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“Obviously, it did, else we wouldn’t be in the briars, would we?”

She had a point. Freddie could hardly believe what his father had done, either. It really was beneath him. “He realizes he misjudged you. And that’s why the day before yesterday, he sent word to Mr. Rochester and ended their agreement. My father told him to return home and sent along enough money to pay for the expenses, plus some extra for his troubles. But Mr. Rochester would not have it. He demanded the full payment my father offered and threatened to expose his plan if he did not pay.”

“But would Mr. Rochester not have been exposed as well?” she asked.

“He was to claim it was my father’s idea—which in truth, it was—and that my father threatened Rochester if he did not forge the papers and go through with the plan. That was all Mr. Rochester.”

“How much did he demand?” Pippy asked.

Freddie grimaced. “The equivalent of your dowry. He said I stole you out from under him, so we should recompense him.”

She sucked in a breath. “You did no such thing. I would never have married that man.” She lifted her little finger to her lips. “It’s so much money.”

“It is. And my father has agreed to pay it.”

“What?” Pippy jerked her gaze to him. “But why? Surely if he called the constable, or⁠—”

“No.” Freddie shook his head fiercely. “I agree with him. Perhaps paying such a sum will serve as a reminder to him of what he nearly did to me...to us.”

“Nearly.” Pippy let out a mirthless laugh. “I’d say he completed most of his plan—” She glanced up at him. “Based on what I heard in the retiring room.” She pulled out of his grasp and walked toward the bookshelves. “I seem to move from one scandal to another—hardly a desirable trait for the wife of a viscount.”

“And none were of your making.” Freddie followed behind. “What you overheard? That’s what my father is sorting. He asked my aunt if she might not help him circulate about the room and set the gossips straight.”

Pippy ran her fingertips down the spine of a book. “While I appreciate the effort, we both know it’s too late for that.”

His chest tightened. He could feel her pulling away from him. “Perhaps not everyone will hear or believe it. But those who matter will. Fin and Stan will go to fisticuffs in our defense. I know it. And there are others. Archie. Felix. Miles and Grace.”

Her head shook. “What’s done is done, Freddie. I’ve tarnished your name along with mine.”

“I disagree,” he said.

“You can disagree all you like, but it doesn’t change anything.” She sighed. “Perhaps if ours were a lov—” She paused, clenching her fists at her sides. “Perhaps it could have been different. But it’s not.”

“What do you mean if ours had been a love match?” It was the first time he’d heard her mention anything about love—even if she hadn’t completed the thought.

She shook her head. “It was nothing, my lord. Pay it no heed.”

He turned her toward him again. “It was something.” When she didn’t reply, he continued. “If our marriage had been founded in love, it might be easier for people to dismiss Mr. Rochester’s claims. That’s what you mean, is it not, my”—he hesitated only a second—“my love.”

Her head dropped to the side, and she gave him a bland look. “You need not put on airs and say things you do not mean.” She glanced down, then back up at him. “I’ve come to terms with my unrequited love.”

He nearly laughed. Or maybe he nearly cried. Who could be certain? “Unrequited? How could you think such a thing?”

Her lip quivered. “You cannot even call me ‘my dear’ without hesitating.”

“When I called you “my love” during snow games, you acted as if it was not to your liking. I was uncertain what to call you after that.”

She shook her head. “But how can that be true? I was uncertain you’d even said it.”

“Your eyes widened…like this?” He pushed his lids open as far as they would go. He was certain he looked very disapproving indeed. “Does this look like a woman in love?” he asked.

She swallowed, and for a moment he thought she might laugh. But then she shook it off. “I may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb,” she muttered as she squared her shoulders. “You stay on your side of the bed—every night—without even so much as a toe drifting over. I’m your wife, my lord. Lawks, sometimes it seems as if my touch is physically painful to you. What else am I to believe but indifference?”

His lips parted. Indifference? She thought him indifferent? His throat tightened with unspoken words. Finally, he pushed past the lump. “You think me indifferent to you? Could you not feel my pulse hammer against your cheek when I kissed you⁠—”

“When you were forced to kiss me,” she interrupted.

“You think I didn’t want that? Were you not the one who said we shouldn’t reward my sisters? That it couldn’t be helped? What was I to think, but that you did not want to be kissed? I was protecting my heart.”