He reached her, dropping to his knees at her side. “I don’t care about any of that. The gossips can be damned. Marry me, Ran.”
Miranda stared at him, shocked. “Did you not read the article?”
“Of course not. I don’t care about such drivel. All I care about is you. I’m in love with you, Ran. I always have been.”
Her mouth fell open. “In love? With me?”
He searched her gaze. “Did you not know?”
“No,” she admitted. “I had no notion.”
“Why do you think I allowed my good name to be dragged through the mud in the divorce from Ammondale?” he asked softly, taking her hand in his.
“Because you knew how miserable I was, and you vowed to help me.”
“And because I am selfish. I wanted you as my wife, Ran. But I was willing to wait until you were ready to marry again. That is why I went to America. I wanted to give you the chance to restoreyour reputation on your own terms and pursue your school.” He paused, shaking his head. “I can see now that it was a mistake to go. I should have stayed here, where you needed me.”
“I thought you wanted to go to America,” she said weakly, feeling suddenly drained of all emotion.
“I wanted what was best for you. I feared that if I would remain, the scandal would only grow worse, but that if I left, it would die down.”
“You… I cannot… I don’t understand.”
“I want to marry you,” he said again. “It’s why I returned. It’s why I helped you to obtain the divorce from Ammondale.”
“Oh dear God.” She pressed a hand over her mouth, stifling another sob.
How wretched she felt. Waring had claimed he was selfish, but surely it was she who was far more so. She had accepted his aid, thinking them friends, never seeing what seemed plain to her now—that Waring had feelings for her that were decidedly more than merely friendly in nature.
“Marry me, Ran,” he said, his expression hopeful. “Please.”
“The scandal, Waring. You’re not thinking properly.”
“I don’t care what happened with Whitby. It doesn’t matter to me. All that does matter is that you agree to be my wife.”
How easy it would be to accept his offer. Marrying Waring might even ameliorate some of the damage done to her reputation by the scandal rag. She cared for the marquess. He had saved her from misery, regardless of the reason, and she would forever be grateful to him for that.
But she didn’t love him.
She swallowed hard against a rush of searing misery so acute that it nearly choked her. “I’m in love with someone else.”
He rocked back as if she had struck him. “You’re in love with him?”
“With Whitby,” she clarified, sniffling. “Almost everything printed in that wretched article is true. So, you see, I cannot accept your proposal of marriage, but I do thank you for it. Just as I thank you for caring for me as you have. For saving me from my marriage to Ammondale. For your friendship.”
Her voice broke on the last word.
Friends was all that they could ever be. And she hated seeing the hurt on his face now, the disillusionment in his eyes.
“You can be in love with another and marry me,” he said quietly. “My love for you has not changed, nor has my offer. Be my wife. We can journey to America together. Start a new life.”
She closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head as fresh tears squeezed free and ran hotly down her cheeks. “No, I cannot. I’m sorry, Waring. So sorry.”
His hand tightened on hers. “I’m sorry too. I hope he makes you happy. If he doesn’t, he’ll answer to me.”
Miranda opened her eyes, frowning. “You misunderstand. I’m not marrying Whitby either. He hasn’t asked, nor do I expect that he will. Our arrangement is at an end.”
“Then he’s a damned fool, Ran.”
