She was wrong, so wrong, of course.As if he could think ofanotherwith her around him constantly.As if he had ever regarded another woman as he did her.
But what good did it do to disabuse her of this notion?Thewhybehind his answer was not for her to know.And it was too embarrassing for him to say aloud.He did have some pride, after all.He wasn’t without feeling.
He couldn’t say to Miss Scarlett Perkins,I refuse you because I want you tochooseme, I want you to loveme,I want you to want to bemywife.She would regard him as a lunatic.She had proposed an arrangement as cut-and-dried as any between a man of leisure and his courtesan.She had no interest in his futile longings.She had no interest in permanency or constancy or any of the homespun virtues that came naturally with his devotion.
Instead of confirming or denying her accusation, he said nothing.It was easier that way.The silence stretched and stretched until he was almost at the edge of speaking just to break it.
But there was no need.
“I won’t harass you any longer, Mr.Brown.”She moved toward the door.
He did nothing to stop her.
When she had gone, he sat on the bed.He found that he was shaking.His hands, which had so wanted to hold her, needed to be clenched together to be kept still.
Now that she had departed, he wasn’t sure that he had made the right decision.
She was gone, but her citrus scent still lingered in the air.
And his pride seemed a cold companion without her in the room.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Scarlett Perkins walkednumbly back to her chamber.
She had been sure that Malcolm Brown wanted her.
She had finally trusted that she could be desired—because she saw the evidence in his eyes.And hadn’t he said it to her just now?I am not going to stand here before you, Scarlett, and pretend that I don’t want you.
Yet he had refused her.
She entered her room and sank down on the bed.
He had confessed to wanting her.But then, when he had declined her offer so coldly, she had been at first merely confused.Then she had realized.
She had spent so much time explaining to him that she didn’t want to marry.That she didn’t have designs to become his wife.He had seemed so honorable, so she had emphasized that their coupling wouldn’t ruin her prospects.
What a fool she had been.He had been sitting there the entire time, thinking ofhisown plans for marriage.It hadn’t struck her, until after his refusal, that he might care about going to his bride pure.That he might have a woman in mind, that he might be in love with her—or, failing that, a connection more advantageous in regards to fortune—and that he wanted to go to their marital bed unsullied.
Yes, men were usually not as principled about such things.Society certainly regarded their indiscretions differently.But that didn’t mean that every man wanted to go to his marital bed having tupped other women.
It shouldn’t sting as much as it did.Hediddesire her.She hadn’t been wrong about that.Just not as much as had imagined.And while he saved himself for another woman.
A knock sounded on her door, and she started.
Dear God, it must be the maid, the one whom she had so unfairly come to resent for her continual attendance.
She scolded herself.She must not let her own circumstances make her unkind.Scarlett rose and walked to the door.
She pulled it open.
It was not the maid.
It was Malcolm Brown.
She opened her mouth, unsure of what to say.
“May I come in?”he asked, his eyes heavy-lidded and his voice raw.
