Nicholas. Elizabeth Amber

to…?

      “Do you understand what will happen in our marriage bed?” he clarified.

      She wriggled, and he allowed her to shrug free. “Your questions are premature. Before we reach an agreement, I have requirements of my own.”

      He folded his arms, half sitting against the desk. “Go on.”

      “My sister, Emma. You know of her?”

      He nodded.

      “Since our mother’s death, I have provided for Emma’s care. If I were to wed, I’d wish to have her with me, to raise her as my own daughter. And I’d want to keep a promise that was made to her that she might attend the school of her choosing. She’s quite intelligent.”

      “Of course,” he agreed easily.

      “It may prove costly,” she cautioned.

      He lifted his fingers in a careless gesture that was innately Italian. “Its cost is of no consequence.”

      Jane released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. How easily that had gone. Perhaps managing him would not prove difficult after all.

      “Was that your only condition?”

      “I have one other,” she said. “I’ve been used to certain freedoms in my choice of hobbies. I’d like to continue with them, unhampered.”

      “Fortune-telling?”

      “No,” she said, refusing to blush. “That was strictly for coin.”

      He tilted his head, considering her. “Then may I inquire as to the general nature of this other hobby?”

      She realized she was twisting her hands and forced them to stillness, folding one atop the other at her waist. “‘Studies’ is more accurate. Botanical studies.” She stifled the impulse to prostrate herself with further explanations and pleas.

      He examined her a moment more and then replied easily and without reservation. “As long as they don’t endanger or shame you or my family in any way, you may keep your hobbies.”

      She sighed. “That’s what I find so difficult about this marriage business. Why is a husband entitled to give a wife permission or withdraw it simply because he’s male? In truth, I would prefer to abide in a single state.”

      “’Tis a husband’s obligation to protect his wife and family. And consider that if you never marry, Signore Cova will continue to control your future.”

      He was right, she knew. Until she amassed enough wealth of her own, she would never be free of male domination.

      A feeling of entrapment squeezed her chest. Why was she continuing this farce? She should tell him no and be done with it. Bearing his children was simply too great a risk. And if he but knew the depth of her strangeness, he certainly would not want children of her.

      Instantly, an idea born of desperation came to her. There was a way, it whispered. There were herbs said to prevent impregnation. Such herbs would let her marry him and lie with him yet ensure she would not conceive.

      It was deceitful. And he would eventually annul the marriage when no heir was produced. Until then, she and Emma would have a home. Afterward, they would have the allowance he promised.

      From beneath her lashes, she studied him. Did she dare trick him in such a way?

      Taking her survey of his person as an invitation, Nick moved closer. Grasping her upper arms, he drew her against him.

      She allowed the embrace and even mustered the courage to rest her palms on his chest. Taut muscle and bone underlay his waistcoat, and below that a steady heartbeat.

      Without warning, the coat under her fingers faded into translucence to reveal sculpted planes of male flesh that bunched and flexed as he moved in undisguised passion. She fisted her hands and forced the vision away.

      Her gaze roved higher.

      Dark spiky lashes framed the remarkable blue eyes that studied her in turn. A flush of good health angled along his cheekbones. The haughty line of his aristocratic nose and straight brow proclaimed his good breeding. He exuded confidence from his very pores.

      His will seemed to reach out to her, tickling her mind, pushing her into acceptance of him.

      Again she wondered why so beautiful and wealthy a man was so determined to have her.

      He moved his hands along her upper arms to cup her shoulders, idly brushing thumbs over the hollow above her collarbones. Fingers slipped around to cradle her skull and tease tendrils of her hair along the shallow groove at the back of her neck.

      She shivered. But it wasn’t due to the same fear Signore Nesta had engendered. This man’s touch was unsettling but not at all distasteful.

      For so many years she’d avoided human touch and had become unused to it. Even holding hands with Emma was something in which she rarely indulged. The risk of melding was too great. Yet she wasn’t melding with him now. Was the ability dissipating, or was she developing sufficient skill to rein it in when she chose?

      His head ducked close, and his voice rumbled at her ear. “Come, what’s your answer, Jane?”

      Her mind raced. If she worked at it and held her emotions distant, perhaps she could stop herself from melding with him by choice.

      “I’m not at all certain this course you have set is wise. But if you’re determined upon it, then, yes,” she heard herself say. “I say yes.”

      Before she could reconsider, he took her arm and led her back to the desk. When he pushed the stack of papers aside to display the last one, she briskly signed her name to the contract.

      Blue mirrors smiled into pools of limpid green. “You do me an honor, signorina.”