Lottie opened her eyes, still trying to keep those foolish tears where they belonged. “Neither of us can change the past. It’s made me who I am. I’m sorry, but this is all I can give you.”
“You refuse to marry me,” he repeated, his mouth drawn in a taut, harsh line.
“It’s for the best. I vowed I would never marry again, and I meant it.”
“What if you’re carrying my child?”
Her heart tripped over itself. Not that she hadn’t thought of the possibility, but it had seemed so very farfetched until he’d uttered it aloud. But she didn’t dare allow him to see the effect it had upon her.
She raised a brow, martialing her countenance into one of complete serenity. “Then I’m carrying your child.”
His jaw tensed. “Lottie.”
“Brandon, I’m likely barren,” she said quietly. “There was no issue in the years of my marriage to Grenfell.”
“It doesn’t matter to me if you are.”
“But it should. You’ll want an heir, surely.”
“I would far prefer to have you.”
Those stupid tears pricked her eyes again, but this time, it wasn’t sorrow for herself she felt. It was an incredible depth of emotion for the man holding her in his arms as if she were precious to him. As if he couldn’t bear to part from her. It was sadness over what might have been, but what could never be.
“You can’t have me,” she told him softly, painfully. “Find a suitable bride. You’re running out of time.”
They stared at each other, at an impasse.
And then he released her so abruptly she swayed on her feet, bereft without his heat and his strength. She had finally convinced him to surrender to defeat. She felt no joy in knowing she had won this particular battle. There was only a tremendous sense of mourning.
Without uttering another word, Brandon helped her to dress.
Lottie waited until she was in her carriage, John Coachman taking her home, before she allowed herself to weep.
CHAPTER 19
Kidnapping was out of the question.
Forcing her to marry him by causing a scandal was as well.
Persuading her with lovemaking hadn’t worked.
No amount of reason or pleading his cause had made her waver from her determination to remain unwed.
Brandon faced a dearth of time and options. Who knew that the business of convincing a woman to marry him would be so bloody difficult?
“You’re looking Friday-faced,” King observed shrewdly, breaking through his ruminations.
They were playing billiards, which was ordinarily a game Brandon thoroughly enjoyed. However, he had been preoccupied by thoughts of Lottie, and he had been soundly trounced twice already.
“I’m feeling Friday-faced as well,” he said, grim. “I don’t suppose you’ve one of your potions handy, do you?”
The urge for oblivion was strong.
King grinned, aiming his cue stick for another shot. “Not today, I’m afraid. All I have is brandy and Scotch whisky. Would you care for a dram of either?”
“To hell with a dram. I’ll likely need the whole damned bottle,” he grumbled, gripping his cue stick tightly.
“That bad, is it? I wondered why you were losing so pathetically.”
