“Very well. If you shall not, then I will.” She came nearer at last, bringing with her the scent of summer and sunshine and delicious temptation. “I am sorry about what happened in my chamber that day.”
At last, his voice returned. “As am I. What I said to you was unpardonable, and for that I must offer you my most sincere apologies.”
He had been an utter blackguard, lashing out at her, and he knew it. Feeling emotions was new for him. Everything about Christabella was new to him, in fact.
“I accept your apologies on one condition.” She took another step closer to him.
Until she was within touching distance.
He had to exercise all his restraint to keep from taking her into his arms as everything within him so desperately wanted. For he could not do that. Did not dare do that. No, she had already told him she did not want to marry him. He would not tread any further on the limb he occupied, lest it break and fall free from the tree entirely.
“What is the condition?” he asked carefully.
“That you accept mine as well.” Her blue-green gaze studied him, seeing far more—he had no doubt—than he wanted her to see. “Will you, Gill? I am sorry for hurting you.”
Hurt.
That lone word terrified him.
It took him back to the lad he had been. The helpless lad. Locked in the chamber. His father had hurt him again and again, until he had taught himself not to care. He had spent all the years since then doing his best not to give a damn about anyone other than his brother.
“I accept your apology,” he rasped, growing even more uncomfortable.
“Good.” She smiled, and damn him, there was her dimple, making another appearance. “I accept yours as well.”
“Good.” He cleared his throat again, reminded once more of the impropriety of their situation. Of the foolishness. “You should go before you are seen here. Before neither of us has a choice.”
But instead of leaving, she cocked her head at him. “Why do you want to marry me, Gill?”
Bloody hell, what manner of question was that?
He struggled to form an answer, but the responses in his mind were none he could bear to say aloud.
Because I want to spend the rest of my life kissing you.
Because you make me laugh.
Because you are the only woman who has ever found a way past my defensive walls.
Hell.She had not just found a way around them. She had dismantled them like a barrage of cannon fire. Left them crumbling around him.
But he would not speak of any of those things.
“My estates are in ruin,” he said. “My father squandered the family’s vast fortune, and the coffers need replenishment. I need a bride with a generous dowry.”
That, too, was the truth. But it was not the only truth.
She stiffened. “You wished to marry me for the Winter fortune?”
Damnation, what a cad he sounded like when she phrased it thus.
“That is not the sole motivation in wanting you as my duchess,” he hastened to explain. “I also like you…admire you, even.”
Somehow, his lips could not form around the wordlove.
His tongue could not even prepare the consonant.
Because love was dangerous. Love invited pain. He had loved his father, once. Before his father had broken him. Look at the husk of a man that remained.
