Not in the first flush of youth, but perfectly acceptable. He disliked the prospect of marrying her, but this was what he got for attempting to behave clandestinely. “You must see what we should do now,” he said.
“After breakfast, you will drive me home.” Her gaze, almost silvery, flicked to him. “And then we will speak with Isabella about what she wishes to do.”
He could imagine nothing more excruciating than that conversation. Miss Brunton had got it into her head that her sister was some sort of golden-haired angel, and nothing he could say could disabuse her of the notion the girl loved him.
Oliver knew better: Isabella loved nothing more than the idea of wealth. He was nothing more to her than a means of escape.
“The snow is coming down quite heavily,” he said. “And the horses require rest before we can make a return journey.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I am not entirely sure when I might be able to deliver you home.” He held her gaze. “In my original imaginings of the event, I had not intended to immediately travel back to Dalston.”
“Then what do you propose we do?”
“If you were to marry me, that would solve our immediate problems.”
“It would?”
“I would rather marry sooner than later, and it would preserve your reputation. I don’t make a habit of ruining young ladies.”
“No?” A flash of—was that disdain in her eyes? “I’m glad to hear it. But I have no intention of marrying you; I assure you, that would not solve any of my problems. Once the horses are adequately recovered, youwillreturn me home, and I shall thinkof an excuse for my absence that does not involve feckless young men.”
“And if we cannot return until tomorrow?”
“Then I pray Isabella will have the sense not to broadcast my disappearance.”
He rested his elbows on the table, intrigued despite himself. “I am the son of an earl, Miss Brunton. Upon my marriage, I will come into a nice little property—”
“And now your reasoning for marrying becomes clear—”
“And I will be perfectly respectable. Yet you object to my suit.”
“It is not the suit so much as the man itself,” she said firmly.
“You object to my character?”
“And your morals.”
“Are they not one and the same?”
“One can be morally upright and still disagreeable,” she returned. “You, however, are neither morally upright nor agreeable.”
Intrigued, he leaned forward still further. “A damning condemnation.”
She scowled. “You don’t seem enormously distressed by it.”
“If you ever meet my brother, you will learn to have thicker skin than that. I have been described as morally corruptanddeficient in intelligence on more than one occasion.” He shrugged. “There comes a time where no further insults have any sting. But back to the matter at hand. I would be gratified if you would do me the honour of marrying me.”
Those silvery eyes rose to his face, and she looked a little as though she could not decide whether to be irritated or amused. “No you wouldn’t.”
“Excuse me?”
“You would much rather marry my sister if it came down to it.”
“Of course I would,” he said impatiently. “But she’s not here, and you are.”
“How gratifying.” She shook her head. “But the answer is no. Do not ask me again, Mr Beaumont.”
