“You obviously didn’t think I’d come after you, Mrs. Preston,” he said in a deceptively casual tone as he took a seat much too close to her. “But then, you don’t know me very well.” She immediately tried to get up, only to find his hand on her arm was more than enough to prevent her from moving. Daring to glare and praying he couldn’t feel the way she was shaking, she answered bravely, “No, I don’t. And I’m not Mrs. Preston, thank you very much.” “Ah, but you are, my dear, you are.” At her distinctly puzzled look, he explained, “My Mother, who is a good natured meddler but a meddler none the less, having secured my admittedly casual permission to find me a mate decided to take matters into her own hands when she found out that you weren’t going to go through with it, and had us married by proxy.” Without releasing her arm, he reached into his vest pocket and produced a folded piece of parchment that looked a lot like what she’d been using to steady her table, which he dropped into her lap.
