The Earl of Davenport: Wicked Regency Romance (Wicked Earls' Club #7)(8)

He was certain Anne was right and that she would make a wonderful countess, but he would have to watch her wilt and wither like a lily in winter.

No, thank you. He’d rather be stuck with a woman he despised than be responsible for the death of another innocent, literally or metaphorically.

Though, in an ideal world, he could find a woman he did not despise but who wouldn’t shrink in the face of a life beside the great devil himself.

“So it’s decided then?” Eleanor asked. “You will not marry Claire Cleveland?”

He opened his mouth to say no, he’d never marry her. But something made him hesitate. Regret ate at his guts. No, not regret. Guilt. He liked the Clevelands, he always had. All the Cleveland siblings had been good to him, as a child and as he’d grown older. As his closest neighbors, they’d become something of a staple in his life. The thought of them suffering with financial woes made him want to do something to help.

Knowing Jed, he would never take money outright, even if they were still friends. An anonymous donation, perhaps? Or maybe he could approach Jed with the offer of a loan. But to marry his sweet, meek sister?

That was not an option.

No, he couldn’t marry Claire.

But he did need a wife and it was time he stopped dallying over the issue and made a decision. He’d met every young woman the ton had to offer, it wasn’t as though there was a hidden gem locked in a tower somewhere.

He tapped the pawn once more before moving the piece to a new square.

All his marriage options were well known, it was just a matter of tallying up their traits and finding the woman who was the best match.

His wife needed to be strong, loyal, and dedicated.

He thought of Anne standing there in his drawing room, her jaw set and her eyes filled with earnest righteousness as she defended her sister’s honor.

His wife needed to be intelligent, rational, and perhaps most importantly, she had to be able to stand up to him.

He blinked off into the distance as he once again thought of Anne, meeting his gaze and giving as good as she got. Almost like an equal. A partner, even.

Damn. What was he thinking? Anne could never be his wife. She was too good, too pure, too innocent. If he was the Devil of Davenport then she was surely the closest thing to an angel this country had ever seen. Oh, she was no demure saint, nor was she the epitome of feminine gentility, as she’d described her sister to be. But she had a kindness about her, a genuine sweetness that deserved better than to be saddled with the likes of him.

But Anne is no longer the innocent young girl she once was, an insistent voice reminded him.

The idea had taken hold of his brain, and other parts of his body he’d rather not contemplate in the company of his elderly aunt.

She might have been pure, but she was a woman now. Surely she’d gained some life experience. He thought again of the strength in her eyes as she’d spoken to him, of the way she held herself with such dignity, despite his harsh language and poor manners in bringing up the rumors that plagued her family.

He leaned back, studying the pieces on the board before him but only seeing his current predicament. He needed a wife. The Clevelands needed a good marriage. Marrying Anne would solve the Clevelands’ money issues, just as surely as marrying her elder sister.

This was ludicrous. Was he really contemplating marrying Anne? Little Anne? He ran a hand through his hair, ignoring his great aunt’s inquiring gaze. He was confused, clearly. His brain was still addled from that bizarre interaction. After all, it wasn’t every day he returned home from his Wicked Earls’ Club to find a young lady waiting for him.

Well, not a young virgin, anyway.

He grinned at the chess board. But for a young virgin, Anne had been surprisingly… tempting. Not at all the waifish girl he remembered. At what point had little Anne become such a stunning young woman?

His great aunt’s voice cut into his wayward thoughts. “Surely you’re not seriously contemplating marrying that girl,” she said.

For a moment he thought Eleanor’s ability to read him had gone further than ever. She must have been reading his mind. But then he realized that he’d never answered her question, confirming that he was rejecting Claire Cleveland as a potential wife.

When he looked up, he saw her eyes filled with mirth. “My boy, what will become of the great and powerful Devil of Davenport if he marries a proper young lady?”

She was teasing him, he knew, but his aunt had a point. He’d worked long and hard to live down to his parents’ and society’s low expectations. He’d created a name that men feared and made women swoon. He’d made a new legacy out of the ashes of his good reputation.

There was no way he would ruin that all now by marrying a woman who made him respectable, of all things.

No, his wife needed to be strong, responsible, level-headed… and just scandalous enough to be the devil’s bride.

He saw an image of Anne, with her scandalous red hair. The way she’d responded with shock and then rueful amusement at his abrasive words. There was no proof that Anne was illegitimate and no one had ever dared challenge her father’s word. But there was doubt. There would always be doubt.

Little Anne, despite her good heart and her loyal spirit, would always be doubted. She’d struggle to find a decent match in the ton for the very reason she would make him the ideal wife.

She had a touch of scandal about her and always would.