“Lady Mira, I am not sure what more I can say,” he said. “I have apologized for misjudging the repercussions of my action. I have apologized that you must bear the brunt of it. I have offered to find you a position should Lady Isabel decide you are no longer suited to whatever it is you do for her, but you reject everything I say. Therefore, I will suggest one last thing and our agreement may be ended. When the ladies return from the market for the journey home, I give you permission to publicly humiliate me and tell me that you are not interested in me. You may do this in full view of the ladies. Since you need their support and admiration and you clearly do not want or need mine, that should put you back in their good graces. After that, I will not trouble you further.”
Mira was surprised that he’d suggest such a thing. To humiliate an elite knight in public was most definitely a serious matter. Yesterday they’d made a bargain, and even she thought it might work. It wasn’t his fault. But she was blaming him for her misery.
Misery.
That was her name, after all.
“Stop being such a martyr,” she finally said, backing down a little. “We had a bargain and we are sticking to it, no matter how it has come back on me. It wasn’t your fault. You did not do it deliberately.”
Douglas felt a good deal of relief that she wasn’t truly furious with him. He leaned against the carriage, his eyes twinkling at her.
“I reallyamsorry,” he said quietly, a smile on his lips. “But my offer stands—if you must break our pretend engagement in front of them, I will understand.”
They were fairly close together, her face about a foot from his. She looked at him, unable to be irritated in the face of his impish expression. He was so devilish that it was both endearing and irritating at the same time, and in spite of herself, she broke down in a grin.
“I should punish you by forcing you to marry me,” she said. “That will teach you not to make bargains like this. You will have to explain it all to your parents, and I am certain they would be very angry with you for such a deception.”
He shrugged. “Mayhap I will marry you anyway,” he said. “I do not need to be forced into it. And my parents would be delighted.”
She chuckled and sat back in the chair. “Of course they would,” she said sarcastically. “Douglas de Lohr, the fifth son of the Earl of Hereford and Worcester, marrying a woman with a small dowry and no property. They would chain you up and beat you until you regained your senses.”
He winced. “Ouch,” he said. “That is too painful. Besides, my father is not the beating kind, nor is my mother. You will like them when you meet them.”
She scowled. “Meet them?” she repeated. “I do not think the earl and the countess and I travel in the same social circles.”
“It does not matter,” he said, moving away from the carriage, distracted by something down the avenue. “When you are my wife, we will all be of the same social standing.”
Mira watched him, sensing that he was no longer jesting. He seemed quite serious and she didn’t like it.
“Stop,” she said quietly. “You go too far.”
He took his gaze off whatever he was seeing down the avenue and looked at her. “Too far with what?”
“Stop talking like this marriage is real,” she said. “I will pretend with you, but I am not going to act as if this is truly going to happen, so please stop speaking that way.”
He cocked his head. “Don’t you like me?”
“I like you very much.”
“Enough to marry me?”
“I told you to stop it.”
He grinned and shook his head. “Stop what?” he said. “I am serious, Mira. You need a husband and, as my mother has pointed out many times, I need a wife. What is wrong with me that you should not wish to marry me?”
She looked at him in shock. Shock that was quickly turning to frustration. “You’re serious.”
“I am.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I told you that I am not a viable marriage prospect,” she said. “Why on earth would you want to marry someone like me?”
His grin widened. “Because I like you,” he said. “I liked you the moment I first saw you. I like your beautiful hair, your beautiful eyes. You are a small, fragile-looking woman but you are anything but fragile. I think you are stronger than I am in many ways. You are a rare bird, Lady Misery Isabella Rosalie d’Avignon. Pretending we are in love has made me want to be in love. Why not be in love with you?”
Her eyes widened. “Oh… Douglas,” she breathed. “You cannot be serious.”
“Why not?”
“Are you telling me that you’ve fallen for your own deception?”
