The Perfect Stranger by Anne Gracíe Page B

impeccable, dammit!
    She pondered his silence for a few moments and then said, “So if we were to marry, I would go to England and be foisted on your mother. What would you be doing in the meantime?”
    “Me?” He shrugged again. “I will continue my journey, of course.”
    “I see. To Paris?”
    “No. We shall make our way down the coast to Spain and then travel inland.”
    “Oh?”
    He hesitated. It would do no harm to explain his route. “In Spain and…and beyond, I will be visiting some sites of the late war, places I fought in…battlefields where some of my friends died.”
    “You must miss your friends very much.”
    He shrugged. He did miss them. More than he could explain, even to this soft-eyed girl.
    “And when your journey is completed, shall you return to Blacklock Manor then? To your mother and—if I married you—to me?”
    He picked up another stone and threw it far out to sea. “I doubt I shall return to Blacklock. My journey will go on. You will be free to do as you wish.”
    “I don’t understand,” she said after a moment. “Do you mean we would get an annul—?”
    “Those are my terms. Now choose,” he said in a hard voice.
    Faith’s thoughts were in turmoil. She sat in the sand and thought and thought. It seemed all wrong. It was not how two people should marry—without love, without knowing each other, for the sake of appearances. But she’d married for love once and ruined her life by it.
    “I know it’s not ideal, but I must press you for an answer today. It is just that I don’t have much time.”
    “There is no need to delay your journey because of me,” she said, knowing she sounded snippy and ungrateful. But really, would he leave her no choice, no say in her own wedding? Did he think she had no pride left at all? “Besides, you haven’t even asked me!” She sighed. “I know it is irrational, that I have no choice, but—”
    “You always have a choice!” He bent and picked up another stone. “Forgive me. I am anxious to get on my way, and I was so certain of the rightness of this, that I did not consider your feelings.”
    “Oh, but I—”
    “No!” He skipped the stone along the surface of the water, and they both watched as it skipped four times before sinking. “There is always a choice. Always!”
    She was surprised by his vehemence. “I know, but not for me.” He opened his mouth to argue, and she stopped him with a finger on his lips. “No, don’t. I—I suppose I’m just being missish and contrary.” His lips were cool and firm, and his breath was warm against her fingers. An odd tingle ran through them. She dropped her hand hurriedly. It was just—
    “It is a habit of mine, to see a problem and solve it.”
    She winced.
    “Oh Lord, I didn’t mean you were a problem, I meant—oh hell. Let me tell you what I’ve arranged, and you can tell me whether it is acceptable to you or not.” His voice was rueful as he added, “I might be an insensitive clod, but keep in mind that I would be honored to marry you.”
    Faith felt tears prickle at his words. Honored, to marry a scruffy, homeless, fallen woman. He was such a gentleman.
    He continued in a brisker voice, “It will—if you agree—be a civil ceremony. In France these days one is married by a town official—the mayor. There is normally a three-week wait—the banns, you know—but,” he rubbed his thumb and fingers together in the age-old symbol of bribery, “I was able to convince the mayor that the marriage of two foreigners could be expedited with greater haste, and it will be done tomorrow. Do you mind a civil wedding?”
    “No.” She quashed the pangs she felt. As a little girl, she’d always dreamed of a church wedding, with flowers and lace and everything. As she’d had with Felix. Ironic that her dream wedding had been the false one and that her real wedding would take place in an office.
    He grinned. “Our interpreter was very glum—he is an elderly priest, you know, who