But as she’d feared, there was simply no way a single woman could be friends with an unmarried man. Oh, why did men always want more than she could give?
The front door bell jangled. Lord Tarrant had arrived on the dot, as usual.
Alice smoothed down her dress, took a deep breath, turned to face him and, for a moment, lost her breath.
He looked magnificent. Immaculately attired in fawn buckskin breeches, gleaming boots, a dark olive coat and a subtly patterned olive waistcoat, he strode across the room to greet her. His neat, unfussy neckcloth and crisp white shirt contrasted with the slight tan of his complexion. His short dark hair was casually tousled. His presence filled the room.
“Don’t you look lovely this morning? Like a sea maiden.” His smile went all the way to his eyes. It pierced her heart.
She mustered her composure. “Good morning, Lord Tarrant.” She waved him to a chair and seated herself on the sofa. He was freshly shaved; she could smell his faint masculine cologne.
“Well, you’ve made one little girl very happy.”
Alice blinked at his unexpected opening.
“And almost shortened my life,” he continued in a light, relaxed tone. “Why didn’t you warn me?”
“Warn you of what?” she asked, all at sea.
“That there were three kittens. Three! And there I was with three little girls, all oohing and aahing over these, squeaking, climbing, purring, tiny fluffy creatures.” He gave her a mock-indignant look. “Did I tell you that cats make me sneeze? I don’t suppose I did, otherwise you might have warned me that there are I don’t know how many cats in that house. Twenty-five at least.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “Three grown-up cats plus the kittens.”
“Perhaps,” he said austerely, “but I sneezed for twenty-five!”
She laughed again. “Oh dear. And how many kittens do you now own?”
“Just one!” he said triumphantly. “But it was very expensive.”
“Expensive? But I thought Lady Beatrice gave them away.”
“Yes, and the cunning old dear did her best to foist all three kittens on me—she’s a charmer, isn’t she, when not trafficking in kittens? But I foiled her! I told Judy and Lina that they could have either a kitten or a pony. The ponies won by a narrow margin—tiny kittens are disgustingly cute, and they were there. But though stabling horses in London will cost me an arm and a leg, horses don’t make me sneeze, so I consider it a victory.”
She laughed again. “And Debo was happy?”
“Delirious with joy, except that she wanted to take all three home. But it was explained to her that with three kittens in the house, she would have to share, which is not a word in Debo’s vocabulary yet—though Nanny McCubbin is on a mission to change that. So after much anguished deliberation, she finally chose the black-and-white kitten with three white paws, or rather, the kitten chose her by climbing up onto her shoulder and refusing to budge. Its name is Mittens, and she and Debo are in love. And yes, sadly, Mittens is female—I checked—so it seems my future will include flocks of small cats and a great deal of sneezing.” But he didn’t seem too distressed by the prospect.
It sounded hilarious. She wished she could have been there to watch it. “I’m so glad it worked out.” She smiled at him and suddenly realized that they were leaning rather too close to each other, and that not only was she smiling up at him, he was smiling back at her with a warmly intimate expression in his eyes.
And she had been so determined to remain cool and rational and firm.
Biting her lip, she straightened and looked away.
“Oh now, don’t poker up on me again,” he said. “When we were getting on so well.”
He reached out to her, but she waved his hand away, saying, “Don’t.”
“Why not?” He said it gently, inviting her to explain rather than demanding it.
“Because I can’t, that’s why. I will never marry again. I simply can’t.”
“But—”
She began her rehearsed speech. “You’re a baron with three daughters—”
“And a cat.”
“If you’re not going to take me seriously—”
“I’m sorry. I take you very seriously. It’s just . . .” He made a helpless gesture. “I don’t want to hear this nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense. Now please let me finish. You’re a baron with three daughters, and you’re going to need an heir to inherit the title.”
He opened his mouth.
“Pfft!” She glared at him and held up a minatory finger. “I’m not finished. I can’t give you an heir because”—she took another deep breath and forced out the painful words—“I’m barren. I was married eighteen years, and I never once quickened with child.”
“But—”
“And before you suggest that maybe my husband was the one at fault, his mistress, whom he kept exclusively before and all throughout our marriage—he even died in her bed—did bear him a son.” And Thaddeus had never let her hear the end of it. “So, you see, I was the one lacking.”
She sat back, weaving her shaking fingers together. Foolish that she found it so upsetting to talk about—Thaddeus had rubbed her nose in it often enough over the last eighteen years, and Almeria, too—but still, admitting it left her trembling. But at least it was out now.
He sat for a moment in silence, just looking at her. “Finished?”
“Yes.”
“Good. To start with, I don’t need an heir—I have half a dozen cousins who would be delighted to step into my shoes.”
“But—”
“Pfft!” He held up a stern finger in imitation of her earlier gesture. “My turn. Second, I don’t want children from you, Alice, though if they happened, I would, of course, be delighted. So you see, your worries are groundless. What’s more—”
“Stop, just stop.” Tears flooded her eyes. She blinked them away, shaking her head in repudiation of his words. “It’s very kind of you to say so—”
“ ‘Kind’?”
“But I can’t do it. Can’t marry you, can’t marry anyone. I couldn’t bear it. I’m not the—not the sort of woman made for marriage.”
He took out his handkerchief, moved beside her on the sofa and, cupping her chin, gently blotted her tears. “Alice, my dear, I don’t know what maggot you have in your mind about marriage, but if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that you’re exactly the sort of woman made for marriage.”