Chills by Heather Boyd

a husband?”
    The marquess shifted on his feet, appearing uncomfortable again. “If that is what you desire, then yes, I can help.”
    “Thank you,” Constance whispered.
    The marquess slapped his hand over the list, fingers scrunching it into his palm, and hurried out.

    ~ * ~

    “Ooh, that man is the most insufferable, arrogant, blind idiot,” Virginia fumed as she paced back and forth in her sitting room.
    Constance had found her not ten minutes ago, and she was still waiting for the woman to calm down enough to answer a question rationally.
    “Forever boasting his intelligence and belittling the poor students. Assuming women only know how to shop. Ooh.”
    Apparently, a lot had happened since Virginia had left to get the tea.
    Constance settled against Virginia’s bed. “What has Hallam done now?”
    “I’ll tell you what he did. He said that he could not contemplate how I had time to drink tea when there were so many other pressing matters that required my attention. He thought I should run out and arrange for the replacement of his wardrobe. As if I care that the cuff of his left sleeve is beginning to fray, or that the fabric of his waistcoat has become so worn it’s begun to shine.”
    Virginia threw her hands up in disgust and turned away, missing the astonishment Constance couldn’t hide. She had noticed neither defect in Lord Hallam’s appearance this morning. But clearly Virginia paid more attention to Hallam than Constance did.
    “It is a pity Hallam is such an impossible man,” Constance observed. “The woman who marries him should expect sainthood as recompense for putting up with his outrageous outbursts. How could you imagine I would want to marry the man?”
    Virginia’s steps came to an abrupt halt. She spun to stare at Constance. Her foot began to tap, a good indication that she contemplated an unpleasant thought. “You are correct. He is only passionate about his books and studies. I should have learned to ignore his words long ago. Forgive me for suggesting him. He would make you miserable.”
    From what Constance could discern, Hallam was passionate about everything he did—including teasing Virginia. Constance was certain a purpose lay behind it. Why else would he go to such trouble to antagonize her friend?
    She waited as Virginia pulled herself together, trying not to think of her own confrontation with the marquess. She was still shaking. If she did not know better, she would think she was falling ill.
    “I am sorry. Your first week in London, I wanted everything to be perfect. My sorry self included.”
    “Oh, Virginia, there is nothing for you to be sorry about. I came to have a look at your gowns.”
    Actually, Constance had come to Virginia’s room to get away from the mountain of gifts in hers. She was so confused by the situation. An unmarried woman shouldn’t accept gifts from a man. Society would leap to the wrong conclusion and assume she was his mistress. Nothing could be further from the truth. The marquess had shown her nothing but polite, and occasionally angry, conversation. He’d never had that kind of interest in her.
    But a part of her wanted to accept the gifts with no thought to the consequences. She really didn’t want to appear out of place by Virginia’s side.
    Jack still hadn’t explained the size of her debts, but considering he had taken the list of prospective husbands, he would know who to weed out and who to keep. Still, the thought of letting Jack help her find a husband was almost as depressing as searching for one. Money was an ugly reason to prepare for matrimony. And, as Jack mentioned, she would have to make love to the man she married. That thought almost caused her to lose her breakfast.
    Virginia turned to her gowns, admiring each one before the maid put them away. Like Constance, there was also a pile of parcels for Virginia to unwrap. She did so with enthusiasm. “I never know how he manages the feat, but he always purchases just the