They’d barely spoken since their embrace in the garden, not only because Mr. Crawford had applied himself laboriously to his work but because she’d been unable to face him. Already, she’d been trying to keep a distance after seeing him partially undressed the evening of the storm. But the embrace had undone her in ways she could not begin to explain. It had awoken something far more potent than desire – something frighteningly close to love. And since he was obviously set on avoiding an attachment with her and determined to leave once his work had been completed, she made an effort to avoid forming deeper emotional ties. Already, the inevitable heartache she’d suffer upon his departure had put her in a dismal mood. And now he wanted her to consider Mr. Townsend? It was too preposterous for words.
“No,” she said simply.
“I will agree that he is easily piqued, but I believe that is only because he felt threatened by me, for which you must not blame him since I was not exactly welcoming.”
“He insulted you, Mr. Crawford.”
“Agreed. But he does seem to hold you in the highest regard.” He looked up at her with blue forget-me-not eyes. “My point is, I think he would treat you well.”
“Is that the only reason why one should marry? To be treated well?” She tilted her head and raised a brow, daring him to answer in the affirmative.
“Of course not,” he said with a sigh. “But it is a start, and he’s not exactly bad looking either. On the contrary, I dare say many women would find him attractive.”
“A pity I am not one of them,” she said with a flat clip to her voice. This really wasn’t the sort of conversation she wanted to have with the man who’d won her heart. “Drop the issue, Mr. Crawford. Mr. Townsend’s pursuit of me is utterly pointless, and he will come to realize this in due course.”
“Then you will never marry?”
Mary trained her gaze on the horizon and gripped Apollo’s mane between her two clenched fists. She was suddenly ready to jump off the horse and punch Mr. Crawford as hard as she could muster. Why was he doing this to her? Surely he must have some inkling of her feelings for him? Or did he always flirt with women this way, leading them on only to leave them aching for him in ways from which they would never recover? For a second she imagined a long line of heartbroken women in his wake, each praying for his return while he simply moved on to the next.
Not that there was anything to indicate such a flaw in his character, but because of her own horrid experiences, it was hard for her to control her overeager imagination.
She gritted her teeth. “Probably not,” she said in answer to his question. “I will not marry a man I do not care for. Not when I no longer need to do so. And since no other offers are forthcoming,” she added, unable to keep her bitterness at bay, “I believe I shall continue to live with Miss Howard and Lady Cassandra for the remainder of my days. I’d certainly rather grow old with them than with some husband I cannot abide.”
“Poor Mr. Townsend.” When she didn’t reply, he said, “He has in the course of one short minute regressed from a man you do not care for to one you cannot abide. Are you certain you would not rather return home instead of enduring an evening that’s bound to be taxing on your already strained nerves?”
“My nerves are not strained, Mr. Crawford.”
“Then perhaps you’d be kind enough to loosen your grip on Apollo? He’s a gentle creature and quite undeserving of the pain the pique you are in this evening is likely causing.”
Mary expelled a long breath and tried to relax. “I’m sorry. My agitation is caused by what I must tell Mr. Townsend. I do not relish having to inform him there is no future for us.”
“Would you rather I tell him?”
Unable to help herself, she laughed at the very idea. “No. That would be terrible.”
He grinned at her, and her heart melted more easily than she would have liked. “You’re right. He will only believe it if you tell him. But do it after dessert when he’s had lots of wine with his meal. It will help lessen the blow.”
She shook her head. A smile lingered about her lips. “You are incorrigible, Mr. Crawford. Do you know that?”
“I believe it may have been mentioned once or twice.”
They arrived at their destination, and Mr. Crawford reached up to help Mary down. His hands settled solidly against her waist before he lifted her off Apollo. Steadying herself, her hand found his shoulder. Her fingers curled against the muscle, and then she was being pulled toward him, sliding down the front of his body so slowly she could not ignore the solid planes pressing firmly against her own body.
Her feet found the ground, and she swayed, her head too light and her legs too weak to keep her balance. “Stop.” She spoke the word softly but firmly even as he kept his hands on her for added support. “I cannot bear it any longer.”
Carefully, he eased her away and offered his arm. She stared at it for a second and then shook her head. “Let’s not make matters worse for Mr. Townsend by suggesting something that never has been and never will be.”
“Miss Clemens, I—”
“No,” she told him determinedly. “I am not a toy for you to play with. I am a person with feelings, and you are coming perilously close to hurting them. I will not have it.” And with that declaration she marched toward the front door and knocked as hard as she could.
It swung opened almost immediately to reveal Mr. Townsend himself. He smiled broadly at her and welcomed her into his home, ignoring Mr. Crawford’s presence in the process. It wasn’t until they were shown into the parlor where Mr. Townsend’s sister, Miss Frederica Townsend, awaited and introductions had to be made that he bothered to look in Mr. Crawford’s direction at all.
Regardless of her own irritation with the man at the moment, Mary could not abide the rudeness. She accepted a glass of claret and took a seat on the sofa next to Miss Townsend.
“My brother has told me nothing but wonderful things about you, Miss Clemens,” Miss Townsend said. “He says you run an orphanage no more than a mile from here.”
Mary watched Mr. Crawford walk to the fireplace and take up a non-inclusive position there before she glanced at Mr. Townsend who’d seated himself in an armchair directly opposite her. “I wouldn’t really call it an orphanage, Miss Townsend. It is a home I share with my friends, Viscount Aldridge’s sister, Lady Cassandra Moor; Miss Emily Howard; and the children we’ve taken into our care.”
