“Because it isuncontrolled,” she cried. “Because it is selfish. Because it hurts—other people if not oneself. I do not want passion. I do not want uncertainty. I do not want you yelling at me. Worse than that, I do not want me yelling back. I cannot stand it. I cannot standthis.”
His face was closer again.
“What has happened in your life to hurt you?” he asked her.
Her eyes widened. “Nothinghas happened. That is the point.”
But it was not. It was not the point at all.
“You w-want me,” he said, “as much as I want you.”
And his eyes blazed with a new light.
“I am afraid,” she said again, but even to her own ears her protest sounded lame.
His mouth, hot in the chill of the late evening, covered hers, and her arms went about his neck, and his about her waist, and she leaned into him, or he drew her against him—it did not matter which. And she knew—ah, she knew that she could not let him go, even though shewasafraid. It was going to be like stepping off the edge of a precipice blindfolded.
He had saidnothingabout love. But neither had William. What was love, after all? She had never believed in it or wanted it.
He raised his head.
“We could marry tomorrow,” he said. “I was thinking of the d-day after, but that was when I did not expect to s-see you until the morning. And the vicar is here at the house. I could have a word with him tonight. We could marry tomorrow morning, Agnes. Or would you rather that g-grand wedding in St. George’s? With all your family and mine in attendance.”
She braced her hands on his shoulders and laughed, though not with amusement. She was more afraid than ever before in her life. She was afraid she was about to do something she would forever regret.
“There is the small matter of banns,” she said.
He flashed a grin at her.
“Special license,” he said. “I h-have one on the table beside my bed upstairs. It is why I went to L-London, though it struck me when I was on the way there that I c-could probably have got one somewhere closer, maybe even Gloucester. I am not v-very knowledgeable on such things. No matter. I managed to avoid everyone I know except an uncle, who was not to be avoided by the time I s-spotted him. He is a g-good fellow, though. I informed him that he had not seen me, and he raised his glass and asked who the devil I was anyway.”
Agnes was not listening.
“You went to London to get aspecial license?” she asked, though he had been perfectly clear on the matter. “So that you could marry me here without the benefit of banns?Tomorrow?”
“If it were done,”he said,“then ’twere well it were done quickly.”
She stared at him, speechless for a moment.
“Macbeth was talking aboutmurder,” she said. “And you missedwhen ’tis donein the middle—If it were done when ’tis done...Those words make all the difference to the meaning.”
“You have this disturbing effect upon me, Agnes,” he said. “I s-start spouting p-poetry. Badly. But—’twere well it were done quickly. I stand by that.”
“Before you can change your mind?” she asked him. “Or before I can?”
“Because I want to be s-safe with you,” he said.
She looked at him in astonishment.
“Because I w-want to make l-love to you,” he added, “and I cannot do it before we are m-married, because you are a v-virtuous woman, and I have a rule about not seducing v-virtuous women.”
But he had said,Because I want to be safe with you.
Yet she was afraid ofnotbeing safe with him.
“Lord Ponsonby—” she said.
“Flavian,” he interrupted her. “It is one of the m-most ridiculous names any parents could possibly inflict upon a son, but it is what my parents d-did to me, and I am stuck with it. I am Flavian.”
