more like them ?" he asked, pointing at the painted women again.
"What do you mean?"
"Would you like to be my kept woman?"
"You cannot afford me, Mr. Templeton."
He laughed, shaking his head at the idea. "That hasn't stopped any of the men I know from having a mistress."
"No? What about you? Do you have a mistress?"
"I wouldn't be here if I did. I'd be enjoying my Sunday with her. Weekends with the mistress, then Monday back to the wife."
"That's repulsive."
"The wives don't mind as long as one is discreet," he said, amused by her naivete.
"I don't believe that."
"Most of the MPs I know get home from a long day in parliament and the only person waiting up for them is the housekeeper. She prepares him a late dinner, his valet undresses him, and he tucks himself in. During all of this, his wife is in another wing of the house, obsessing about what homemade cream recipe will best smooth her skin."
Isabel escaped his forceful embrace. "And you feel those women over there are different."
"Many of them are. A man gets a far better welcome from those he pays to keep in comfort."
"This is enough, Marshall. I must go," she gasped, her body nearly overheated by his words.
He grabbed her hands and squeezed them. "No. I saw you watching that man. Who was he?"
"That is none of your concern."
Marshall nodded. "I must make sure my niece's governess isn't up to anything unsavory."
"How do you intend to prove that?"
He pulled her closer yet again, into the heated circle of his arms. "By following her everywhere she goes. I shall never leave her side."
Isabel glanced around at her surroundings. "Please, Mr. Templeton, don't do this. People will talk. You're a recognizable figure and--"
"You're right, my dear. We shouldn't be here. We should go somewhere more private."
Isabel broke free and stalked off toward the gates. "I'm leaving."
Marshall stayed at her side. "I'm following."
He followed her the entire way home, only stopping at her bedroom door. He leaned against the doorframe. "May I come in?"
"You can come in once you realize you can't have something for nothing," Isabel said, then slammed the door in his face.
* * *
&nbp;
Paige slammed the lined book onto the table in front of her. "Miss Balfour, is this word spelled correctly?"
Isabel shot back in her chair. "Paige! Don't throw things around like that."
"No?" She pulled back her work and threw her pencil on top. "I asked you the same question two times before and you didn't answer."
"I'm sorry, Paige. I suppose I was daydreaming." More than a little embarrassed, Isabel pulled the book toward her and checked the work. The words swam before her eyes. As much as Marshall protested otherwise, could he actually be interested in her for the long term? He was constantly pursuing her and--
"You're doing it again!"
Isabel jumped. "Did you ask me something?"
Paige pushed herself away from the table. "I asked you if my work was satisfactory."
Isabel blinked away the fog in her head. "Where are you going?"
"I am going to take a
Isabel mustered all the dignity she could while hiding behind a tree and spying on loose women. "No, I don't approve of how they make a living. They are selling their bodies to men."
"Yes. Just like getting married."
"You're probably right."
"So if I married you, you would agree that I own your body? This makes me see marriage in a whole new light."
She laughed. "Very amusing, Marshall, but you are the one who suggested it. I only agreed. And you will never own me because I will never allow it."
"But marriage--"
"I would never marry you," she swore, embarrassed that she ever made it seem like she would. In real life, he was beneath her anyway. Isabel Darton could not marry a second son.
"You wouldn't marry me?" He pulled her closer to him. "Then let's look at this from a much different angle. Would you prefer to be more like them ?" he asked, pointing at the painted women again.
"What do you mean?"
"Would you like to be my kept woman?"
"You cannot afford me, Mr. Templeton."
He laughed, shaking his head at the idea. "That hasn't stopped any of the men I know from having a mistress."
"No? What about you? Do you have a mistress?"
"I wouldn't be here if I did. I'd be enjoying my Sunday with her. Weekends with the mistress, then Monday back to the wife."
"That's repulsive."
"The wives don't mind as long as one is discreet," he said, amused by her naivete.
"I don't believe that."
"Most of the MPs I know get home from a long day in parliament and the only person waiting up for them is the housekeeper. She prepares him a late dinner, his valet undresses him, and he tucks himself in. During all of this, his wife is in another wing of the house, obsessing about what homemade cream recipe will best smooth her skin."
Isabel escaped his forceful embrace. "And you feel those women over there are different."
"Many of them are. A man gets a far better welcome from those he pays to keep in comfort."
"This is enough, Marshall. I must go," she gasped, her body nearly overheated by his words.
He grabbed her hands and squeezed them. "No. I saw you watching that man. Who was he?"
"That is none of your concern."
Marshall nodded. "I must make sure my niece's governess isn't up to anything unsavory."
"How do you intend to prove that?"
He pulled her closer yet again, into the heated circle of his arms. "By following her everywhere she goes. I shall never leave her side."
Isabel glanced around at her surroundings. "Please, Mr. Templeton, don't do this. People will talk. You're a recognizable figure and--"
"You're right, my dear. We shouldn't be here. We should go somewhere more private."
Isabel broke free and stalked off toward the gates. "I'm leaving."
Marshall stayed at her side. "I'm following."
He followed her the entire way home, only stopping at her bedroom door. He leaned against the doorframe. "May I come in?"
"You can come in once you realize you can't have something for nothing," Isabel said, then slammed the door in his face.
* * *
&nbp;
Paige slammed the lined book onto the table in front of her. "Miss Balfour, is this word spelled correctly?"
Isabel shot back in her chair. "Paige! Don't throw things around like that."
"No?" She pulled back her work and threw her pencil on top. "I asked you the same question two times before and you didn't answer."
"I'm sorry, Paige. I suppose I was daydreaming." More than a little embarrassed, Isabel pulled the book toward her and checked the work. The words swam before her eyes. As much as Marshall protested otherwise, could he actually be interested in her for the long term? He was constantly pursuing her and--
"You're doing it again!"
Isabel jumped. "Did you ask me something?"
Paige pushed herself away from the table. "I asked you if my work was satisfactory."
Isabel blinked away the fog in her head. "Where are you going?"
"I am going to take a
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