“Are you sure we should end it?”
“Yes. The chance of discovery is simply too great and the ramifications would be too dire.”
“What about me? What about what I want?”
“What about you?” she gently replied. “You’ll be here for a few weeks, then you’re leaving. When you go, I can’t have my world in tatters.”
“I would never hurt you.”
“I realize that, but if we were found out—which we eventually would be—catastrophe would rain down on me whether you intended it or not.”
They stood together, silent, miserable, and she held her breath in anticipation. If he really desired her, they were at the spot where he could fix their predicament. The remedy for carnal activity was matrimony. It was the usual solution. It was the perfect and quick answer to their sizzling attraction.
He wasn’t a fool. He was aware of how to rectify their situation, and while she’d resolved to never wed again, she wouldn’t mind wedding him. Oscar would never consent to a match, but if Stephen was willing to support her, Oscar’s opinion was irrelevant.
She was an adult. Stephen could propose, and she could accept. They could obtain a Special License, and in a few days, they could be legitimately snuggled in his bed as husband and wife. They could stay there forever if he wished.
But apparently, he didn’t wish it. Or perhaps, he wasn’t in the mood to be shackled. Why would he be? As he kept pointing out, he was an earl’s brother. He could pick any rich girl in the kingdom for his bride. He dabbled with women of Jo’s class for a different sort of role entirely.
Plus, she always conveniently forgot that she was barren, and a man of Stephen’s status would want a dozen children. Even if he’d consider choosing a common wife, he would never choose her.
“Well, then”—he stepped away from her—“I guess this is goodbye.”
“I guess it is.”
“I’m glad I met you,” he said.
“I’m glad too.”
“If you ever need anything, let me know. I’ll assist you if I can.”
“You’re a decent man, Stephen Price.”
“I try to be. I have to work doubly hard to make up for my brother’s failings.”
Without another word, he yanked away. He jumped on his horse and trotted off.
Jo tarried, her heart breaking, until he was swallowed up by the trees.
She nearly screamed for him to come back, but she didn’t. It was wrong to lust after him. She’d been chasing a dream. A pretty dream, but a dangerous one all the same.
She headed for home, her legs weak, her bones rubbery, and there was a ringing in her ears, as if she’d been struck deaf. In a fog, she moved through the village, mumbling greetings to people she passed, but not recognizing any of them.
Finally, she staggered to the vicarage. There was a horse tethered out front, so they had a guest, but she couldn’t bear the notion of serving tea and playing hostess. She almost spun and ran, but if Oscar was watching out the window, she didn’t dare. Where could she hide anyway?
She went inside and hung her cloak on the hook. Very quietly, she tiptoed by the parlor, praying she was invisible and could scurry past without being summoned. But her luck was all bad.
“Josephine,” her brother said, “there you are. Please join us.”
She forced herself to enter the room. “Hello, Oscar.”
“Mr. Mason has paid us a visit.”
Jo turned to the man she loathed so deeply, the man who had caused so much misery for so many.
He and Oscar were fast friends, always huddling behind closed doors, but Jo was furious whenever Oscar let him in the house. It was a slap in the face to all those who Mason had harmed.
“Hello, Mr. Mason.” She seated herself in the chair across. “How kind of you to stop by.”
“Mrs. Merrick, I insist you call me Benedict.”
Unnerved, she glanced at her brother.
“I have great news,” Oscar gushed.
“What is it?”
“Mr. Mason and I have discussed the possibility of his courting you, and I’ve given my permission.”
“Court me?”
“Yes.”
She felt as if she’d fallen into an abandoned mine pit, that she was tumbling down and down, and when she landed at the bottom, she would be crushed to death.
Courted by Benedict Mason? Was Oscar mad? Why hadn’t he asked her opinion before springing the decision on her? How was she to respond? No, thank you?
Both men were grinning, and Mason was puffed up like a rooster, so she had to maneuver very, very carefully.
“I’m honored,” she murmured.
“I knew you would be,” Oscar said. “That’s why I spoke to him about you.”
“I appreciate you thinking of me.”
“He’ll come by on Sunday and escort you to church. The two of you can sit together. Afterward, he’s accepted my invitation to Sunday dinner.”
“How . . . lovely.”
“Now then”—Oscar pointed to the tea tray—“would you pour for us?”
Jo managed to stand, but she was off balance and dizzy, and she clasped her chair to steady herself.
“Actually, Oscar,” she said, “I’m not feeling very well. Would you mind terribly if I retired?”
Oscar scowled. “It’s nothing dire, I hope.”
“No. I just have the worst headache. I need to lie down.”
Oscar might have refused, but Mason intervened. “Certainly, we excuse you.”
Jo nodded. “I’m grateful.”
She started out as he added, “I’ll see you Sunday morning.”
“I can’t wait.”
She climbed the stairs to her room, as a wave of nausea swept over her. She grabbed the chamber pot under the bed and vomited up the contents of her stomach.
Nicholas stood by the window, staring out at the park. The moon was up, so he had a good view of his property that stretched to the horizon, but the sight brought him no satisfaction. He could have been gazing at any piece of land.
It was very late, the house silent, and he might have been the last man on earth.
He’d spent his life, caring for Stephen, but now,
