leaned closer the better to emphasize her point. “Consider this. What sort of lady would I be if I willingly married a man coerced into it? How do you imagine that would make
He frowned. “I didn’t say. .” He shifted, faintly grimaced. “You don’t need to be willing in the sense of turning cartwheels — you just need to accept it’s what has to be, as I have.”
“No.”
“We don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, we do!” She glared at him.
Brows rising, expression mildly supercilious, he stared steadily back.
She exhaled through her teeth and faced forward. “You’re not thinking clearly.”
Damn him! She’d assumed that despite their intimacy, he would continue to see her as far too young for him and, when she offered him an honorable way out, that he’d be hedonistic enough to admit they wouldn’t suit and grasp the chance to return to and continue his self-centered rakehell’s life.
Turning back, she met his eyes, tried again. “You don’t want to marry me — I don’t want to marry you. And there’s no reason we need to wed because I intend to devote my life to taking care of homeless children, and I don’t need a husband, much less a socially sanctioned, spotless reputation for that.”
She couldn’t marry him. Especially not him.
If she did, he’d break her heart — nothing was more certain, more written in stone. He would break her heart because he didn’t love her back.
She pressed her lips tight; inside she felt like screaming. The only way out of this miserable mess was to say
His eyes narrowed fractionally; she’d hit a nerve.
“That’s where you belong.” She tipped her head southward. “In London, prowling the ballrooms and the boudoirs. Being leg-shackled to me won’t be in your best interests. If it’s honor that’s keeping you arguing, then I hereby absolve you of all obligation.” She hauled in a breath, held it, then let it out with, “I’m not that desperate to marry that I’ll allow anyone to hold a gun to your head and force a marriage upon us both.”
She pushed to her feet, looked down into his eyes. “It’s not right for us to marry. Accept that. .” She waited as, pushing back his chair, he slowly, gracefully, rose, too. Looking up, keeping her eyes on his, she continued, “Accept that there’s no reason for you to remain here — you can leave whenever it suits you. Regardless of all and anything else, I am not going to hold you back from your life, nor am I going to turn aside from mine, just because society thinks we should.”
With a curt nod, she went to swing away.
Breckenridge reached for her arm, halted her. Immediately had to fight to gentle his hold.
As he met her widening eyes, he continued to battle, as he had throughout their exchange, to subdue his inner self, the primitive male who knew she was his, irrevocably his, and had no reservations about making that plain. Keeping all sign of his inner snarling fury from his face, from his hands and eyes, demanded every ounce of self-control he had; he didn’t have brain enough left to counter her arguments.
Not without risking his leash slipping and letting her see far too much.
He couldn’t afford to forget she was a Cynster, and therefore very far from slow-witted. One slip. . and she might glimpse enough to start wondering.
To start scheming.
Yet he couldn’t let her go.
“If we marry. . there’s no reason you can’t follow your. . vocation. With my wealth behind you, you’ll be able to be much more effective in—”
“No.”
His lips thinned. “If you married me, you’d be much more successful.”
“Perhaps.” She lifted her chin, met his gaze directly. “But not even for that will I marry you.”
Despite his control, he felt his face harden. “Why not?”
She studied his eyes. A long moment passed, then she quietly said, “If you don’t know the answer, then that’s proof we shouldn’t wed.”
His inner male roared. “What is this?” He couldn’t keep the growl from his voice. “Some secret test?”
Her eyes flashed at his tone; with a swift jerk she pulled her arm free. Inclined her head in clear and haughty warning. “I’m going to spend the morning with Catriona. I’ll see you at luncheon.”
She turned and walked out of the hall.
He kept his feet planted and watched her go. Frustration welled. Secret test, indeed. The test, it seemed — the challenge before him — was to weave a net of social compulsions and seduction, then use it to capture her, tie her up, and drag her to the altar. . his primitive self liked the thought.
Savored it.
He would, he swore, do it — tie her up with passion and duty if need be, and marry her, stubbornness, willfulness, and all.
And — the true challenge — he would do it all without discussing or alluding in any way to what he truly felt for her.
To the feelings he had no intention of owning to, of ever letting out into the light of day.
Even for a rake — perhaps especially for a rake — some acts were simply too dangerous to contemplate.
Heather followed the stone stairs down to the dungeon below the manor. Whether it had ever functioned as a dungeon, she didn’t know, but it was now Catriona’s workroom. As she’d expected, she found her cousin-by-marriage there, busily compounding one of her remedies.
Bunches of herbs dangled from the massive blackened beams that crossed the ceiling, sending aromatic scents wafting in the warm air currents rising from the fireplace in which a small fire crackled and hissed. The chamber was large, lit by small windows high in the walls, and also by lamps burning fine oil. Algaria sometimes worked alongside Catriona but these days was more often to be found in the nursery, atoning for past sins by watching over Richard and Catriona’s children, especially Lucilla, the next Lady of the Vale.
Meanwhile, the present Lady of the Vale was standing at one end of the large central table busily grinding something in a mortar. She glanced up as Heather halted at the other end of the table, and smiled. “I thought you’d be by.”
Pulling up a tall stool, Heather plopped down on it. “Breckenridge is pressuring me to marry him.”
Catriona quirked one fine brow. “What did you expect? You and he have been traveling alone together for. . how long? Eleven days?”
Heather thought back. “No — we weren’t traveling together until we escaped from the others, so it’s only been three days.” She grimaced. “Not that that matters.”
“Three days, three nights.” Catriona shrugged, glanced again at Heather’s face. “You had to have known Breckenridge would do the honorable thing.”
Heather saw no reason to equivocate. “I have absolutely no intention of marrying him.”
“Hmm. . he is a rather daunting proposition.” Catriona paused to examine the contents of her mortar, then wielded the pestle again. “But if he’s too much for you to take on, then while I would be the last to claim a complete understanding of the ton and all its ways, given yours and Breckenridge’s respective backgrounds, I gather an acceptable alternative would be for you to marry some other gentleman, perhaps some second son nearer your own age, more gentle-tempered and meek, some mild-mannered and suitable suitor who was willing to overlook your abduction and its outcome — meaning the time you’ve spent alone with the ton’s foremost rake — someone agreeable to marrying you, presumably for your position and wealth, thus resurrecting your reputation.” Catriona frowned. “Mind you, I’ve never quite grasped just how and why a marriage can repair an otherwise irretrievably damaged reputation.”
Heather barely heard Catriona’s last comment; she was too immersed in horror at the vision Catriona’s earlier words had evoked. “It’s not. .” She blinked, strengthened her voice. “While I have no wish to marry Breckenridge, the notion of marrying some milksop who was willing to overlook. .” She focused on Catriona. “That’s an even worse prospect.”
“Ah. I thought perhaps you might have had some gentleman in mind.”
“No! It’s not that.” Heather dragged in a breath. “The truth is. . I’ve decided that marriage is not for
