imagine what you wish to say to me.” That last bit said in a sarcastic tone as she rolled her eyes. Because of course she knew what he was going to say to her—he’d sent her flowers, for goodness’ sake, he’d danced with her, surely he deserved to have her hand in marriage—not to mention her enormous dowry—for those kindnesses.
Men. She shook her head.
“Don’t say no straightaway, my lady,” Lord Brunley began, misunderstanding her gesture. He took her arm and led her to the sofa, where he indicated she should sit.
She did. She might as well be comfortable as she planned her response.
There was a small fireplace to the left of where she was seated, and the fire tools—brush, shovel, tong, and most importantly a fireplace poker—were within stretching distance of her hand.
Excellent.
There was a decanter of something on the small table to her left as well. She couldn’t see what liquid was inside, but she could see it was half full, and the decanter itself appeared to be made of a sturdy glass, not at all delicate.
“You know I have long admired you, my lady,” Lord Brunley said, getting down on one knee on the carpet.
“I know no such thing.”
He blinked. Likely not expecting that response.
“And my dearest wish is that you will accept my hand in marriage. That you will agree to be my wife.”
“Thank you, and I appreciate your kind offer,” she said, “but I am not convinced we would suit.”
He clutched her skirt, still kneeling. “You must allow me to persuade you otherwise, my lady. My dearest Ana Maria.”
He tugged on her skirts then, making her tilt forward a bit before she steadied herself.
“No, my lord. No.”
“Surely you cannot mean that ‘no,’” he replied, giving her what he likely thought was an irresistible smile.
“I assure you, I do,” she said, twitching her skirts out of his grasp as she rose from the sofa, leaning to snag the poker from the set as she stood. His eyes widened, and he scrambled up from his kneeling position.
“You would not—”
A childhood learning from female servants about what to do in case a gentleman got overly familiar would not be in vain, it appeared, though Ana Maria had yet to test her education in a real-life setting.
“You would not,” he repeated. “Because if you do, it will come out that you and I were alone together, and the scandal will require that you marry me.” He held his hands out in supplication. “Why not just skip the violence and agree to terms now? I promise I will be a tolerably pleasant husband.”
She wrinkled her nose at his words. She did not want tolerably pleasant. If anything, she wanted the opposite—intolerably agonizing, so much passion and emotion that one could not bear to live with it, even as one could not bear to live without it.
A walking oxymoron, indeed.
“I will not be blackmailed,” she replied. She used the poker to gesture toward the door they’d entered from. “Unlock that, exit quietly, and I will follow. Nobody need know what happened here. But I will not marry you.”
Instead of retreating, however, he stepped toward her. She’d have to take more desperate measures, since she would not be bullied into marriage, for goodness’ sake. She brandished the poker up over her head, making his mouth drop open in surprise. I have more surprises for you if you continue, she thought. He reached for her weapon, but lost his footing, instead hurtling over the sofa and onto the small table with the decanter of liquid, which crashed onto the ground with a deafening sound, spilling brandy—because she could see and smell it now, it was most definitely brandy—over both of them, staining the skirts of her beautiful silver gown and splashing up onto her face.
He was on the floor staring up at her, his pleasantly handsome face also now covered in brandy, and she couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the sight.
At which he scowled, scrambling up to his feet, starting to approach her with what he probably thought was a threatening manner.
She still held the poker, however, so she lowered the tip of it enough to hook it into the top of his waistcoat, then pushed him toward the door. “No.”
He opened his mouth as though to argue again, but she shook her head. “No,” she said more loudly.
He snapped his mouth shut, then turned and began to walk to the door. Only to reel back as the door snapped open, revealing