He shrugged. “I’ve had time to think, that’s all.”
“Is that so? Well, as it happens, I withdraw my proposal.”
He grinned, an unrepentant one. “That is not a good idea.”
Her unease mounted along with the burn of her temper. “And why not?”
“After you left last night, the news spread through the Martindales’ ballroom like wildfire.”
“Oh? And who started that bit of fluff?” she demanded softly.
“I’m afraid I did.” Again, not the least bit remorseful.
“Lady Alymer,” Oswald said. “A missive for you from Lady Ingleby.”
Oh God, what next? She accepted the note from his gnarled fingers. It felt as if she were reaching toward a poisonous snake. “Thank you.”
Oswald slipped away as quietly as he’d appeared.
She wanted to throw her arms to the heavens and scream her frustration. Instead, she clenched her fingers around the missive to keep from wringing Brandon’s neck with her bare hands. “Why do you want to marry me all of a sudden?”
“Why do you wish to marry me?” he shot back.
This conversation was going nowhere. She narrowed her eyes on him and studied him for a long moment. Two could play his game. She snapped the note she held, almost catching his nose. “Iwish to be out from my mother’s thumb.”
“Just as I thought.”
“And you?”
“Your help with my memoirs.”
“That’s no reason to marry me. I’ve already said I would help.” God, she was hysterical. She was never hysterical, even dealing with her mother at her pushiest. Thank heavens the driving hour at Hyde Park was hours away—she could likely be heard to the Serpentine.
He looked away.“Perhaps I need a mother for my son.”
Just like that, the fight went out of her. “Yes. Yes, you do,” she said softly.
Maeve went to a hall bench and sank down. “This is horrible,” she said.
Harlowe bent down on one knee in front of her. He grasped her free hand within his. “I’m sorry I reacted like I did last night. It was most ungracious of me. I was just so… taken aback.” He moved up beside her on the bench, not willing to release her hand. He ran his thumb over the inside of her wrist. Back and forth. “I’m a mess, Maeve. I have the barest memories of my previous wife. A son I can’t seem to connect to…”
Her head fell against his shoulder, but she sat quietly listening. He liked that about her. She wasn’t clingy. He suspected when she lost her temper, it was probably warranted.
“I don’t know what I was doing before I was left for dead—”
Her head shot up, concern etched in her sweet, expressive, upturned face. “What do you mean ‘left for dead’?”
Whatdidhe mean by “left for dead”? Shadowy images crowded his head, of him fighting for his life, but the images quickly faded, slipping from his grasp. He refused to keep anything from her. It wouldn’t be fair, not in good conscience. If she did agree to this marriage for real, then he wanted no secrets. There were far too many in his past. Too many unanswered questions.
He told her everything Kimpton had relayed to him. How Lorelei had believed Kimpton had put him on a ship bound for Calais; how Brock and Kimpton had gathered up his paintings and found the scythes; what they’d found in Brandon’s bachelor’s quarters, stumbling upon his valet’s dead body. He told her of the painting they’d located at the shop in Goldhanger. “That was around the time Evelyn Holks was found murdered on the side of the road. I had been whisked away from the asylum and dumped on a ship called theWhite Dove, and but for Irene being kidnapped and traced, I would have likely been dumped overboard with no one ever the wiser.”
Her shudder reached through to him even as she listened in a thoughtful silence. After a fashion, she nodded. “I understand, Brandon. But I’m afraid I’m not ready for marriage after all.”
“Might I remind you, the marriage was your idea?”
“I was out of my mind,” she muttered. She appeared to gather her bearings. “Still, I can’t marry you.”
The pressure banding Brandon’s chest mounted, though he refused to consider why. He tightened his hand around hers.
