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started toward her again.
     
    She had pressed back against the desk and was suddenly afraid of him. No matter that he was elegantly dressed in a fashionable carrick—a double pleat-folded cape that fell to his knees, tight, elasticized breeches of buff-colored wool, and fine leather pointed-toe boots. He had to be mad, trifling with her, and any moment he might attack, and—
    He paused within an arm’s reach. “I’ll bargain with you. If you hear me out and then want to refuse me, I promise I will pay your fine and then set you free.”
    She regarded him warily. “How do I know I can believe you?”
    “You’ll have to trust me.”
    She raised her chin. “I trust no man.”
    “I think you should ask yourself what you’ve got to lose by listening to what I have to say.”
    She supposed that much was true. She also recalled her plan to stall. A few more minutes out of The Grave to breathe and stand and stretch her limbs was ambrosia for the spirit. But she was confused. He said the commandant had not been expecting him, and he sounded as though he was telling the truth. Maybe, by listening, she could figure out exactly what was going on. “Go ahead. Let’s hear your lies.”
    “My name is Ryan Tremayne. I live in America on my family’s estate. It’s called a plantation. We grow crops there—cotton, tobacco. And we raise horses. That’s why I came to France—to buy horses.”
    She could not resist sarcasm. “And instead you want to buy a wife.”
    “That was not my intention. I came to buy horses, like I said, but then I met you and decided you’d make the perfect wife.” He then went on to explain about his father’s edict that the woman he married be French. “And if she isn’t, or if I don’t get married by the time he dies, then he’ll disinherit me. I’ll lose my birthright.”
    Angele mused how he actually sounded as though he were telling the truth. Besides, she reasoned, what other motive would he have to propose to someone like her? “I’m almost tempted to believe you.”
    “I’m telling the truth, I swear. And we can help each other. You’ll have a good life and never want for anything. I’m a wealthy man—or will be one day. You’ll live in a mansion and have servants at your beck and call.”
    “And what do you expect in return?” she challenged.
    He shrugged, as though it were all quite simple. “To be my wife, bear my children…everything a man can expect from his wife.”
    Once Angele could grasp the fact that he was quite serious, she thought he was truly out of his mind. Then she allowed that a lot of marriages were arranged for reasons other than love. But there were things he had apparently not considered, and she pointed them out to him. “What will your father think about how we met?”
    “There’s no reason for him to know. And by the time I get through buying you the finest wardrobe Paris has to offer, he’ll think I married royalty. And on the ship on the way over, I’ll try to teach you everything you need to know to fit right into society.”
    Angele truly had a hard time to keep from bursting into laughter. Her parents had seen to it that she attended the best finishing school in Europe. And while she might not be royalty, she was certainly at ease with those who were. Her father had been an important man, which was why his fall from grace had been so devastating. So while she imagined she could actually teach Monsieur Ryan Tremayne a thing or two about society, she decided it was to her advantage not to do so. If she continued to appear to be bourgeoisie, then he would be more tolerant. She might even enjoy the charade.
    Then it dawned that she was actually considering accepting his offer. Perhaps she had lost her mind. He was a stranger. Besides that, he wanted her to cross the ocean and live in America. “I’ll have to think about it,” she said uneasily.
    “Well, you don’t have much time. I’m scheduled to leave in two weeks, and I still