His lips curled in a bitter sneer. “Love is a death sentence. You’re intelligent enough to know that.” He paused, his gaze sweeping the modest room. “Name your terms. There is nothing you could ask of me that I would not give you.”
“Except love.” That much was certain.
“When the poets wrote about love, they were high on opium.”
“And yet you loved someone once.” Only those who had been hurt were so dismissive. “Perhapsyoushould be honest with me. I’m not the first woman you’ve offered for.” Though this was hardly a proposal of marriage, more a conundrum of sorts.
A muscle in his cheek twitched. “I was in love once, or so I believed. But she accepted my father’s bribe and was never seen or heard from again. There’s nothing quite like the sting of betrayal. It still throbs when least expected.”
She wasn’t sure which cut deeper, his father’s duplicity or the woman’s treachery, but it gave her a reason to enforce her refusal.
“It sounds like you’re still in love with her.” People often spoke in the past tense to dull the pain. “Am I your revenge? Nothing more than a token to prove you’ve moved on?”
She had been used before. Never again.
He studied her for one unnerving moment. “You’re the air in a smoke-filled room. Somehow, I find it easier to breathe around you.”
Heavens, the man was a thief in the night, out to steal a lady’s sanity. But she knew better than to fall for his flattery. “Because you seek a purpose and think I fit the mould.”
Perhaps he couldn’t see it, but men of rank neededsomething to possess. Now that his friends were married, was the Marquess of Rothley looking for a pet?
“One day your lost love might return to you.” She moved towards the door. “Perhaps then you’ll find the answers you seek.” She squared her shoulders, summoning what strength she could. “Good night, my lord. I plan to cancel my membership at The Burnished Jade. I will be leaving London soon. I doubt we’ll meet again, but I wish you well.”
He shook his head as if confused. “Leaving London? Where will you go?”
“As far as money allows.”
“What about the friends you’ve made? The ladies at the club are fond of you. They’ll be distraught if you leave.”
She closed her eyes to the memories and the bonds of sisterhood. For the first time in her life she truly belonged, yet the past had caught up with her, leaving her no choice but to flee. “I cannot think about that now.”
“There must be something I can say to change your mind.”
He could swear he would never regret making the proposal, never grow to hate her in time. But that would be another lie among the many. “No. I am resigned to my decision. Please, don’t ask me again.”
His deep sigh almost made her falter. He looked at her for a long moment, then reached into his coat pocket. “Permit me to contribute to?—”
“No!” She clamped her hand around his wrist, stalling him. The air shifted, thick with the dangerous undercurrent that always left her feeling unmoored. “Allow me some dignity. I don’t need your charity.”
The stalemate lasted for a heartbeat or two.
Long enough for her to imagine what it might be like toknow him better, to test his resilience, to find hope where there was none.
He withdrew his hand from his pocket and bowed with polished grace. “Wherever you are, Miss Woolf, know you always have a friend, and a place to rest should you need one.”
She managed a smile. Miss Woolf wasn’t her name, but it reminded her to scent danger before it struck. “That’s very generous. In return, please accept this book.” She offered him the volume of poetry, her companion in troubling times, pressing it firmly into his hands. “A reminder that friends may be found in the least likely places.”
He smoothed his large hands over the board and glanced at the spine, his dark eyes softening. “There’s nothing quite like a gift that means something. I’ll not forget it. Good night, Miss Woolf.”
When he left, the place felt empty, though the spicy scent of his cologne lingered, conjuring visions of a distant market in Marrakesh. The fragrance would fade, but not the memory she wished she could forget.
Strange, that he said good night, not goodbye.
Her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed.
It was foolish, but she hid behind the curtain and watched him mount his horse. He paused on the lane, scanning the graveyard and house before nudging the animal into a trot and vanishing into the gloom.
Still, she remained there, staring into the shadows, her pulse thrumming with unease. It was foolish to think she was safe out here. Somehow the marquess had found her, and in her shock she had failed to ask how. If he could track her, others could too.
