Joseph glared at the woman to whom he’d been married for one afternoon. He was behaving like an arse. Tessa—his Tessa—stood before him, terrified, beseeching, openly weeping, and he simply . . . allowed it. Nay, he was the source of it.

But the lies.

No, not mere lies. She hadn’t simply lied about being pregnant with another man’s child, she lied and manipulated. She had made him fall into some sort of flying infatuation with her. All the while she was merrily, strategically, trapping him.

He should be the one weeping, and he cursed himself for the blind fool he had been.

Meanwhile, the entire life of this young woman hung in the balance—her baby’s too. And yet, it satisfied his deeply wounded pride and extreme hurt to draw out the question. To make her wait. Even better, to make her bloody guess.

Cruel? Yes. Did it solve anything? Not particularly, but what of the cruel lack of solutions for the entire rest of his bloody life? He had gotten married—married, for God’s sake—and the woman to whom he was forever bound hadn’t cared enough for him to be honest about why she’d done it.

“Surely you would not have selected me to ensnare if you believed I was the sort of man who would end the marriage when I learned the truth,” he said.

Tessa blinked, her blue eyes shiny with tears. Ten minutes ago, he would have done anything to prevent even one tear from dropping down the perfect curve of her perfect cheek. Ten minutes ago, he would have . . .

Joseph cursed the difference ten minutes could make.

How had he not seen her duplicity? Of course, she had laughed at his jokes, but when had he ever struggled to amuse women? She had stared into his eyes, but he knew women found him handsome.

But she had felt special, hadn’t she? Different. More. She was wealthy and proper and well-bred and yet—she wanted him, she couldn’t seem to get enough of him. And not simply his face; she seemed to revel in his very life as a scrappy, half-refined upstart, plucked from servitude and sent to university and success on the high seas.

He’d had dalliances with other society women, of course. Rich women, titled women. Desirability to any woman had never been a challenge for him. But Tessa’s desire had felt deeper, more rooted in her soul than his face. Her regard for him had a breathless sort of “at last” nature to it. She made him feel as if scores of wealthy, proper, well-bred gents had left her wanting, waiting, just for him.

And all the while she shopped for a legitimate papa to solve the result of . . . of . . . the loss of some other bloke.

Joseph made a growling noise and spun on his heel, striding to the window and back.

“I know how very much you require the £15,000,” she said, “from my dowry.”

Joseph growled again. “Oh, of course. I’ll commit to any life-changing thing for £15,000. Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. We require financing for the expedition, but I’m not destitute. There are other investors to be had. That’s not why I married you, and you know it.”

He glanced up, desperate for some reaction and saw her flinch. He swore and spun away.

“Honor,” he heard himself say. “Honor, Mrs. Chance, is the reason that I would not annul the marriage. Although I would not fault your uncertainty, considering whoever left you in this condi . . .” He lost heart and repeated, “Considering whoever left you.”

He looked again, another flinch. Truly, she could not appear more vulnerable. Her night rail and peignoir, a profusion of blue-green ruffles and silk, sagged limply, like the feathers of a wounded bird. Even now, the impulse to go to her was great. He clenched his fists and stalked to the other side of the bed.

“Your honor has never been in question,” she said. “Even a man of honor would not be faulted for leaving our . . .” She blinked three times. “For leaving a woman who has been as dishonest as I have been. I hoped you would remain for the money.”

Joseph ground his teeth together. He wanted to snatch the frilly white pillows from the bed, rip them to feathers, and hurl them into the fire.

“The spoiled life of relative splendor in which you have existed until now prohibits you from seeing the insult of the money,” he said. “I’m not a pauper, Tessa, regardless of what you may think.”

“I did not mean to diminish your fortune,” she said. “I merely meant. . . .” She faltered. He felt her struggle in his own throat, in his own heart. It tortured him to see her anything less than confident and laughing and proud.

But he was so bloody angry, and anger had a way of blotting out sympathy. He pounced on it. “Careful not to count your chickens before they hatch, darling. If I don’t need your father’s money, and honor does not require me to stay, then why do you think I’ll remain?”

She shook her head.

“No, really,” he pressed bitterly, “I want to know.”

She blinked, her misery gave way to shock, if only for a minute. “You wish me to beg you?”

No, he thought miserably. “I want to know. Honestly. You’ve piqued my curiosity.”

She narrowed her eyes and took a step back. She collided with the chair and reached for balance. Joseph fought the urge to steady her.

“Well,” she began, “I thought you would not annul the marriage because an annulment would tarnish your reputation.”

Joseph dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling. “The noose tightens. I require your money and your reputation. I might reconsider the second one, darling, under the circumstances.”

She made a little gasp. “Not my reputation, you cretin,” she said, and Joseph looked at her, surprised at the bite in her voice.

Good, he thought, feeling a modicum of relief. Perhaps it was easier to behave like an arse in the face of someone who fought back.

She went on, “And I thought you would not wish to admit to your mentor, the Earl of Falcondale, that your new wife is . . . unfit.”

“Trevor trusts my judgment, whatever I do,” Joseph said. “Although I failed to spot this particular calamity before it jumped up and bit me on the arse, so perhaps that trust is misplaced.”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” she said, standing up straighter. “My child is not a calamity. No matter what you may think of me. And . . . and I’ll seek annulment myself if you make the suggestion again.”

Joseph stared, watching her chin go higher. Yes, he thought again, desperate for her to challenge his terrible behavior.

But now she seemed to lose heart. She dropped her face in her hands. He wanted to vault across the bed to reach her. He wanted to . . .

“Fine, Joseph,” she said, raising her head. “You don’t need the money. And your friends don’t care who you marry. But you’ve said you intend to run for Parliament one day. Surely life in politics will call your reputation into question. How is that? Do you feel properly begged?”

“You believe gossip would prevent me from annulment?”

“I would expect you to avoid gossip when you can,” she replied softly. “And I would expect you to want a loyal partner by your side.”

He laughed. “Loyal partner? Do you hear your own words? You’ve just lied to me for a month, Tessa! Where’s the loyalty in that?”

“I meant that a loyal wife, even a wife with a shameful secret, is preferred to chatter and gossip. If you annul the marriage, you will always have a hint of scandal, you will have this botched marriage in your past.”

He nodded, barely listening. “Parliament is a dream—yes—but even without political office, I should like to have the companionship of an honest wife at my side. Above all. Honesty, Tessa. But not because of political aspirations, because life, in general, requires it. I always said that when I married, it would be to navigate life together, with a partner.”

She made a sound that was half laugh, half sob. “Then why agree to marry a woman through an advertisement for money? This is hardly a scenario brimming with the potential for trust and partnership.”

He spun around. “Because it never felt like advertising or money to me! I thought I was marrying a girl for whom I had genuine affection!”

“But I am that same girl.” Her voice was small, so small he barely heard it. She spoke to her shoes. She did not lack conviction so much as . . . enthusiasm.

Joseph forged ahead. “Call me foolish, but I . . .” He laughed bitterly. “I was a believer in instant attraction, in Cupid’s bloody arrow. Ridiculously, I assumed that when I saw the girl meant to be my wife, I would know her. On sight. And when I looked at you . . .” The pain in his throat and heart increased, and he coughed. He thumped a fist against his chest. For a terrible moment, he worried that he would retch. He left the bed and shoved open the window, breathing in great gulps of cold December air.

“I am the same girl,” she repeated.

He looked over his shoulder. She’d followed him a handful of steps and hovered in the center of the room. Her arms where wrapped protectively around her body, embracing her own self. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to dry her cheeks of tears.

Tonight was meant to be the night when finally he could touch her, all of her. Tonight was meant to be the first of thousands of such nights. Now? Now he could not say what tomorrow night or any of a thousand future nights meant for either of them. A fresh wave of vengeful words rose in his mind, and he seized them.

“I’ve no idea who you are,” he said and turned back to the window.

The night was damp, and he saw his breath in billowy puffs. He closed his eyes, trying to determine what in the bloody hell he was supposed to do now.

Their original plan had been for him to settle her in London next week and then sail to the Caribbean to join his partners for ten months, perhaps a year, making a go of an expedition that had the potential to make them all very rich.

For weeks, he and Tessa had bemoaned the impending separation—how they would miss each other—but she had been playacting all along. A ten-month absence was ideal for a woman with a nine-month secret—yet another reason, he realized, seeing it all so clearly now, she’d set her sights on him. She could swell into pregnancy, have the baby, and present it to him as his own when he returned. The passing of months and exact dates of their wedding would be vague and unimportant by the time the baby was born. Her plan was brilliant, really.

“Would you mind closing the window?” she asked quietly behind him. “Joseph? I’m cold.”

Yes, he thought, you are cold. He rolled his eyes at his own dramatics. His new wife had revealed herself to be a great many things, but was she truly “cold”? In calculation or demeanor? She was a pregnant woman, desperate, and she’d done what she had to do for her own future and the future of her unborn child. She’d lied as long as she could, and then she had stopped lying. Now, she looked to him to sort out what they would do and how they would carry on. These were hardly the conditions he envisioned for the beginning of his marriage (in general) or his wedding night (in particular), but hadn’t his entire life been one, long, unending heap of obstacles to be sorted? Why should his marriage be any different?

He locked the window and turned to her, leaning against the sill. “Tell me one thing. Do you still love him?”

“Who?” she asked, and she looked genuinely confused.

“The father of this baby,” he ground out.

The look of horror on her face came on so quickly and was so distinctly repulsed, he thought for a moment she might be sick.

“No,” she said, spitting out the word like poison. “No. Nor did I ever.” She put a dainty hand to her slim throat, as if she choked on the man’s very memory.

A dalliance then, Joseph thought, feeling the burn of jealousy, but he did not press her. Obviously, the topic distressed her. He was behaving like an arse, but he was not a masochist.

He dropped his head in his hands. “Why did you not simply tell me from the start, Tessa?” He looked up at her. “Say to me, ‘I’m in a bad way. Will you help?’ Why pretend to be so . . . taken with me?”

She nodded to this, whether to indicate she understood the question or to agree, he did not know. After a moment, she said, “My experience with revealing the pregnancy has not been . . . agreeable.”

Joseph swore. “Who did you endeavor to marry before me?”

“No one! I told only the father of the baby, and his reaction was . . .” She trailed off.

“But me, Tessa?” He crossed to her. “Did I seem so horrible that you could not tell me? For the days and weeks we have been together?”

“You have been horrible tonight,” she whispered. “Tonight you have proved my point.”

He chuckled. “Yes, I suppose I have.”

He ambled away from the window and came to a stop in front of her. She took two steps back. Joseph swore again.

Just this morning, they’d used any excuse to reach out and touch. Fingertips, shoulders, the rare and precious embrace. And now . . .

“Not that your reaction isn’t . . . warranted,” she said. “And you have been far less horrible than . . . than the other.”

“Never let it be said that I am equal in horribleness to a man who would destitute a pregnant woman.”

To this, she had no answer. She stared up at him. Her eyes were huge and solemn, a dark blue he’d never seen. The authentic blue of the authentic woman. Finally.

After a moment, she repeated her urgent question in a whisper. “Will you annul the marriage?”

The most important thing. She would debate motive all night long. She would apologize. She would endure his outrage. But what she really wanted was to know this.

“Am I horrible enough to annul the marriage to a woman who I do not know? At all?”

“I am not so unknown to you as you think,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

“You are entirely unknown to me,” he said.

She flinched, and Joseph shook his head, marveling at her. This particular barb did not even seem so cruel. Merely true. You are entirely unknown to me. He did not know her. He could not believe she would deny it.

“Will you do it?” she whispered, drawing a deep breath. When she looked up, tears spilled down her cheeks.

He sighed heavily. “No, Tessa, I will not annul the marriage. I’m not sure what sort of man that you believe me to be, but clearly he’s as far from reality as the person I believed you to be.”

She raised her chin at this, scraping the tears from her cheeks with a careless flick of her hand. “I am not proud of this night, Joseph, or these last months or of my situation, but I . . . I cannot believe that I am rotten to the core because I found myself pregnant and alone, I cannot.”

“Oh, no,” he said, pointing his finger at her. “Don’t make me the bastard who cried harlot or tried to shame you. Do not. Let us be very clear. I am not angry about this baby. I am angry because you misled me. For weeks!”

“I was terrified of you.”

“In no way am I terrifying, Tessa, ask anyone.”

“I am terrified now,” she said in a small voice.

“No, you are not, you are relieved.”

“You’ve no idea how I feel.”

“That, madam, has been perfectly well established. I have no idea. None. You are a mystery to me in every way.”

She dropped her face in her hands then, and he finally heard a wrenching sob, then another, and another.

He swore violently and spun away. “It is impossible to articulate the very great ambition I had for our marriage, Tessa. I loved everything about you—or the you that I believed you to be. I loved your playful spirit, your provocativeness, your curiosity, your joie de vivre. Your beauty took my breath away. You made me feel clever and capable. You made me feel as if you believed that I, a former servant, could rise to the occasion and deign to marry a wealthy gentleman’s daughter. It was the perfect combination of enchantment and vanity. And I believed all of it.”

“I never . . .” Tessa began, but Joseph cut her off.

“You never what?” he demanded. “Lied to me? You’ve just admitted to lying, daily, for weeks. And surely you can see how I may no longer trust your . . . your wiles? That perfect spell of beauty and charm and scintillation? What confidence I felt about our . . . our union, how proud I was to provide for you? Now that I’ve learned that these were the expertly calculated desired results . . .”

Tessa blinked at him three times, shook her head slightly, and then put her hands to her hair, grabbing long, blonde handfuls. She made a shrill noise of frustration and turned away from him, stalking across the room.

“There is no winning,” she said. It was the loudest she’d yet spoken. “But what did I expect?” She dropped her hands and her hair slid down her back. “Honestly, what did I expect?” Now she laughed, a sad, deflated sound. “Actually, I expected far worse. Or rather, I expected far different, but in a worse way. Although . . . I’m not sure how it could be worse than this. I’m sorry, Joseph.” Tears cracked her voice, but she forged ahead. “I’m so incredibly sorry. Likely there are twenty different ways I could have handled the situation from the moment we met. Each time I chose what I could manage or what I could not resist. The indulgent life I have led up until this moment is no excuse, but still, I hold it up. To say I was unprepared to deal with the ramifications of an unexpected baby is such an extreme understatement. If my friend Willow had not placed the advert that brought you to me”—now she pointed to the advert laying half folded beside the chair—“God knows what I would have done.”

Joseph listened, coming to terms with the reality of her authentic self, making an appearance for the very first time.

“And what if you had simply told your parents?” he asked. “Tessa, what if you had simply asked for their help? They indulge you in most things. They’ve just thrown you the wedding of the century. Why not appeal to them?”

Tessa shook her head. “Impossible. Indiscretion is something they would never tolerate. Their priorities for me revolve around the family’s reputation and place in society. I am to be beautiful but also above reproach. My mother plays the grand lady but her beginnings are nearly as humble as yours. She craves acceptance and esteem among the other women in her circle. She would not recover from the shame if she knew. My father could not look me in the eye if he felt I had succumbed to something so base as . . . as to conceive a child outside of wedlock. It is unthinkable to view me in this way. I asked you to conceal your history for the same reason. They would never have allowed the union if they’d known. They are . . .” She stopped and swallowed. “Things are either right or wrong to them. Proper or improper. Allowed or . . . banished. They have indulged me, yes. But conditionally. Their indulgence would not . . . extend to this situation. I had so few choices. So, I ruined your life instead.”

“My life has not been ruined,” he said, an impulse. He narrowed his eyes to think this over. Had his life been ruined? His life had been given a detonating shock that rocked him to the very core.

He heard himself extrapolate. “My life has changed course. I only intend to be married once. And now I find myself married, but . . . under entirely different auspices. So far from what I thought of my once-in-a-lifetime union.”

“I had different intentions as well,” she said, turning away. “Of course my new path should not affect your path, but it does. For this, I am so sorry, Joseph.”

“Yes,” he said. “How very sorry we both are.”

There was a pause. He allowed himself to look at her, to take in her beauty.

After a long moment, she said, “But what of our plans for your departure and your return? Will I . . . ?” She paused, watching him, waiting.

He could feel her uncertainty. He almost broke under the pressure of the . . . was that regret in her eyes? But the phrase our plans echoed in his ears, as if the future they had so carefully planned together still applied, now that she had trapped him. He raised an eyebrow, forcing her say the words.

She cleared her throat and began again, raising her chin. She was not accustomed to ungracious behavior. “Will I see you when you return from Barbadoes?”

He’d not thought of this, of course. He’d only just learned his life was not as he believed, he’d thought of nothing.

“I will deliver you to your friends in Belgravia tomorrow,” he said, a snap decision. “I can hop a steamship bound for the Caribbean tomorrow night. I . . . I cannot say what will happen when I return.”

She began shaking her head. Her eyes shone. He gritted his teeth, hating that he had caused her to cry again.

She said, “But are you certain this is what you want? Perhaps we should talk about—”

“No,” he cut her off. “I’ve . . .” he exhaled heavily “. . . grown weary of talking. Enough has been said for one night. I’m exhausted. You are exhausted. I will leave you. There is another bedroom. I will sleep there.”

She took a step toward him, and he froze, holding his breath. He honestly had no idea what he would do if she asked him to stay. His anger had cooled, but his hurt glowed like an ember. And still, the pounding desire he’d felt from the first was an urgent, underlying thud. He was shocked by the persistence of his desire.

“The servants,” she said weakly. “My parents must not learn that we have not . . .”

“Tangle the bedsheets,” he said, grimly satisfied to feel himself walk away. His pride had not left him entirely. He turned. “I’ve work that will see me up before sunrise—provisioning and ledgers. I will rise before the staff. They will not know the difference.” He sighed and stalked from the room. “We will leave before luncheon. No one need ever know.”