She spun on her heel and resumed her march down the corridor. “I can, and I shall.”
“I hope you know that you’re bloody lucky that I was the one who got caught up in your little trap.” He was following her. “I’m a gentleman, but the same cannot be said of nearly any other man you’d care to meet on the London docks. You invite every manner of pirate and charlatan to your door, or worse. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing—to offer tens of thousands of pounds to any reprobate who can read a placard in Redmond Street.”
She stopped but did not turn. “No onewas invited to my door. Not even you—particularly you. Applicants were meant to apply by letter. Everyone has followed the directive, except for you.”
“Yes, except for me.” He stepped in front of her. “And did you send me away? No, you proposed marriage. Can you conceive, Miss W. J. Hunnicut, of the assumptions I could make about your character, based on this circumstance alone?”
“You would malignmycharacter when you’ve just interrogated me about my dreams and plans and the state of my health simply because you wanted to know? Or . . . or . . . ” She threw up her hands. “God only knows why you did it. Who can guess your motives? I have been open and honest with you from the start, yet you questionmycharacter?”
His green eyes narrowed. “Youare a woman who endeavors to construct her own marriage to a perfect stranger. Not to mention conceal the true nature of the union from her own family and then banish her new husband to the far corners of the globe. I hardly think a return visit for a few unanswered questions was too much to ask.”
This would have been true, she conceded, if he had not been so unequivocal with his rejection of her. He hadn’t come to weigh unanswered questions, oh no.
I will not marry you for any amount of money.
“Are you suggesting that you did not come here with the express purpose of rejecting the arrangement?”
“I . . . wanted to know more about you,” he said, throwing his hands out.
They were both winded by the argument. She heard him suck in a breath and hold it. He glared down at her. She raised one eyebrow. His gaze slid from her eyes to her mouth.
“Know more—why?” she demanded. “If there’sno amount of moneythat could compel you to marry me?”
“Because,” he said, “I find you . . . you . . . ”
She laughed bitterly. “If you are trying to sugarcoat your distaste for me, you are failing. If you are deliberately—”
“Distaste?” he cut in; now he was laughing. “Distaste is the opposite of my reaction to you,W. J. Hunnicut, and you may be certain that I’m not pleased about it.”
She opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out except, “What?” She took one small step back.
He closed up the step. “You are madder than I thought if you believe I find you the least bit distasteful. But the offer was not to admit that you are a beautiful woman, was it?” Another step. “The offer was to bloodymarry you. In fact, if I understood correctly, any attraction I may feel would be an unwelcome waste of time, as your future groom is expected to leave the country. I may be desperate for money, but I’m notthatdesperate.”
Willow glared at him. “Desperate, are you? Forgive my skepticism, considering you are anearl.”
He did not answer, no great shock, and Willow shook her head and stepped around him, resuming her march toward the vestibule at the end of the corridor.
He swore and said, “Where are yougoing?”
“To work,” she shot back. She strode into the vestibule, winding her way around strewn paintbrushes and draped furniture.Go away, go away, go away, she thought, even while she listened for his footsteps.
Distaste is the opposite of my reaction to you.
She heard him stop in the doorway behind her. After a beat, he said,“Oh.”
For some reason entirely unknown, her stomach reacted with a traitorous little flip. He sounded as if he’d come upon an unexpected surprise. She stole a glance over her shoulder. He was looking around the octagonal little room with wide, curious eyes.
“What is it?” He made a circular twirl of one finger at the room.
“This is where I entertain my pirates and charlatans.”
“Clever.” He took one step inside. “A solarium?”
She shook her head. “There are a great many windows but not that many.” She pointed to another doorway. “It’s a retiring room for ballroom revelers. The ballroom connects through there.”
“Your family hosts a great many balls?”
She shook her head. “I cannot remember the last time that Leland Park was host to a ball. Not since my father died, certainly. But this is why I’m doing the room over. It’s such a unique, bright space; why should we not set it up for reading or taking tea?”
