The Naked King (13 page)

“Aha!” Lord Westbrooke was grinning again. “So you wasted no time, did you?”

“Nor did you, Robbie, if I recall correctly,” Lord Knightsdale said.

The duke leaned forward and looked first at Lord Westbrooke and then at Lord Knightsdale. “Could we allow Kenderly to actually make his announcement? Perhaps he merely wishes to tell us he is anticipating a bumper crop of corn this harvest.”

“Right,” Lord Westbrooke said. “And I’m the Queen of Sheba.”

Lord Kenderly held up his hands, laughing. “Gentlemen, peace. Westbrooke is correct in his assumption ; Lady Kenderly is indeed in the family way.”

Everyone clapped again, and the parents at the table—which seemed to be most everyone—proceeded to offer a quantity of good-natured advice.

Anne forced herself to smile. All the women—except Clorinda and Evie—were about her age, and they all had, or were expecting, children. If she were really betrothed to Mr. Parker-Roth—well, it sounded alarmingly like she
was
betrothed to him, but more to the point, if she were really going to
marry
the man—she could be a mother this time next year.

Oh, God. Pain lanced through her, leaving behind an empty ache. She wanted a baby. She wanted a husband and a family and a home that was her own, not her father’s or her stepmother’s, but she’d thrown all that away when she’d let Brentwood under her skirts.

Damn it, she’d been only seventeen. She’d made one mistake—a large one, yes, but only one. She shouldn’t have to pay for it the rest of her life.

She pretended to laugh at something Lord Westbrooke said.

But life wasn’t fair; she knew that. She’d thought she’d come to terms with that truth long ago. People made mistakes, and sometimes those mistakes did change their lives. A mother looked the other way and her child ran out to be crushed under a cart’s wheels. A man on a horse rushed a gate and came home on a hurdle, dead of a broken neck.

A foolish girl fancied herself in love and broke society’s cardinal rule.

It could have been worse. They could have been seen. She could have been forced to marry Brentwood. Living with him, sharing his bed, day after day, year after year, would be a far worse life than the one she had now.

She heard Mr. Parker-Roth laugh, felt his touch under the table, and wished . . .

No. She would not wish for what couldn’t be.

“It’s very crowded, isn’t it?” There was a note of trepidation in Evie’s voice.

Stephen was standing in Kenderly’s ballroom with Anne and Evie at his side. Clorinda, ceding her chaperone duties completely to Anne, had secluded herself with Lord Ramsey behind a bank of potted palms to continue their discussion of great tits, black-tailed god-wits, and other feathered subjects.

“All the better,” Anne said. “You’ll meet so many eligible men tonight, Evie. I’m sure you won’t sit out a single set.” Anne sounded confident, but the look she gave him was worried.

“Your sister is quite right, Evie.” He had little doubt the girl would take. She was beautiful and an earl’s daughter, even though the earl was Crazy Crane. Perhaps most importantly tonight, however, she was a favored guest of Lord and Lady Kenderly. “You’ll be a great success.”

Evie’s wide smile made her even more beautiful. “You really think so?”

“I do indeed. We just have to find you your first partner, and then the men will be lining up behind him. Your feet will ache from dancing by the end of the night.” He looked around the room. It should be easy enough to find a suitable man. There were plenty here to choose from, and more were still pouring into Damian’s ballroom. Jo should be very pleased. Her first society gathering was going to be a shocking squeeze.

Davenport had chatted with Evie during dinner—he’d be an adequate choice. Where had the fellow got to? Ah, there he was, poor man. Lydia Fitzwilliam had already sunk her claws into him. Well, no matter. There were others—

Damn. Emma was coming their way, Knightsdale in tow. It had been a great piece of luck one of her children had taken sick—not that he wished the youngster ill, of course, but not having to face Emma before dinner had been a blessing. He’d known it was too much to hope she’d leave them alone all evening—she’d thrown Anne so many pointed looks across the dining room table, she likely upset the poor girl’s digestion. Anne
had
looked a bit peaked by the end of the meal.

“Hallo, Emma; Knightsdale,” he said.

Emma barely glanced at him, though Knightsdale gave him a commiserating look.

“Lady Evangeline, Lady Anne,” Emma said, “I’m so sorry we didn’t have an opportunity to chat before dinner.” Emma addressed both Crane’s daughters, but her attention was solely on Anne.

“And I was so sorry to hear one of your children is ill,” Anne said. “I do hope it’s nothing serious.”

Ah, Anne had made a wise move in mentioning Emma’s boys. Surely that must cause her to rise in Emma’s estimation.

“Oh, no. A mother is always concerned, of course, but Henry—that’s our second son—is a hardy little fellow and usually weathers these things better than Charlie, his older brother.”

“That’s a blessing,” Anne said, nodding. “I’ve noticed the same thing with my twin brothers—illnesses always affect one more than the other.”

“Really?” Emma’s eyes brightened. Perhaps she would refrain from discussing anything more alarming than the croup. Stephen began to relax. “You’ve had charge of your siblings’ care?”

“Oh, yes,” Evie said, managing to squeeze in a few words. “Mama and Papa are often gone, so Anne has looked after us. She’s the best of sisters.”

Emma beamed at Anne. “I’m happy to hear it. I raised my sister as well, you know, and I’ve found the experience helped when I had my own sons, though of course each baby is different, which I’m sure you’ll discover, Lady Anne, once you marry Stephen and start a family. And speaking of Stephen”—Stephen snapped back to attention.
Oh, damn, here it comes.
—“I must say your betrothal came as a complete surprise.”

Emma turned her gaze to him. “Why didn’t you tell us you were considering marriage when we saw you at Jack’s christening?”

Stephen looked to Knightsdale for help, but the marquis merely raised an eyebrow. Clearly, Knightsdale smelled a rat. “It wasn’t a settled thing then.”

“It wasn’t?” Emma looked at Anne, who just shook her head. “But you must have had some inkling. That was only a few weeks ago.”

“Well, I might have had an inkling, but I wasn’t about to share an
inkling
of marriage with my mother.” Of course, he hadn’t known Anne existed a few weeks—a few
days
—ago, but he wasn’t about to tell Emma that.

“Well, no, I suppose not. But surely you wrote to inform them once it became more than an inkling? We just got a letter from Meg and there wasn’t even a whisper of your betrothal in it.”

Right. He should post a letter to Mama immediately. “Even if I had, there wouldn’t be room for that with all the baby news.” He chuckled. “I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t witnessed it myself, but I do think my brother has finally discovered something that’s of more interest to him than his beloved plants.”

Emma was not buying his theory. “Oh, I know Meg would have squeezed in a mention of something this extraordinary. Even a new baby can’t completely distract from the betrothal of one’s brother-in-law, especially a brother-in-law known far and wide as the King of Hearts.” She smiled at Evie. “But I imagine you knew all about the engagement, Lady Evangeline. Women are so much more forthcoming than men.”

Evie shook her head. “Oh, no, Anne hadn’t breathed a word about it to me, though I suppose it’s possible she’d mentioned it to Papa and Mama. I only found out about it when we reached London. It was quite a shock.” She paused and seemed to think perhaps her last comment hadn’t struck the proper note. “A
pleasant
shock, of course. I am very happy for Anne. She’d never shown any interest in the gentlemen at home, but now I expect that was because of her attachment to Mr. Parker-Roth. They have been in love for years, you know.”

Emma’s eyebrows disappeared into her coiffure, and Anne’s face rivaled her hair and dress for brightest hue. Stephen hoped no one was taking note of them, but he knew better than to bank on that. It was time to bring this uncomfortable conversation to a close.

“And now we are finally betrothed,” he said, lifting Anne’s hand and kissing it. “I couldn’t be happier. I hope you will both wish us well.”

“Of course,” Knightsdale said. Emma looked as if she’d like to argue, but thank God she kept her tongue between her teeth. The marquis had taken her arm, so perhaps he was exerting a little pressure. “Have you set a date for the nuptials?”

“We thought we’d wait until the Season was over and Lord and Lady Crane have returned,” Stephen said. “Isn’t that right, my love?”

It took Anne a moment to realize “my love” referred to her. She nodded somewhat weakly.

“Hmm.” Knightsdale studied her. She managed to lift her chin and meet his eyes, making his forbidding expression soften somewhat.

“Lady Dunlee has been spreading a rather alarming tale, you know.” Emma’s eyes shifted between Stephen and Anne as if she couldn’t decide which to blame. “She said”—her eyes slid over to take in Evie, and she pressed her lips together. “She said she witnessed an inappropriate degree of warmth between you and Lady Anne, Stephen, on a public square.”

Knightsdale covered his wife’s hand. “I don’t believe Parker-Roth’s behavior is really our concern, Emma.” The gaze he directed at Stephen, however, clearly delivered the message that if any of Stephen’s actions cut up Emma’s peace, Stephen would pay the price.

Stephen looked back at him, but it took some effort. He was used to standing up to strong men—plant hunters had to deal with difficult and dangerous fellows routinely—but the marquis was especially intimidating. This particular expression was one he must have cultivated as a captain in the army, before his brother’s death catapulted him into the marquisate.

“It
is
our concern. He’s Meg’s brother-in-law.”

“Yes, but I hazard to guess Meg would not thank you for meddling, my dear.” Knightsdale let his eyes linger another moment on Stephen. “Parker-Roth is fully aware of his responsibilities, I’m sure.”

“Of course,” Stephen said. “You can rest easy, Emma.” He smiled somewhat bitterly. “I really am not a care-for-nobody, you know.”

Emma flushed. “No, of course you aren’t. I didn’t mean to suggest . . . well, I suppose I may have suggested, but I didn’t . . . that is, I apologize if I gave offense.” Emma smiled at Anne. “You are quite fortunate in your choice, Lady Anne. I do not wish to give you a false impression.”

“No, ah, you didn’t.” Anne glanced up at Stephen and smiled. “Er, thank you.”

“And to make our family gathering complete,” Knightsdale said, “I do believe I see Nicholas approaching.”

“Nicholas?” Stephen turned and grinned as he saw his brother wending his way through the crowd. Splendid. He could foist Evie off on Nick once the music started. “My valet must have directed him here.” He stepped forward to intercept him.

“Hallo, Stephen,” Nick said. “Have you heard the wild tales circulating about you? Lady Dunlee apparently saw you kiss—ow! You trod on my foot, you oaf !”

“Exactly,” Stephen hissed. “And I’ll stomp on it again if you don’t show some sense. Open your eyes, you nodcock.”

“What? I don’t—oh.” Nick finally looked over Stephen’s shoulder.

“Yes, oh.” Stephen turned and drew his brother into the circle. “Lady Anne, Lady Evangeline, may I present my scapegrace younger brother, Nicholas?”

Nick nodded at Lady Anne, and then stared at Evie. At least his eyes didn’t start from his head. He even managed a credible bow. “My pleasure, ladies. Knightsdale, Emma, good to see you again.”

“Lady Anne is my betrothed, Nick; her sister, Lady Evangeline—Evie—is making her come-out.”

Nick managed to tear his eyes from Evie to goggle at Stephen. “I’m sorry.” Nick laughed and shook his head. “I thought you said Lady Anne was your betrothed.”

“I did.”

Nick’s jaw dropped, damn it. Stephen heard Knightsdale muffle his laughter.

“So it’s a surprise to you, too, Nicholas?” Emma asked.

Nick transferred his gaze to Emma. “Rather.” He moved his foot as if he feared Stephen would stomp on it again and swiveled his eyes to Anne. “But I’m delighted to welcome you as a new sister, Lady Anne”—his eyes went back to Evie—“and to become better acquainted with your family.”

The orchestra was finally tuning its instruments. The dancing would start in a moment.

“Nick,” Stephen said, “I believe Lady Evangeline is in need of a partner.”

“What a coincidence,” Nick said. “So am I.” He bowed to Evie. “Would you care to stand up with me for the opening set, Lady Evangeline?”

Evie laughed shyly. “I would be honored to, sir.”

“And I would ask you to join me, Lady Anne,” Knightsdale said, “but I suspect Stephen here would take issue with that.”

“Precisely, Knightsdale. Very astute of you.” He laid Anne’s hand on his arm. He was eager to partner her—and very uneager to partner Emma, which would be his fate if Knightsdale made off with Anne. He did not wish to spend the set dancing around Emma’s questions as well as the ballroom.

He led Anne onto the floor, trying to ignore the stares and whispers. He hoped the musicians would play a waltz. He would very much like to waltz with Anne, but he wished it could be somewhere more secluded.

He smiled down at her as they waited for the set to begin. He’d have his secluded time with her. Once this set was over, he’d take her out into the garden, into one of Damian’s leafy bowers. He’d kiss her and then he’d slip his ring on her finger, making this betrothal official.

He could hardly wait.

Chapter 10

The orchestra began the opening strains of a waltz and Anne’s stomach sank—before it leapt into her throat as she felt Mr. Parker-Roth’s arm slip around her back.

She looked up at him as she placed her hand on his shoulder. She could see the very faint shadow of his beard and the sweeping curve of his lashes over his clear blue eyes; she breathed in his scent, a mix of wine and soap, linen and man; she felt the strength of his arm and the broad solidity of his shoulder.

She’d been closer to him the times he’d kissed her, but in some odd way this seemed almost more intimate, perhaps because they were in public, with everyone watching them. As they moved through the opening steps, the music wove its magic around her, heightening her feeling that she’d stepped into a fairy tale with a happily-ever-after ending.

She had to say something, anything, to break this hot, drugging spell. Her voice wavered slightly.

“I should warn you I’ve never waltzed in company.” Damn. She shouldn’t have said that, but it was true. Worse, she’d never waltzed with a man before. The only time she’d performed the dance was at home, helping Evie learn the steps. Waltzing with Mr. Parker-Roth was a very different experience. He was so much taller and larger and harder than she. “I will probably tread all over your feet.”

Mr. Parker-Roth chuckled. “I’m willing to risk it. You’re doing fine.”

It was a wonder she was, she was so on edge. “I suspect your toes haven’t been flattened only because you are an excellent dancer.”

The right corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. “Oh, no, I assure you I’ve had my feet trampled by any number of society misses.” He turned her so his hand slid over her back to her waist and she sucked in her breath. “Why haven’t you waltzed before, Anne?” One of his brows rose skeptically. “Don’t tell me the waltz wasn’t danced in your neighborhood, because I won’t believe you. Most of the
ton
haven’t considered it scandalous for years. Even the patronesses at Almack’s approved it long ago.”

She flushed. The waltz
had
been considered too shocking ten years ago, the last time she’d danced in public. “The waltz is danced at home, just not by me.”

“Why not?”

Why wouldn’t he let the subject be? He must be able to discern she didn’t wish to discuss it. She glanced at the other dancers and saw Evie smiling up at Nicholas. Her heart swelled with pride, distracting her for a moment from her own problems. Evie was so beautiful tonight, she was sure to be a success. It was almost worth all the worry and discomfort to see her shining in a London ballroom.

“Why not?” Mr. Parker-Roth asked again. “You aren’t lame or disabled; quite the contrary. You have natural grace. You’re a beautiful woman. You must be very popular at home.”

The man was incredibly persistent. “I was very popular with the hostesses. They counted on me to keep the older guests company.”

“So you were nursemaid to the ancients? Did you enjoy hob-nobbing with the deaf and toothless?”

“No. I mean yes.” She laughed. “You are being intentionally difficult. No, I wasn’t a nursemaid at all. I was happy to be helpful—and, yes, I did enjoy the rational conversation of the more mature members of our society.”

“Hmm.” His eyes captured hers—she had never before appreciated how much eye contact was involved in the waltz. “That still doesn’t answer the question of why you weren’t waltzing. Surely no hostess would expect you to stay the whole time amongst the elderly, or, even if she did, the men of the neighborhood wouldn’t let you languish there.”

“But everyone at home knows I don’t dance.”

“You do dance. You’re dancing now.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Only to avoid an awkward, likely quite unpleasant, conversation with Lord and Lady Knightsdale.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgment of her point. “I grant you, it did seem an excellent time to retreat. Emma can be a dashed terrier if she scents a bit of mystery.”

Ha! He could give Lady Knightsdale a few lessons on doggedness himself. “Then I will try to avoid her in the future.”

He snorted. “Good luck with that. There’s no dodging Emma if she’s determined to get to the bottom of something.”

Nerves twisted in Anne’s gut. The Season was going to be torture with everyone pulling at her. She looked longingly at the chaperone’s corner—and noticed all the chaperones were looking back at her and whispering. Was her hem torn? She glanced down to be sure all was in order.

“Emma can be annoying,” Mr. Parker-Roth was saying, “but her heart’s in the right place, so I generally forgive her.” He grinned. “Or leave the country. That’s one of the splendid things about my expeditions—I can get away from an overzealous family. If you think Emma is bad, wait until you meet my mother.”

Mother?
Her nerves exploded into full-blown alarm, crashing up from her stomach to her head and producing a sudden throbbing ache. She hadn’t considered his mother.

“Your mother isn’t planning to come to Town for the Season, is she?” If she were, Anne swore she’d find some way to flee back to the country. Clorinda would just have to step up and fulfill her duties, or Georgiana and Papa would have to drag themselves back from their blasted antiquities.

“I doubt it, not with a new grandson to dote on. I suspect even her artist friends won’t be enough of an attraction to lure her to London this Season. She likely commissioned Nick to purchase all her brushes and paints. He’s a bit of an artist, too, so she can trust him to get exactly what she wants.”

“Really? I will have to ask him which shops he favors.” Dear Lord, it wasn’t just the chaperones staring at her, it was everyone. She’d assumed—obviously naïvely—that once the dancing started, people would lose interest in her.

“Do you paint?” Mr. Parker-Roth asked.

“Yes.” She would just try to ignore them. “I’ve no great skill, but I find it relaxing. I particularly enjoy painting flowers and plants.”

“Ah. So you have an interest in botany?”

“I do, though I can’t say I’m a scholar of the subject.” It was hard to ignore the number of females glaring at her as if they’d like to do her an injury. “I’ve even read some of your travel accounts in
The Gentleman’s Magazine
. I think it’s a shame—more than a shame—women can’t organize their own expeditions.”

He laughed. “My mother’s friend Agatha Witherspoon and her companion Prudence Doddington-Prinz do—they often go off on foreign jaunts, not that I would recommend it. When we’re married, you can come with me, at least until our first child is born.” His blue eyes held an oddly possessive, protective look. Her stomach shivered with . . . what?

Not with anticipation of traveling to foreign climes and painting exotic vegetation. Oh, no. It was something else entirely she looked forward to—

Children. His children and hers . . .

But he would be gone, searching for plants all over the world, leaving her in England to raise those children herself. She knew first hand the pain of having parents who were always somewhere else.

The orchestra played the last note. They were near the windows to the gardens. A cool breeze slid over her arms.

“Would you care to stroll outside for a little while, Anne? You look a bit flushed.”

She was flushed both from the exertion of the dance and the turmoil of her thoughts. “I shouldn’t.”

“But will you?” He leaned closer. “We are betrothed.”

“No, we’re not.”

He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “We are. The announcement will be in all the papers tomorrow.”

Damn. How had her life got so out of control so suddenly ? “I should look for Evie.” She glanced around for her sister and encountered a particularly acid glare coming from a beautiful, raven-haired woman in a dress even redder than her own. The lady looked as if she were deciding how best to separate Anne’s head from her shoulders. Heavens! Who was she?

“Evie is fine. There, see? She’s talking to Nick; it looks like he’s introduced her to one of his Oxford friends.” Mr. Parker-Roth put her hand on his arm. “Come, Anne. A stroll in the foliage won’t hurt you. It’s stuffy in here.”

“I already have a heaping serving of scandal on my plate.”

“It’s not scandalous to go for a stroll outside during a ball. It wouldn’t be even if we weren’t betrothed.”

True, if a stroll was all Mr. Parker-Roth intended, but something about the look—the heat—in his eyes made her think he had other activities planned.

“No, I—” She glanced over at the nasty, dark-haired beauty again. Good. The woman had found another male to interest her. She was talking to—

Brentwood. Oh, dear God.

She grabbed Mr. Parker-Roth’s arm and dragged him into the darkness.

Stephen didn’t know why Anne had changed her mind about the garden, but he wasn’t arguing. He stepped onto the terrace, and relief slid over him with the night breeze. Damn, he’d swear he had a target painted on his back tonight. He’d half expected to feel a knife slice between his shoulder blades during that waltz. He stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders slightly. Even women he hardly knew had been looking daggers at him.

“How refreshing,” Anne said. She glanced at the two other couples who’d sought the evening air and almost ran toward the farthest, darkest part of the terrace. Interesting. He followed along in her wake. When she reached the steps to the garden, she hurried down them. Even better.

“Take my arm, Anne. The path can be a bit uneven.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.” She looked over her shoulder. Did she fear a stab in the back, too? He’d hoped she hadn’t noticed, but she’d been getting any number of killing looks as well.

He covered her hand with his as they strolled down the gravel path. It was quiet here in the garden. Damian had ordered lanterns hung from the trees so his guests wouldn’t stumble, but fortunately no one else had yet decided to go exploring. They would be the first—and he knew exactly where he was headed.

The music faded and the garden grew darker the farther they walked from the house.

Anne looked back again and stumbled. He caught her. “Careful.”

“Yes, of course. I’m not usually so clumsy. I”—she started to look again, but stopped herself—“I should pay more attention to where I’m putting my feet.”

“I won’t let any harm come to you, my love.” He wouldn’t let her fall—and he wouldn’t let the harpies hurt her either.

Maria had been the worst. Damn it, she couldn’t have expected him to dance attendance on her; he’d ended their connection two months ago, when she’d tried to trap him into marrying her at Baron Greyham’s house party.

He still couldn’t believe she’d had the effrontery to try such a trick. She’d been a widow for five years. She knew very well how the game was played. She was a complete lunatic if she’d actually thought he’d marry her. Even if he’d had an interest—which he most certainly hadn’t—he’d have wagered his yearly income she’d have rejected him. He’d always thought she meant to move up the peerage ladder—poor dead Noughton had been a mere baron. And her newest flame bore that theory out. Why else would she have taken up with the Marquis of Brentwood?

Now
there
was a match made in hell. Maria was beautiful, but spoiled and demanding; Brentwood was a nasty bully, balding, portly, and sneaky. Maria must have brought him—Damian would never have invited the blackguard. In fact, Damian would not have invited Maria—it was thanks to him and Jo Stephen had escaped her clutches in February. She and Brentwood must have sneaked in.

Damian had let the vegetation grow a little wilder here at the far reaches of his garden. The trees crowded the path so Stephen and Anne had to walk very close together. He grinned as he slipped his arm around her to guide her. He might be the King of Hearts, but Damian was the Prince. The earl knew to a nicety how to create an atmosphere conducive to seduction.

“It was very generous of Lord and Lady Kenderly to include us at the last minute,” Anne said. She looked over her shoulder once more.

“They were happy to do so.” He directed her down a side path to a delightfully concealing willow tree. “Why do you keep looking behind us?”

“What?” Anne started to look again, but stopped herself. “Oh, er, I was admiring the earl’s house. It’s so beautiful all lit up with candles, it’s almost magical.”

He laughed. “You’re a terrible liar.”

If there’d been enough light, he was certain he’d see a bright flush spread over Anne’s face. “I’m not . . . that is, I’m . . . well, it’s . . . it
is
very pretty.” She turned around to show him and finally realized the view of the house was completely obscured by vegetation. “Oh.”

He drew her under the willow. No one could see them now, but enough moonlight filtered through the branches that he could make out her expression. “Are you anxious, dear heart?” He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “Don’t be. I said I wouldn’t let anyone harm you.”

She made a noise, something between a gasp and a giggle, and shook her head. She took a quick step back.

“Eep!” She wobbled and started to fall, grabbing for him at the same time he caught her around the waist, hauling her up against his chest.

“Are you all right?”

She clung to him. “Yes,” she whispered. “I stepped on my hem.” She looked up at him.

Her lips were so close. Her body was plastered up against his, and her light, lemon scent clouded his thoughts. His hands slipped over her satin dress, over her back, her waist, her rounded hips, urging her even closer, settling her against his most insistent ache.

Celeste was a witch. She’d meant to drive him mad with lust when she’d made this garment. She was probably laughing right now, imagining him battling his male urges.

Let Celeste laugh. He had better things to think about.

“Anne,” he murmured, brushing her cheek with his lips.

“Ah.” He heard her breath catch as he traveled on to her jaw. Her hands slid up his chest to his neck; her body, all soft and feminine, collapsed bonelessly into him. “Oh.”

He smiled against her skin, a surge of lust and protectiveness flooding him. She had given up fighting and had put herself in his hands, literally. His heart—and another organ—swelled. He would not betray her trust. He would love her and care for her; wed her and keep her safe; give her children . . .