Seize the Fire by Laura Kinsale

sleeves of her woolen walking dress.
    "I've had a message from Lord Palmerston," he went on. "Perhaps you've heard of him—he's one of those War Office beauties who make themselves experts on every bloody thing alive—including Orienian politics and exiled princesses. He's not at all keen on your uncle. He thinks you ought to marry someone else instantly, to forestall the other possibility."
    '"Marry," she repeated numbly. Her skin grew hot again with embarrassment.
    "The idea never crossed your mind?"
    "No. I mean, yes, of course it has, but I've always thought I…" She trailed off. "I assumed my grandfather would make an alliance. Who on earth does Lord Palmerston suggest I marry?"
    He smiled a little and raised his eyebrows, saying nothing.
    She frowned at him. "Unless he's aware of some eligible prince, I can't think how he expects me to marry 'instantly.' Besides, there is the revolution to consider. I can't marry; I must go to Oriens. I think our own plan has much more to recommend it." She lowered her voice. "Have you sold the diamond yet?"
    He looked down at his gloved fingers. "I'm working on it."
    "Good," she said eagerly. "And you're arranging for everything else? When should I come to King's Lynn?"
    "Do you know," he said, "for a radical, you're rather a snob."
    "A snob!"
    He looked up. "You seem to feel the only men you could marry must be royalty."
    "Well," Olympia said, "I am a princess."
    He held her puzzled gaze for a moment, then rose and turned away. Light slid down the curved sheath of his sword as he moved across the room. He hefted a crystal paperweight from the writing platform of a glass-fronted secretary, turned the colored sphere over in his palm and put it down again. "Perhaps there's nothing more to say, then."
    Olympia clasped her hands. She stared at the footstool in front of her, her thoughts occupied by her impending escape, as they had been for two weeks. She had a thousand questions for him and was afraid to ask even one. She hoped he hadn't delayed their plans because of this unlikely notion of marr—
    Realization struck her. With a tiny gasp, she looked up at him.
    He stood in profile, facing the secretary. At the sound, he slanted a half glance in her direction and then looked back at the books behind the glass doors.
    "Not you!" she exclaimed. "He never meant I should marry you!"
    His mouth flattened in a parody of a smile. He locked his gloved hands behind his back. "Obviously not, since the idea is so repugnant to you."
    "No! It isn't—I mean, it's not possible; it's absurd. You must see…not that I wouldn't; of course, I'd be—" She pressed her palms together and held them to her lips to stop the flow of nonsense.
    "I'm a commoner," he acknowledged quietly.
    "You're a hero!"
    "Well, I quite apologize for it." His voice took on a brisk note. "I really hadn't thought you'd lodge an objection on that basis."
    She turned her face away, staring into the fire. "You can't wish to marry me."
    A profound silence settled over them, over the room and the fire and the trickle of sleet at the window. Olympia lost all those small familiar sounds beneath the hum of blood and heartbeat in her ears. Then he moved; the floor creaked as he came toward her and lowered himself at her knee. He reached up and took her face between his hands, looking into her eyes.
    "I can think of a thousand reasons you would not want to marry me," he said softly. "For myself not to wish it—I cannot think of one."
    "They're forcing you to do this," she whispered. "I'm sure they must be."
    He brushed his thumbs across her cheeks, white leather soft and warm against her skin. "No," he said. "I'm not such a special fellow, you know. I'm a convenience—a suitable body in the right place at the fight time." He let go of her and stood up, turning aside to the window, to the sleet and the slow-moving river. "If you won't settle on me, I don't doubt they've got a list of other approved candidates for your