“I do not know,” her voice dropped. She sounded so defeated. “None of this makes sense. All I know is that marriage between us is nonsensical. I cannot do it.”
“Forgive me, but I am not sure you have much choice.”
“I beg your pardon.” The laughter was gone.
“You are more than welcome to leave.” This was the moment. He refused to push her further. His own needs were not worth the pain that seeped from her. If she did not surrender he would find some other plan to meet his needs. He could, however, not send her off to face the world alone. “I will even supply the money for the hack if you are without ready funds. Perhaps you could even persuade me to part with coach fare back to your mother. That, at least, would seem logical.”
“But, I cannot.”
“You have not yet said why, but I will trust your reasons are not lacking.”
“Then, you’ll give me the money to go away, after all?” She turned to face him. He could hear the edge of hope in her voice. “It will not be much. I can live simply. Just until after Rose’s confinement.”
This would be the last chance. He should stop it now, but his voice answered even if as his mind turned away, “No.”
“But –”
“Your choice is simple. Your mother or me.”
Marguerite stared down at her hands, clenched tight in her lap. Any sensible girl would accept his offer, she knew. And she was sensible. So why couldn’t she say yes? It would be the prudent thing to do. Even if he changed his mind and withdrew his offer later, surely he would be duty bound to help her.
But, no, she couldn’t do it. Bile rose in her throat. She had run away to avoid one proposal – if one could call her mother’s demand a proposal.
“Mr. Clark and I have decided the two of you will marry. The first banns will be read Sunday.”
No, that did not sound like a proposal.
Tristan’s offer had not been a proposal, either.
No. She couldn’t do it, no matter how desperate she was, no matter how he might attract her senses. Marriage to Tristan might have been her dream once, but never under these circumstances. Why would she flee one marriage just to tangle herself in another? She might be insane, but it was time she took some control of her life.
She wouldn’t be in this situation if . . . No, she was not going to think of that. She had to remain focused on the present.
Maybe, if he’d been the Tristan she remembered from the garden, maybe then she could have faced the risk – but she would not tie herself to this stranger who looked through her and planned as if she had no say.
She would take the offered coach fare and leave. She would not have to return home. Marguerite stared back into Tristan’s quicksilver eyes. It would not be much money, but other women must have survived on less. She wrung her hands again. Her fingers were so cold.
But Marguerite knew that she was not other women. She had never done anything but help Mama with the household. She was more naïve at twenty than most women were at fifteen. She doubted knowing how to devise a menu would provide much support.
She did have her needlework. Being a seamstress could not be too hard.
“Are you going to give me an answer?” Tristan’s commanding voice sliced through her thoughts.
“Yes. I mean, no. I cannot marry you.” She wished her tone did not quiver so at the end.
“A pity.” For a moment she thought he would give in, grant her the ability to leave. Then his face firmed, but his voice sounded off. “I was anticipating adding another cuckoo to the tree.”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. Just mumbling my broken heart.” He sounded so sarcastic. Where was the man she had known on that one magical night?
“Stop it.” She stood, hoping her legs would hold her. “Just give me my fare and I will trouble you no more.”
“I will have Winters fetch it.”
Tristan stared at her hard. Was that acceptance and perhaps relief she saw cross his face? Then he stepped back, and turned to the fire.
“Or perhaps I should send for Wulf and place this mess on his shoulders. What about the father of your child? We have not spoken much of him.” His hands dropped back to his sides and he stepped away.