Winter’s fist slammed down on the desk with such abrupt force, Cam nearly jumped. “How dare you?”
“But I fell in love with her,” he confessed, meeting Winter’s gaze, unflinching. “I am not certain when it happened or how. All I do know is that I cannot live without her as my wife, and not because of her fortune, but because of the lady herself. She turned any notions I had of her upon their head, and she made me realize a great deal about myself in the process.”
“You expect me to believe you are in love with my sister.” Winter stared at him now as if he were an escaped Bedlamite.
“I do not expect or require you to believe anything,” Cam said calmly. “Your belief or lack thereof will not make it any less true. I love Miss Winter, and it would be my greatest honor to make her my countess.”
“You truly love her?” Winter pressed.
“I do.” Cam did not hesitate in his response. Loving Eugie felt inevitable. It felt right. He wanted her in his life, at his side, in his bed. He wanted her roses in his garden, her books in his library, her hair fanned over his pillow every night, her lips on his.
“If you love her,” Winter began, watching him carefully now, “then you will marry her without her fortune.”
“Yes.” Once again, he did not waver. “Even if I must sell off the estates and everything remaining my bastard of a sire did not already take, I will marry her. Supposing she will deign to have me, of course.”
She had not agreed to wed him.
And after the stricken expression on her face earlier, he was not certain she would. But he was determined to try. He had to try, because the notion of marrying anyone else was impossible. It was Eugie Winter or no one at all.
“Then I am afraid that is what you must do,” Winter said. “I will grant my approval of a match between you and my sister, Hertford, but by the conditions of my father’s will, the fortunes of my sisters remain at my disposal until the births of their first children, or as I see fit. You will not see a shilling of her dowry upon your marriage to her.”
It was a blow he had not anticipated, to be sure, but Cam would weather it. He would make a plan. He had already begun the task of deciding which properties must go first. He would merely continue.
“I accept your conditions, sir,” he said.
“Oh, but I have one more,” Winter added, flashing him a grim smile. “My sister must agree to the match as well.”
“She will,” he vowed with a confidence that was perhaps fatuous.
But he had to believe he could win Eugie’s heart and her hand both. Because if he could not, he would be lost.
Eugie was shepherdedto one of the smaller salons of Abingdon House—a yellow one dotted with dozens of portraits—by her sister-in-law, Lady Emilia. In the wake of her ignominy, a strange tumult of sensations buffeted her.
Disappointment.
Hurt.
Anger.
Self-loathing.
“Sit, dearest,” Lady Emilia ordered her.
Though her tone was gentle, it was firm. Eugie obeyed, settling herself upon a chair. “I am sorry I have ruined your marvelous party,” she apologized at once before her sister-in-law had had the chance to properly seat herself.
Emilia frowned at her as she descended gracefully upon a gilded settee. “I do not care about the party, Eugie. I care about you.”
Eugie fretted with the skirt of her gown, plucking at it as if it were an instrument string. “I am sorry for ruining myself.”
Her sister-in-law sighed. “You are not ruined. Yet. Whether or not you truly are depends upon what you choose to do next.”
“I will not marry him,” she denied swiftly. “I am sorry, my lady, but I cannot bear it.”
“Oh, Eugie.” Emilia sighed, her countenance softening. “Lord Hertford is the one after all, is he not?”
Eugie’s cheeks flushed, for there was no need for her sister-in-law to elaborate. Cam had always been the one. He was theonlyone. But he had betrayed her, and she could not trust him. “I have kissed him before today,” she admitted.
“You promised me you would not be so reckless,” Emilia chided.
