right now, you are not yourself, not thinking clearly.”
In truth, his eyes had never looked more lucid.
She began to shiver. His will was so strong, stronger than hers, and he was offering her her heart’s desire. But it would be a disaster.
She turned her back to him, desperate to gather her scattered wits. “What about the scandal it would cause?” she said. “What about your brother? If we married, it would taint him, you said so yourself. Your heirs would be shamed—are these reasons not true anymore?”
“Why don’t you let me take care of these things,” came his bemused voice. “Your part is simply to say yes.”
Say yes. Say yes.
“Tomorrow,” she said hoarsely. “Why don’t we talk about it tomorrow.”
“Turn around and look at me,” he said, “and I shall tell you that tomorrow will not make a difference. Nor will next week.”
She whirled, his stubborn insistence on the impossible enraging her. “You cannot marry the daughter of a vicar. One day you might wake up and look at the shambles of your life, and nothing I am could ever compensate you for it.”
His gaze turned assessing and merciless. “You don’t trust me,” he said flatly. “You don’t trust that I know my own mind.”
“You’ve just looked death in the face. I imagine it skews a man’s perspective.”
His eyes were hard and gray as granite. “Or it finally puts the perspective right. I am not a fickle boy, Annabelle. Don’t punish us both for the boys you have known in the past.”
She flinched as the barb hit its mark, ammunition she herself had handed him in confidence. No, she must not think of their time wrapped in each other’s arms in his bed, cocooned in intimate bliss . . .
Somewhere, Mrs. Forsyth’s dog was barking still, rattled and furious.
She pressed her palms to her pounding temples. “I can’t,” she whispered. “We can’t.”
“Annabelle.” His voice was ragged. “I didn’t know I was looking for you until we met. Had we never crossed paths, I might have lived and died a content and sensible man, but now I know what I can feel, and it cannot be undone, I cannot pretend that what we have is a folly that will fade. I can choose to live with a sense of loss over you until the day I die, or to live with you come what may. These are my choices, a life with you, or an existence without you, and as with all choices, it is a matter of paying a price. I know that what we could have is worth anything.”
Every word hit her heart like a knife, rapid, dull impacts that would soon bloom into a sharp pain and bleed her dry. How calm he sounded in his madness, when her own sanity was crumbling rapidly. She could have lost him forever today. Her every instinct urged her to be in his arms and never let him go again.
She struggled to draw her next breath. “We can’t.”
Her lifeless tone made him pause.
For the first time, she sensed a flicker of uncertainty in him. “You are serious,” he said slowly. “You are rejecting my proposal.”
“Yes,” she said, her throat aching with the effort.
He went stark white. An agonizing feeling came over her, rendering her mute.
Honor would forbid him to break an engagement, even if made under duress. Tomorrow, or next week, he would thank her for not having maneuvered himself into an untenable position, he would.
“You know,” he said, almost conversationally, “I’m beginning to think you would refuse to be with me in any capacity. And I think it has nothing to do with your morals, or my reputation, but with your own cowardice.”
The words stung her from her paralysis like a slap. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You are afraid. Of a man managing you for a change, and I’m not referring to husbandly rule. In fact, I reckon you could exist quite well under draconian rules, because there is a fortress at your very core no one can breach with force. But I have breached it already; you have given yourself to me. Why not let me make an honest woman out of you now?”
Because I love you more than my own happiness.
Renewed determination was etched in every line of his face, and she understood that as long as he thought she loved him, he would not abandon this insane scheme. He’d sacrifice everything. He’d disgrace himself, become an object of ridicule among his peers, in the press. His home, his