“It won’t last,” she said, so certain. “It is very typical of all we’ve experienced together. It will pass.”
“No.” It wouldn’t. He understood that to the marrow of his bones.
“We share little in common.” She held up a hand and began ticking off differences. “First, there’s our disparity in class.”
He snorted. “That matters not to me. Besides”—he had her here—“you’re a marchioness, so I’d say we’re equals in that regard.”
“Youwere born an earl and future marquess. You took your first steps in a palace.I”—she jabbed her thumb into her chest—“was born a nobody. I spent my childhood picking oakum in a workhouse and thieving on London streets.” She held up a second finger. “You have immeasurable wealth at your disposal.”
“At your disposal, too. Need I keep reminding you that you’re my wife? Whether you like it or not,youare a marchioness.”
Implacable, she held up a third finger. “And education. You know everything a marquess ought, and more. You have book learning. I only know what I learned on the streets. I know nothing of needlework, menu planning, or dance steps. The simple matter is that I can play the marchioness for a few days, but no more. I simply do not fit into your world.”
He was losing this battle, he could feel it. Not because he believed her reasons, but because she did.
“We have everything that matters in common.” He didn’t like the whiff of desperation in his voice.
“There is more to marriage than sexual congress.”
“I want to be a husband to you in more ways than simply in bed.” Or on the floor, or against a wall, or in a bathing tub, he didn’t say.
Instead, he stood and closed the distance between them. When she didn’t lift her gaze to meet his, he tucked his thumb beneath her chin until she had no choice. For the truths about to emerge from his mouth, he needed to be looking her in the eye. “I want to protect you. I want to cherish you. I want to spoil you until you’re rotten and insufferable. For the rest of our days.”
She shook her head. “It’s but a phantom feeling.”
“Who are you trying to convince? Me? Or yourself?”
He saw rawness and vulnerability and fear in her gaze, not of him, but of this unknown future he was presenting her. A future that very much collided with the view of the world she’d formed in her three and twenty years on this earth. A view formed not of natural preference and inclination, but of necessity and self-protection against the world.
What he saw was doubt. The sort of doubt that embedded deep in a person’s soul, ensuring they would never believe in good fortune or lasting security.
She wasn’t trying to convince herself of anything. She was a true believer in her view of the world.
“How much time?” he asked, taking one last stab at turning the moment.
Her eyebrows met. “Pardon?”
“You say there hasn’t been enough time, then answer me this: How much time needs to pass before you know what exists between us has substance?”
Wide eyes fixed upon him, she didn’t seem able to answer. Only blasted, frustrating despair shone out at him.
“A day?” he pressed. “A fortnight? A month? A year?”
“I…I do not know.”
At last, she’d shown uncertainty. Mayhap that was the crack his argument could slip inside and penetrate. What he must say next had to extend beyond logic and come from his very soul. It was his last chance. “Does the heart understand time?”
“I…” He’d flummoxed her. “I wouldn’t know the workings of the heart.”
“Don’t you?”
She jerked her chin away from his touch and refused to meet his eye. He let his hand fall to his side. He knew what he must say next. “Leave,” emerged from his mouth.
Shocked eyes met his. She’d expected him to keep fighting. “Tonight?”
“You can wait until morning, of course.” He stepped back. Away from her.
A battle was waging behind her eyes, he could see that. But it was one he didn’t have the power to decide, only her.
