Nicholas - By Grace Burrowes Page 0,39

passed between us,” Nick said. “Very truly sorry, because it makes what I have to say much more difficult.”

His lapse in self-restraint also left him feeling stupid, disgusted with himself, and bewildered, particularly when he’d never once in all his years of disporting with women lost his head like that.

“Stop dithering, Nicholas. I am not given to strong hysterics.”

Dithering. He was becoming skilled at dithering. Perhaps he was the one at risk for strong hysterics.

“Promise me something first.” Nick laced his fingers through hers, hoping she’d slap him before she tossed his offer back in his face. “Promise me you won’t reject what I say out of hand, but take a few days to think about it first. Talk it over with Della, with your brothers, even with Ethan or Val, or my horse, but don’t just toss it aside as a foolish notion.”

She studied their joined hands, making Nick aware of calluses on his palms and fingers a gentleman wouldn’t have. “I’m listening, Nicholas.”

He loved hearing her say his name, even in that starchy, wary, put-upon tone. “Your promise first.”

“I promise.”

“I believe your father, or Wilton,” Nick corrected himself, “truly wishes you harm, Leah. When I discussed your situation with your brother Trenton, Lord Amherst, he characterized Wilton’s dealings with you as not sane.”

She gave him the barest nod of agreement, and her fingers closed more tightly around his.

“I can offer you safety as my wife, but that’s all I can offer you. You will have safety, a place in Society if you want it. My family will accept you, and my title and wealth will be yours to share.”

She swiveled her head to regard him, confusion and hurt lurking in her eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“You won’t have me,” Nick said, hating himself, hating the way the hurt gained ground at those words.

“What does that mean?”

“We will have a white marriage, Leah,” Nick said gently. “I do not want children, not with you. The only way to absolutely ensure I have no legitimate issue is to abstain from relations with you.”

“Relations?” She made the word sound putrid.

“Coitus,” Nick clarified. “I will be your husband, not your lover.”

“Ever?” Leah’s expression was suffused with confusion. “I truly don’t understand.”

“I did not expect you would,” Nick said on a sigh. At the present moment, his own comprehension was dodgy at best. “And I did not want to put you in this position, but it seems the best I can do.”

“But you…” She waved a hand toward the wall, a world of accusation in the gesture.

“I desire you, yes.” Nick’s middle finger traced the edge of her hairline. He hadn’t planned to touch her, though she didn’t stop him. “I’m sorry for that. A gentleman would have kept his prurient interest to himself.”

Now she swatted his hand away. “It didn’t feel prurient.”

Nick sighed and wrapped her hand in both of his. “I am sorry for the way I acted just now. It was badly done of me.”

Terribly, horribly, egregiously badly done. Nick did not let his gaze stray to the decanter, but it was calling to him loudly.

“I am confused, Nicholas. You desire me, but it shames you. You want to protect me, but you do not want me to be your countess in truth.”

Argument was good. Argument would give her some purchase on her self-possession. “Firstly,” Nick said, “I want to keep you safe from Wilton’s schemes. Marriage will do that. Secondly, I want to keep you safe from me. Abstaining will do that.”

She folded her arms, the drawbridge going up on the citadel of her dignity. “What on earth can you mean?”

Nick took her right hand, brought it to his lips, kissed her knuckles, and then tucked her hand back into her lap—all without the least clue why he’d provoke her further.

“I did kill my mother,” he said, rising and turning his back. “No woman should have to bear my children. I’m larger than my father, and you are not larger than my mother.”

“That hardly means we’d have to abstain. We’d have to take precautions.”

Nick was quiet for a long time, wishing to hell and heaven both she’d just accept his proposal and let them get on with the business—and how did a decent woman know of precautions, anyway?

“That’s not it, is it?” Leah guessed, crossing the room to face him with a swish of skirts signaling unstoppable female determination. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

She deserved the truth, but silence on this issue had been a habit for so long Nick

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