If he was that sort of man, which he was not.
“I’m not doing any of this right.” But she approached him anyway and then lowered herself onto the sofa, tucking her gown around her legs to keep the two of them from touching.
Hunt would have liked to see her better, but if he asked her to open the drapes, she might use that as an excuse to make a hasty escape.
“What aren’t you doing right?” He shifted to face her, frustrated as hell at his current lack of mobility.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
“And yet I’m glad you are.”
“I wanted to be sure you were all right.”
“Because you can’t have another man’s death on your conscience,” he said, revisiting the startling statement.
She chewed on her bottom lip and then blew out a heavy breath.
“I know you believe differently.” She clasped her hands together in her lap. “But I am not going to marry you.”
“You’ve been quite clear in that regard, and yet…” Hunt rested his arm along the back of the settee, and, enchanted by one of her dangling curls, twisted it around his fingertip. It was the color of coffee—or chocolate—rich and full of promise. Not unlike the lady herself.
“And yet?” she prompted, a little breathless.
The wispy strands slid through his fingers like silk.
“You came walking with me this morning alone when you should not have. And you are here now, alone.” When she had no answer, he added. “Logic leads me to think you’ll change your mind.”
Perhaps he’d swallowed too much laudanum after all. Because he was more aware of this woman, now, than he was of his pain.
“A man died because of me. And another nearly lost his leg.” She blurted the words out without making any excuses. “So—”
“You are not exaggerating your reason for sneaking into my chamber.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “I am not.”
“So, it isn’t that you miss me dreadfully?”
She stared back at him with wide eyes. “I do like you. Even though I am not going to—”
“Marry me. Yes. You’ve mentioned that already.”
But she liked him.
“What did you do to get one man killed and cause another to nearly lose his leg?” She could not have been much more than a child.
“I don’t talk about it. No one talks about it.” She turned away, convincing him she wasn’t going to explain further. He was coming to learn that this woman had conflicting sides to her nature—one that was warm and honest and genuine and another that made no sense at all.
But at that moment, she seemed wholly genuine.
“I…” She wiped her eyes and shook her head. “I cannot tell you.”
“You’re afraid I’ll think less of you? Wouldn’t that work in your favor?”
“I used to be… impulsive. When I was younger.”
At this, he raised his brows. “You’re still practically a child.” The fact that she was so young ought to bother him more than it did. But, in truth, she was only eleven years younger than him. That was nothing.
“I… ignored some sage advice from someone I ought to have listened to. The consequences… were tragic.”
