“No,” Lucas retorted. “I won’t.”
Yet another collective gasp went up around the room as the diners watched the back and forth between the two men as if it were a game of battledore and shuttlecock.
Sir Reginald lowered his voice so only Lucas could hear him and spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m warning you, Kendall. If you don’t shut your mouth and go away now, you willnotget the votes you want on your precious Employment Bill. I can promise you that.”
Lucas took pleasure in allowing a slow smile to spread across his lips. “I don’t give a toss about the bleeding Employment Bill, Sir Reginald, andyoucan go straight to hell.”
Lucas pushed the knight aside and strode from the room, grinning to himself. The look of pure shock on Sir Reginald’s face would remain in his memory forever.
* * *
She was notin the foyer. She was not in the blue salon. Lucas doubted she’d made it up the stairs already. Instead, he took a chance and made his way to the library.
He pushed open the door, the familiar creak making his heart thump harder. He stepped inside and shut the door. The room was dark save for a few candles that burned throughout the space and the fire that was nearly out. The candles gave an ethereal glow to the large, dark, expanse.
Lucas took a deep breath and made his way directly to the spot he hoped she’d be. He’d never been a praying man, but with every step he said a silent prayer.Please let her be there. Please. Please.
He turned the corner to the alcove and caught his breath. At first he thought she wasn’t there, but then his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw her shadowy form. She was sitting on the floor, her knees drawn up, her arms wrapped around them, rocking back and forth.
Relief swept through him. If she’d come here, she must have thought he would find her. She must have—dare he hope—wantedhim to?
“Frances?” he whispered, her name a stark plea on his lips.
When she lifted her head and looked up at him, his hopes were dashed. Even in the dim light he could see that anger burned in her eyes. She hated him. He’d made a mistake.
His chest ached and every breath was a struggle. He crouched down next to her.
She was still shaking, her teeth still chattering.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I’ll be right back.”
He quickly strode over to the desk and opened the bottom drawer. The shawl she’d left the first day he’d met her was still there. He’d brought it back down a few days ago and put in the drawer again so he wouldn’t forget to give it to her. He grabbed it and hurried back over to the alcove. “Here,” he said, draping it over her shoulders.
She clutched it and wrapped it more tightly around herself. “Th…thank you,” she managed. “I thought I’d lost this.”
“I think I kept it on purpose. It reminded me of you. Will you hear me out?” he asked softly, crouching down once more.
“Do I have a choice?” Her voice was monotone.
“Of course you do, Frances. You’ll always have a choice with me.” He searched her profile, wanting nothing more than to reach out and trace his fingertip along her cheekbone.
Her jaw tightened. “Then, no, I don’t want to hear you out. I just want to ask you one question.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Anything.”
“Wh…why did you ask me to m…marry you?”
“Because I want to.”
“How c…can you w…want to marry me? I stand against everything you stand for.”
He bit the inside of his cheek and expelled a breath. “The Employment Bill is not what I stand for.”
She tugged the shawl closer around her shoulders. “Tell the truth, you only asked me to marry you out of guilt.”
