“I don’t see any reason I shouldn’t inform Mrs.Salisbury and everyone else in the house of this,” she hissed.“And you’ll be taken in by the constable!”
“Please,” he heard himself begging.“You must believe me.I was asleep, and I—”
He closed his eyes.He had no idea what to say to convince her.He only knew he needed to keep speaking.
“I understand that for a lady, what has happened here, andwith me,must be nothing short of disgusting to you.And for that, I am deeply sorry.”He opened his eyes again.
She was looking at him with an expression poised between horror and plain hatred.
“I think I didn’t wake because—it is embarrassing to admit, since I have never told another living soul.But I have these dreams, you see,” he continued, reaching for anything that might provide a plausible explanation.“Where I am with a woman.As we just were.Or nearly.Lately, I have had them almost every night.Perhaps that is why I didn’t… I just thought it was a dream.”
She crossed her arms, and he was sure he was doomed.
“Very well,” she whispered finally, looking away from him.“We must tell no one.”
“Of course.Whatever you desire.”He said the words without thinking, relieved that she seemed to have abandoned the idea of going to the constable or, worse, Mrs.Salisbury.
But then he realized, with fresh horror, that he had justspilledbetween the thighs of this woman.He might not be an expert in London society, but he was pretty sure that act qualified as ruining her.
God, he was an idiot.
Of course, the answer was clear.There had been no need to tell her about his dreams.God, he was pathetic.
“We must marry,” he blurted out.“I have my honor… and your virtue.We have been too intimate.It has already gone too far.”
“What?”she spat out.
“We must marry.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she whispered.“We are not going tomarry.”She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.“Listen here, Mr.Brown.Nothing fatal happened.It was a terrible mistake—and terribly improper.But as we are the only two souls who know what just transpired, we have the chance to recover from this cruel perversion of fate and save ourselves.”
Of course, he realized with stunning clarity, she did not want to marry him.For her, marrying him—what did he have to offer her?—was probably nothing short of a death sentence.And she was correct, of course.While they had engaged in a gross impropriety, they had done nothing that anyone might ever discover.He was fairly certain, from his years on the farm and his knowledge of the world, that what he had done would not get her with child.
“If that is your wish,” he said stiffly.
“Of course it is my wish.We hardly know each other.”
Her other, unsaid criticisms of him hung in the room—unspoken but very much present.
He was uncouth, a bore, a lech, a rough countryman who could never belong with a polished, elegant lady like herself.
He bowed his head, hating how her judgment stung him.He hated how much he cared.
“We will get through the rest of this party,” she said.“And never tell a soul.”
He met her eyes.“And if our siblings marry?Will we just keep this secret for the rest of our lives?”
“Obviously,” she retorted tartly.“I am sure we will both forget about it in time.”
He found himself almost angry at her insistence.He wanted to say more, to be cruder in his words.We will keep it a secret that I have spilled between your thighs?That I have held you as no man should hold a woman who is not his wife?
He imagined long years stretched out between them, all the intervals in which he would see her, and how he would long for her and think of this mishap.He already knew how he would yearn.
“Surely you cannot think I could ever forget this,” he snapped.
“Mr.Brown,” she said.“If you are a gentleman, youwill.”
Shame rushed through him.She was right, of course.He was no gentleman, but he had his own sense of honor.
