“—and if I return to Leicestershire and marry Mr. Hulme, it will also be my choice. So please, put aside any misplaced guilt you have, set your new estate to rights, return to Russia and your life as a diplomat, and let me get on with my life.”
He grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him. “You can’t bloody well marry a man old enough to be your grandfather! It’s obscene.”
She pulled herself out of his grip with an irritable movement. “Kindly do not swear at me. It’s not your business what I do, Nash Renfrew. It’s my life, my choice.”
“And your body that will have an old man slavering incompetently over it!”
She turned, trying to hide the involuntary shudder that passed through her at his words, but Nash saw it, saw and pounced on it with triumph. “Admit it, you don’t want to marry him.”
“I admit nothing!” she flashed. “It’s my decision. Now please—” She broke off and flung away to another part of the small room. She stood, her back to him, breathing deeply, almost visibly reassembling her composure. When she turned back, her face was smooth and clear of all visible signs of emotion.
She walked up to Nash and in a calm, pleasant voice said, “Good-bye, Mr. Renfrew. I wish you all the best in your life.” She held out her hand.
He stared at it as if at a live snake. If he took it, it meant he accepted her dismissal. Damned if he would. Let her go and marry some disgusting old goat, just because Nash Renfrew had ruined her life?
“All right then, I’ll marry you,” he heard himself say.
Sixteen
It was like cold water dashed in her face.All right then, I’ll marry you?Flung at her in anger, resentfully, as if she’d been begging him to marry her.
All right then, I’ll marry you.And then he’d looked vaguely alarmed, as if he’d shocked himself as well as her. He hadn’t meant to say it.
He’d schooled his face into an expression of polite anticipation, all his anger and jealousy—for that’s what it was, she knew—belatedly muzzled and packed away out of sight, presenting her with his diplomat’s face. Waiting for her response to his ill-considered, obviously unplanned, and apparently instantly regretted marriage proposal.
She wanted to slap him, to burst into tears—no, slap him! Impossible man!
Serve him right if she accepted him.
He waited, his eyes unreadable, all signs of emotion subdued. A diplomat’s job was to lie for his country. He would be a wonderful diplomat, she was sure.
He might have made love to her with a tenderness and passion that had stolen away the last piece of her hopelessly ill-guarded heart, but in one unguarded flash she’d seen what he really thought.
It sliced deep into her heart.
Want him as she might—and, oh, she did—she had too much pride to accept what was clearly a unintended proposal of marriage. Especially knowing the kind of bride he wanted—a girl with the right sort of upbringing, the right sort of connections. Of which she had none.
She might be desperate enough to marry Mr. Hulme, but with him, she was only laying her body on the line. With Nash, it would be everything, body, heart, and soul.
He waited, watching her with that horrid, blank,diplomatishexpression.
If she did accept him, took advantage of his momentary guilt and jealousy to trap him into marriage, this would be the face she’d see for the rest of her life, all politeness and diplomacy and blank, unreadable eyes. It wouldn’t just break her heart, it would grind it to dust.
She gave him a proud look. “Do you think I would accept such a proposal as that? Uttered in begrudging resentment and flung down in the dust for me to pick up?”
His clenched jaw dropped.
“Thank you, Mr. Renfrew, but no thank you. I have made my decision. Good-bye. It’s been a pleasure knowing you. You may see yourself out.” She turned her back so that he wouldn’t see that she was fighting tears.
“Very well, madam,” he said in a tight clipped voice and stormed from the cottage.
She’d refused him. Nash stalked to where he’d tied his horse. She’drefusedhim. Sent him away with a flea in his ear in a dismissal worthy of a duchess.
He was relieved; that went without saying. He hadn’t meant to make her an offer. He had no idea what possessed him.
He wanted to gallop away, to leave the whole mortifying mess behind him, but his horse was tired. Two wild rides were enough for a morning.
Leaving at a sedate trot was . . . frustrating.
