“Unless you’ve changed your mind about wedding me.”
Selena had no words to offer.
A kiss was not nearly enough grounds for her to make such a decision. Even though her infatuation might once again have sprouted, and she couldn’t help herself teasing him, it might also once again go away. What would happen then?
Besides, shouldn’t a proposal at least be romantic? How could a man who read romance novels treat a topic such as this as casually as one conversing about the weather over tea?
Warrick gave a curt nod. “Then it’s settled.”
Selena stared in shock as he strode to the door. Was he truly going to cut ties just like that?
“This is what you want?” Their entire conversation had been a mix of teasing and testing each other’s boundaries. She hadn’t really taken his suggestion of distance seriously.
“This is what you need.” He cast over his shoulder at her, and once again, she caught a flash of veiled emotion in his face. “What we all need,” he finished before stalking from the library.
Just like that.
It was done.
Over.
She turned to her brother. “Are you happy now? I hope you enjoy this happiness.Alone.”
She marched from the room without looking back.
*
Some things arehard to take your eyes off of once you notice them. Like the sun setting over the fields in the countryside. Two dogs mating on the side of the road. A little girl with an innocent face transforming into a beguiling woman. Or, in the immediate vicinity of the spot Warrick had chosen in White’s, a new betting book.
Something akin to disgust—a palpable aversion—rose from deep within and gathered between his brows in the form of a scowl. It distracted him from his task at hand—writing a letter. An apology. What the devil did one say to a woman after kissing her, hinting at marriage, and then walking away, completely cutting ties?
He had made another mess.
Could he just blame his bloody curse? Perhaps he might feel better about the entire affair that way. But then again, perhaps not.
For the last several hours, he had poured over their conversation again and again. Each time he did he wanted to slap a hand over his face. Why the devil had he made such a suggestion? Marriage! And then walking out on that last claim. And how did each conversation between them always oscillatebetween banal, serious, and teasing, then back to serious, back to banal, back to teasing?
Ah, hell.
He had not wanted to put pressure on her. He hadn’t wanted her to run away, and he hadn’t wanted the weight of a proposal hanging over them. So instead, he had run off and left an overhanging cloud of more confusion. But wasn’t it all the same?
He rubbed his temples. “Christ, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”
And now on top of that... why did they have to open another betting book? Why not do away with the practice altogether? Even as the question moved through his mind, the answer already shifted along with it. The book of wagers was as much a part of the club’s blood as the rigid control over member selection. One incident would not change this.
Perhaps two? Should he steal the book?
No. That wouldn’t change much, either.
It would take a bloody miracle, and perhaps a few lifetimes, for them to do away with the practice. He alone could not change anything, but he could be a start. A start of what, he couldn’t say. That remained to be seen.
“Warrick.”
His gaze shifted from the book to settle on the Duke of Mortimer, who motioned to the seat across from him. “Do you mind?”
“Go ahead. Though, I warn you, I’m miserable company tonight.” So miserable that nary a word wanted to flow.
The duke took a seat, crossing one leg over the other. “Does this misery have to do with the new betting book?”
