“Who said I am marrying Pru?” Ash asked.
“You,” said his brother. “You have never once professed your love for a female to me. And from what I gather, the number of females with whom you have been on intimate terms is legion.”
His ears went hot. The reminder of his past nettled him. He wished he could be pure and true and every bit as good as Pru was. He wished he had been virginal and virtuous, that he had spent the last few years of his life dedicated to awaiting the appearance of the woman he loved in his life instead of devoting himself to bedding an endless string of women.
But he could not change the past. He could not undo what had already been done. All he could do was his damnedest to make certain he spent the rest of his life with the woman he loved, doing his utmost to make her happy.
“I am not proud of the manner in which I have lived my life,” he admitted to his brother, though the acknowledgment aggrieved him. “I have spent years chasing nothing but pleasure, telling myself it was what led to happiness. But I have discovered, quite belatedly, just how wrong I was. I do not deserve Pru, that much is certain. But I want to marry her.”
“I am glad you have finally seen what has been plain enough to me,” said his elder brother. “When will the betrothal be announced?”
“This evening,” he said.
His brother’s brows rose. “Remarkably quick of you, Ash.”
“Yes, well.” Ash attempted to tug at his own cravat, which had suddenly become damned restrictive. But then he realized he had not been able to don it in the wake of his ignominious discovery. The tightness in his throat was a manifestation of his own shame and nothing else. “I may have compromised Pru.”
“Youmay havecompromised her, or youdid?” Gill demanded.
“I did.” He grimaced. “It was unintentional, I swear it, and nothing untoward occurred. Well, actually, it did, but that was before we were discovered.”
“Nothing you are saying is reassuring me,” Gill said baldly.
Right. Ash could not blame his brother, for he was not wrong.
“It is…complicated. Suffice it to say, the lady took a fall in the snow, and I was left with no recourse but to help her disrobe so her garments would dry,” he explained.
That, too, sounded quite nefarious. Even to his own jaded ears.
Gill’s mouth flattened into a grim line. “Ash. Tell me you did not seduce her.”
“I did not seduce her.” He paused, raking a hand through his hair. “That is the truth. At least, not in the moment when we were discovered. But never mind that. We were in the false ruins, and my garments were quite sodden as well. I had no recourse but to join her beneath the fur, and then we—”
“Bloody hell, Ash!” Gill burst out. “Did you have to tup the sister of the woman I want to make my wife? Could you not have waited until the damned wedding night?”
“We fell asleep,” Ash finished, indignant. Until the remainder of his brother’s words hit him. “The woman you want to make your wife? Youdowant to marry the hellion.”
“She is not a hellion,” Gill snapped.
Laughter rose within Ash, out of nowhere. Ridiculous, mad laughter. He could not stay it, and it rang forth, deep and uncontrollable. He laughed until tears gathered in his eyes, and he wiped them with a handkerchief.
“What a pair we are,” he said at last when he could catch his breath. “Perhaps I was right when I said there is something in the food here. A poison that rots men’s minds and makes them more susceptible to matchmaking.”
It was a statement he had made during the course of the house party, in passing, to the Earl of Hertford, Viscount Aylesford, and Gill. But now, it returned to him once more.
“The poison is love,” his brother told him, his expression mournful.
“But is love a poison, or is it a cure?” Ash could not help but to ask, stroking his jaw as he contemplated the question himself. “It seems one could argue either way.”
“One could, indeed,” Gill said.
They were silent for a moment, unspoken acknowledgment passing between them.
“Let us hope it is a cure,” Ash decided.
For he had to believe that, or all was lost. Just as he had to believe he could convince Pru to become his bride. For although Mr. Devereaux Winter had informed him in succinct, precise—not to mention threatening—terms, that he must marry Pru, the lady herself had already denied him. And he wanted to win her hand every bit as much as he wanted to win her heart.
He would not rest until both were his.
