“I think I am being very forthright.”
“You are. Unfortunately, you must marry me.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t. Please, understand, Mr. Brogan—”
“Michael.”
“What?”
“You have been calling me Michael. I like it. Don’t change.”
“I feel I must. I’ve officially refused your offer.”
“Officially?” He lifted a brow, both charmed by her seriousness and a bit annoyed. This was a settled matter. She would marry him. He’d grown accustomed to the idea. He had complete faith she would as well.
“Well, I never agreed to marry you. Therefore, we should not be so familiar with each other.”
“Like running off alone together in a carriage?” he suggested.
She scrunched her pert nose at him. “You are trying my patience. I’m not responsible for this.” She waved a finger to indicate the interior of the hack.
His response was to settle into the corner and let his long legs take up the space between them. He wasn’t going to give her what she wanted. He liked her. Exceedingly. Perhaps might even—
He paused, a bit unnerved by his thoughts, at the truth of them. A look at her vexed expressionmade him smile... and then it wasn’t so difficult to admit he was falling in love with her.
He thought her beautiful. He enjoyed watching the way her thoughts played across her face. Dara lived life fully.
She also had all the other important requisites of an attractive woman. Her skin was creamy, her teeth straight, her hair thick. However, she hadn’t shied away from anything this evening. Not even murder. There had been no hysterics and no ridiculous swooning.
What man couldn’t love such a woman? It would defy logic.
However, she did deserve to have her concerns treated with respect. “Why do you wish to call off our betrothal?”
“I didn’t agree—” she started and then made a face as if she found arguing about the matter frustrating. She tried a different tack. “It’s not that I’m not honored.”
“Understood.”
“It is just that I fear we would—”
“Stop right there. If you are going to say you fear we wouldn’t suit, you will disappoint me.”
“Why?”
“Because you would be lying, and I detest liars.”
“Allliars?”
“Every one of them,” he assured her.
A wicked gleam came to her eyes. “But you are a politician.”
“I find them the worst.” And that was very true. Someone stealing from the government? From the military, even while they had been battling Napoleon? “So, do you not like me?”
She hesitated, and then said, “I do like you.”
That pleased him. “Why do you believe you must reject me?”
Her features saddened. “My sister Elise is in love with you.”
