Her heart gave a traitorous thump.
“No,” she whispered to herself. “Do not be foolish. This is all a disastrous misunderstanding! Nothing more.”
Her humiliation deepened because part of her—the part she tried fiercest to silence—had not found it disastrous at all. Part of her had experienced something far more dangerous than scandal: awareness. An awareness that had grown steadily from that almost-kiss earlier in the evening, ripened in the quiet of the cold room, and taken root in ways she did not dare examine.
She stood on unsteady legs, brushing dust from her gown and fastening a loose button at her sleeve. She ran trembling fingers through her tangled curls in a futile attempt to restore some semblance of dignity. Her boots felt cold, her hands colder still, and yet she could not shake the heat she’d felt pressed along Miles’s side for hours.
Her thoughts skittered in every direction, trying to reorder themselves.It need not be disastrous,she repeated in her mind. They were not in London. They were surrounded by family. The number of witnesses to their predicament was limited. If everyone behaved sensibly—something she knew from experience was overwhelmingly unlikely—then this could perhaps be dismissed as an unfortunate mishap. No engagement required. No lifelong entanglement thrust upon them. No forced union built on obligation rather than choice.
Except…
Her breath caught painfully.
Except what ifhewanted the escape more than she did? What if Miles seized the opportunity with the same crisp, dutiful resolve with which he approached every other aspect of life?What if he offered for her immediately—out of honor, out of duty, out of the relentless compulsion to do what was expected—and not out of even the faintest inclination of affection?
The thought hollowed her.
She pressed her palm against the wall, steadying herself. “I can endure many things,” she whispered, “but I cannot endure being unwanted.”
The irony, of course, was that she had been avoiding Miles with single-minded ferocity for years precisely because she had believed he held her in contempt. Now the idea of being offered marriage without desire—without warmth—without this new, frightening tenderness that had awoken in the quiet hours between them—was unbearable in a way she had not anticipated.
She was still absorbing that truth when the soft rustle of movement reached her ears.
Miles stood several feet away, awake now, pushing himself to his feet with visible stiffness. His cravat hung loose, his waistcoat undone at one side, the dust on his sleeves matching the dust on hers. His expression, once he fully registered her gaze, was a complex, restrained knot of apology, resignation, and something she dared not name.
“Jillian…” he began quietly.
She raised her chin—a shield, a habit, a necessity. “We should… gather ourselves,” she said, desperate to sound composed. “There is no need for panic. We may yet salvage the situation.”
His brows drew together with a familiar gravity that made her stomach knot. “I do not believe that is likely.”
“It does not have to be a catastrophe,” she insisted. “We were only sleeping. We were only cold. Anyone reasonable must understand how?—”
“Jillian.” His voice gentled. “They will not see reason.”
The ache in her chest deepened. She felt suddenly, painfully transparent beneath his gaze, as though he saw every thought she struggled to hide.
He took a slow step toward her. Not close. Not intimate. Simply steady, careful, deliberate. “I will do what must be done,” he said softly, “and I will do it without hesitation.”
Her breath stopped. Her pulse stumbled.
He meant it.
Of course he meant it.
He would offer. He would be everything a gentleman should be. He would choose duty over himself, over her, over the truth she was not ready to face.
Her throat tightened. “You need not. Not immediately. We should think.”
His jaw flexed. “There is nothing to think about.”
She looked away at once, unable to bear the certainty in his voice. That certainty felt like a blade. Not because she did not want him—some foolish, frightened part of her desperately did—but because she feared wanting him while he did not want her in return.
Before she could speak further, voices surged outside the door. Lantern light brightened the corridor. A bolt scraped. The hinges groaned.
The door burst open.
A dozen shocked faces stared.
