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to marry another lady of your choosing, and considering how eligible you are, I dare say you won’t have much trouble with that, scandal or not.”
    A smile of amusement spread its way across William’s lips. “And pray tell, how will you manage that?”
    “If we do not consummate the marriage, then…”
    William grinned in open amusement. “Is that your great plan?” Lucy stared back at him with a large degree of uncertainty. The sarcasm that dripped from his words made her edgy. “You stupid woman—lack of consummation is hardly grounds for an annulment. Where the devil did you get such a harebrained notion?”
    “But I thought…”
    “There are only three possible grounds: fraud, incompetence, and impotence. Let’s examine each of these, shall we? I trust that Lucy Blackwell is your actual name?”
    Lucy nodded, for she could not under any circumstances give him her real name; he’d know who she was immediately.
    “Now, I know that Lady Ridgewood gave her consent to our union, for I spoke to her myself, so no grounds there I’m afraid. As to whether or not you are of sound mind…If you ask me, then you are undeniably as mad as a March hare, though I doubt any judge or jury will agree. As for impotence, I assure you, that I would rather hang myself before declaring anything of the sort, especially since such a claim would be matrimonial suicide. So there you have it—it seems that you and I are very much stuck with each other.”
    Lucy gaped at him. His expression was one of arrogant condescension. It was unfathomable. She’d been so sure of herself, so quick to act with the assumption that it could all be reversed. He’d assist her, she’d compensate him for the trouble she’d caused, and they would part ways. What a bloody little fool she’d been—too rash and blinded by her own purpose. The result: she’d trapped herself as much as she’d trapped him, as it turned out. Ironically, the last thing she wanted was a husband. She’d forced the marriage out of necessity alone, but once she found her parents’ killer and exacted her revenge, she’d hardly be able to return to a quiet family life at her husband’s side. Besides, what did she and her husband even know about one other? Nothing, absolutely nothing. It was galling.
    “Feeling faint, my dear?” William’s tone was mocking, and Lucy couldn’t help but spot a look of pleasure in his gray-blue eyes. She couldn’t blame him—not after what she’d done. They were now in the same boat, however heartbreaking that might be.
    A blend of panic and fear swept through her. Not only would they be stuck with each other for life, but he’d already alluded to his marital rights. After everything that had happened thus far, she doubted that he would be gentle with her and nothing terrified her more. “If that is indeed the case, then I am doubly sorry for my actions. I will do my best to make you both happy and proud, of that you may be quite certain, my lord.” She paused, carefully considering how best to phrase her next sentence. She needed to pacify him because if they could become friends somehow, then he might be more willing to allow her requests. “Perhaps it would be wise of us to become better acquainted with each other.”
    He regarded her thoughtfully before saying, “Yes, I think that would be a splendid idea. I’m very curious to discover if you have any singular trait that I might find agreeable.”
    She let the jibe slide, confident that he would respond better to a gentle wife than an argumentative one. “Promise me that you will stay with me a while at Moorland and that you will not hasten back to London at the first opportunity.” What she wasn’t ready to tell him was that she feared being alone—her days plagued by memories and her nights by terrible dreams.
    Suspicion flickered across his face, eyes narrowing as he pinned her with his gaze. “For a moment there you almost had me fooled, yet I believe your real