Which left only a single avenue.

25.

For some reason he hadn't visualized her surrounded by admirers when he walked into the Castellis' salon. He'd imagined a more poetic, sentimental moment of recognition and delight.

She didn't even notice him when he entered the room, for she was laughing uproariously at something one of the men had said and instant recall of a similar image as he'd entered Massena's headquarters at Milan burned through his brain. She'd been equally at home with the roomful of French officers that night. Taking immediate affront, his jealousy never within reasonable bounds with Serena, he had to force himself to respond civilly to Julia, who'd come over to greet him.

"Actually I arrived only this afternoon," he replied to her question. "May I introduce Mr. Winthrop, our consul-general, and Father Alegini," he politely added, his gaze drawn back to Serena across the room. "Miss Blythe survived her journey well, I see," he murmured, his tone aggrieved.

"We can't thank you enough for your intervention with Massena," Julia declared, unaware of Beau's displeasure. "Serena didn't go into much detail but I'm sure your presence in Milan was instrumental in gaining her freedom."

"I was of minor help, perhaps," he replied, bringing his gaze back with effort from the odious scene of his lover flirting with a dozen men. "Could I offer you some flowers, Miss Castelli, and beg your forgiveness for coming uninvited to your evening soiree." Serena had just thrown her head back in a peal of laughter at something a tall, blond man had said and he was no longer in the mood to woo her with flowers.

"How lovely of you," she said, taking the large bouquets he held out to her, "and you're welcome to visit anytime, Lord Rochefort. If your guests would like to make themselves comfortable, Papa has some very good sherry on the table by Plato's bust over there. I'll bring you to Serena."

"Thank you, but I'll wait till she's less busy."

Julia laughed lightly. "Then you'll wait a very long time, my lord. She's never without a circle of admirers."

"I see," he said, his smile tight. "In that case, I'll hope to find an opportune time to break into her conversation. Please, see to your other guests; I'll admire your collection of paintings while I wait." And after speaking briefly to the consul-general and priest, informing them they might be staying for a time, Beau took himself off into a quiet corner and watched Serena charm a crowd of men.

The room was large, the number of guests considerable, and the men surrounding Serena sufficient to screen Beau from her view. Julia didn't feel comfortable disregarding Lord Rochefort's wishes so she didn't approach Serena with news of his arrival. But she surreptitiously watched the young Englishman standing near the library door, one shoulder resting against the paneled wall, his arms crossed negligently across his chest. His gaze held a startling chill.

She didn't have to speculate long regarding his motives for he soon pushed away from the wall and strolled over to the gathering around Serena, all thoughts of gentle wooing effaced.

He wasn't in her line of sight until he was quite close and Serena abruptly stopped talking when she saw him. The group all turned, following her gaze, and Beau walked between two men who'd stepped aside to better view the object of Serena's attention.

He was no more than a foot away, her perfume pungent in his nostrils, when he bowed slightly. "May I have a moment of your time, Miss Blythe?" he queried, his voice expressionless. Without waiting for her answer, he pulled her forward and began drawing her away.

A hand clamped hard on Beau's shoulder, arresting his progress. "The lady may not wish to go," Sandro said, scowling.

"We're old friends," Beau silkily said, insinuation flagrant. "Tell him, Miss Blythe, how well we know each other," he softly taunted. And jerking his shoulder free, he stood poised, combative.

"I'm fine, Sandro," Serena quickly interposed, not sure Beau wouldn't be grossly crude, his body taut beside her, his clipped order resonating in her ears. "I'll be back shortly."

"And then perhaps not," Beau drawled, tightening his hold on her.

"Grow up," she lashed out, as hot-tempered as he, and turning back to the men observing her, she offered them a bland smile. "I won't be long."

Beau's lashes lowered fractionally in silent contradiction but he didn't speak, satisfied he was about to take her away.

"No one asked you to come here," Serena snapped, walking swiftly to keep up with Beau's long stride as he moved across the room. "And you're not taking me out of this gathering or I'll scream."

He abruptly stopped, scrutinized her, gauging her sincerity, then quickly surveyed the room, moving a second later toward a set of bookcases framing a large painting of a Tuscany landscape. "It didn't take you long to get back into circulation," he said, sullen and glowering, his black coat and breeches somber like his mood.

"I have no intention of living a secluded life."

"Obviously."

"You have no control over my actions, Rochefort-by your choice, if I recall. You didn't think you could settle for one woman, I believe you said. I prefer a variety of men as well."

He pinned her against the leather bindings of the books so swiftly she sucked in her breath in surprise. "I came here to marry you, dammit. Fuck the men."

"Let me capture this moment in time," she sarcastically retorted, "so I can forever remember this enchanting proposal."

"Just say yes and we can get the hell out of here," Beau churlishly muttered.

"But I don't wish to marry you," she coolly replied, "despite your gallant offer." If he wanted to marry her, it wasn't for love, judging by his tone of voice. And she didn't expect that faithfulness was a component with such an uncharitable attitude.

"Here," he said, taking the two ring boxes from his pocket. "Take these." And lifting her hand, he placed them in her palm.

"I don't want your rings."

"What do you want then, dammit?"

"What you can't give me, Beau-your love."

"I thought we went through all that already."

"We did. And therein lies the problem, darling."

He was encouraged by the endearment, no matter that it was sardonically uttered. "Well, I think I do now."

Her brows rose faintly. "You need some lessons, Rochefort, to be convincing."

His nostrils flared as he drew in a breath. "I'm not a good actor."

"I know. A shame." She wished he was; she truly did.

"All you have to do is say yes," he whispered, leaning into her, his strong body familiar and heated. "Say yes, just say it...."

"I want you to love me."

He took another deep breath, the black abyss yawning. "I do."

"This is harder yet, Rochefort," she said, smiling faintly at the two breathless words he'd uttered. "You have to love only me."

His familiar smile flashed, his dark eyes lit with amusement. "That's easy. I've never loved anyone else before. There now, say yes. I've the consul-general here to marry us or a priest if you prefer-I didn't know if you were Catholic. The license is in my pocket. You only have to say you will."

"What of all your women? Not love this time, Rochefort, just the sexual amusements."

He exhaled, stared at her for a very long time, his face closed, his expression unreadable. Then he grimaced. "Why not?" he obtusely muttered. "They're gone. Satisfied?"

"Somehow that admission lacks a certain sincerity," she breathed.

"Christ, Serena, you drive a hard bargain."

"I don't want it to be a bargain." Her voice was soft but intense with emotion.

"It sure as hell seems like it to me," he exasperatedly muttered. "What the hell are you giving up?"

Damn him, he wasn't marrying for love; he was giving things up to marry. "Fuck you," she resentfully exclaimed.

"Now that I understand. Would you like to do it as a married lady?" His smile was wolfish. "I'm ready."

"You're always ready, aren't you? Tell me how long this transient impulse to marry will last. Until the next female crosses your path?"

He stood perfectly still for a moment, staring at her, frustrated by her thwarting cavil, knowing if this was a transient impulse he could have lived his life without misery anytime these past three months. "Don't move," he quietly ordered, holding her lightly by the shoulder. Shifting his stance slightly so he could address the guests, he shouted, "She's having my baby and she won't marry me!"

"How did you know?" Serena gasped.

He spun back to face her, a smile slowly unfolding across his face. "I didn't. I just said that so your friends would pressure you to marry me. You really are?" he incredulously murmured. "Just teasing, folks!" he called out over his shoulder, ignoring the shocked, horrified expressions conspicuous among the guests. "Now you have to marry me," he added in a whisper, his mouth inches away from hers. "You're having my baby."

"That's not reason enough to marry."

"Damn right it is."

"If you sleep around, I'll kill you," she warned, wondering if she was actually agreeing to take on the daunting task of keeping him faithful.

"Ditto," he countered. "Well, maybe not kill you," he amended, "but you'd be locked away on one of my remote country estates for the rest of your life."

She looked directly into his eyes. "We understand each other then."

"Perfectly." He blew out a breath. "This is going to be different."

"You may actually like it." A small giddy jolt reminded her of the blissful degrees of happiness he could evoke.

He smiled. "I do already. A wife and a baby all in the same night. Two for the price of one."

"You're not buying me, Rochefort, the way you've bought everything else you've wanted in your life," she sternly admonished.

"Don't I know it, darling. I would have had you as my mistress months ago if you'd been for sale."

"And I'm staying in Florence until I finish my studies," she peremptorily asserted, knowing she'd be overwhelmed by him if she allowed it.

"Don't I have anything to say about it?" he mildly questioned. "The French are going to be in Florence in a few weeks."

"Perhaps we could discuss it later," she said, smiling for the first time.

"When later," he murmured, basking in her smile, knowing everything was finally resolved when she smiled like that.

"Tonight," she softly said.

"After our wedding."

"After that."

"On our honeymoon, you mean."

She offered a flirtatious caveat. "I warn you, dear Glory, I can be very demanding."

"I remember," he said, smiling faintly.

"You don't mind?" she seductively murmured.

"I'm here to serve you, ma'am," he drawled. And then the easy mannered style of the rake altered. "You have my heart, lollipop," he softly added, all the insolence stripped from his voice. "You really do."

"You've had mine from the first," she whispered.

"And you don't have to worry," he gently said. "I'll never cheat on you. My word on it."

Her eyes filled with tears. "It's a lavish gift."

He shook his head in negation. "It's nothing. From now on we'll only have glad days and soft breezes and sunshine. I've put in my order," he said with a lazy smile and lifting her chin, he gently brushed her lips with his. "For us and the baby."

"I've wanted your baby from the first too."

"Not from the very first. Not on the Siren."

"After Minorca I did."

He smiled. "Minorca was nice."

"But you didn't want to be a father," she reminded him, not sure even now she could visualize the possibility.

"At least not till now."

A sudden terrible thought struck her. "Do you have children?"

He shook his head. "The ladies I know aren't interested in motherhood."

"Will they be surprised?"

He shrugged and said, "Who knows?" when he knew everyone in the Ton would be wildly astonished.

"Should we move to the country to escape your paramours?" she teased.

"I know how to say no," he casually replied, understanding that no matter how distant the country there would always be women, so he had to be certain of that. "And I needn't remind you I expect you to be equally incorruptible."

"I know how to say no as well."