Not in a humorous mood, then. Fair enough.
“I didn’t force you to do anything you didn’t wish to do,” he said, as much for his benefit as for hers. Truly, he hadn’t even left the house. She’d come to his door, attacked him with kisses, issued commands likeBedchamber.He could’ve sworn they both wanted the same thing.
To his relief, she answered simply, “I know.”
And looked nauseated.
“You seemed to... enjoy it?” he tried again, starting to worry he was completely misreading the source of her displeasure.
She slammed her head backward into the pillow. “Iknow.”
“At the risk of starting a conversation I almost certainly have no wish to partake in... May I ask what’s wrong?”
“I won’t marry you.”
Right. They’d covered this ground. And, as before, this statement simultaneously relieved and offended. Playing the part of temporary lover should not have bothered him. Yet, this time, it did. Was he nothing but a guttersnipe workhorse, meant to satisfy her baser longings while she searched for the titled fop who would satisfy her High Society standards?
“Technically, I still haven’t asked,” he replied crossly. He propped himself up on one elbow and tried not to show his wounded pride.
She closed her eyes as if in pain.
Perhaps she was. Shehadbeen a virgin. Evan was immediately contrite. He’d tried not to be rough. Her body had seemed more than ready to accommodate him. But what did he know about such things? He’d never tumbled a virgin. Until today.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked softly, brushing her cheek with his knuckle.
She jerked away from his touch. “It’s not you. It’s me. What seemed like a good idea turned out to be a very, very bad one.” She scrambled off the bed and stared down at the pile of crumpled clothing. “Damn and triple damn.”
Evan sat up straight, his bare skin suddenly ice cold. “What did you just say?”
“I said it’s my fault.” She kicked at her wrinkled gown. “Don’t worry. Don’t marry me. Things will be fine.”
“No.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed. He leaned forward, gripping his knees so as not to throttle her. “You said, ‘Damn and triple damn.’”
“I—” Her mouth remained open, but no further sound escaped. Something flickered in her eyes. Wariness. Guilt.
“Where did you hear that phrase?” he demanded. He knew he sounded like a wild man. He felt like one. When she shook her head mutely, he grabbed her shoulders through her thin shift. “Where?”
“If you know, then why ask me?” she burst out.
He yanked his hands from his shoulders before he did end up shaking her.
“Where,” he asked, pronouncing each word carefully and distinctly, “did you meet Timothy?”
“Here in Bournemouth.”
“Liar.”
Lips pressed tightly together, she lifted her chin and said nothing.
Evan crossed his arms over his chest and tried to think over the blood rushing in his ears. “Timothy was dead before you arrived.”
She raised a slender brow, but did not otherwise respond.
Cursed woman. What the devil did she mean to say? That she’d met him beforehand? Impossible. Timothy hadn’t stepped foot out of Bournemouth in years, except for when he traveled by sea. Evan was willing to bet this was Miss Stanton’s first visit to their charming beachside home. There was something else, too. Something he’d meant to discuss further.
“Red had also gone missing before you arrived,” he said slowly.
She glanced away. It was quick, but he saw it. She was hiding something. Well, obviously she was hiding something; he didn’t need shifty eye movement to tell him that.
