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Saying the truth out loud made her voice crack. She knew Jacob must have heard it but he didn’t react, his steadiness somehow making her feel even worse.

‘My father always said that our position as a family was one of privilege but also obligation,’ he said bluntly. ‘He saw it as his duty to ensure the people dependent on him were treated fairly, a viewpoint my brother unfortunately doesn’t share.’

He scuffed one foot across the threadbare carpet, his expensive boots strikingly at odds with their shabby surroundings. ‘The suffering he has caused reflects poorly on all Fernleys, myself included. If he won’t do the right thing, I will.’

His reasoning was far from flattering. It seemed to rest more on maintaining his family honour than because he cared what happened to her—yet more proof that any regard for her had changed into the indifference that pricked her like a splinter beneath her skin.

‘Will you?’ she asked, not liking the tone of her own voice. ‘What is it you think is the right thing?’

‘Saving your life.’

‘And how do you plan to do that?’

‘By asking you—once again—to be my wife.’

His answer came so shortly that at first she didn’t realise what he had said.

‘By asking— What?’

The distant shouting coming from the cells faded as Jacob folded his arms—a touch defensively?—over his chest. ‘If you’ll marry me. It’s the only way I can think of to stop my brother’s madness.’

Her mouth had dropped open and she made herself close it again, obeying the tiny part that still retained any self-control. The rest of her was too stunned to be of any use at all, and certainly not to react when he took a step closer.

He didn’t attempt to touch her, although it crossed Meg’s mind that she wasn’t entirely sure how she’d feel if he tried.

‘Anthony has ruined the Fernley estate and the lives of everyone in Hayworth with his greed. As his brother, it falls to me to make amends for the hardships forced by his hand.’

Meg swallowed, feeling as though she were forcing down a mouthful of grit. Was this truly happening? For Jacob to offer her marriage again would once have been like something out of a dream, but while trapped in a waking nightmare it came instead like the twisting of a knife.

He wasn’t asking for her hand out of desire for it, she thought numbly. It was guilt on behalf of his brother that made him feel the need to rescue her, not the affection she’d believed he used to hold, and even to contemplate his offer when some rogue traces of her own feelings might still linger would be the act of a fool.

‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ she managed unsteadily. ‘How would that work? He’d be beyond furious. How could making him even angrier help me?’

‘He couldn’t touch you if you were my wife.’ Jacob’s answer came a touch too quickly, although still as brusquely as before. ‘Anthony cares about his reputation above almost everything else. What do you think people would say if they knew he’d sent his sister-in-law to the gallows? He couldn’t recover from such a scandal.’

Meg had to acknowledge he was right. ‘That would be one scandal, certainly. But what of you wedding a village girl? Wouldn’t he also find that shameful?’

‘If your background was widely known, yes.’ Jacob’s tone didn’t soften. ‘But why would it be? All the staff at Wellbourne House are new and none of them from the village. Nobody there knows you call Hayworth home, and Anthony would take pains to be sure they didn’t find out. I’ve been invited to stay for a month on account of my niece’s christening, along with other guests, all of whom would unwittingly act as more protection for you. Anthony wouldn’t dare attempt anything untoward with so many witnesses for fear of causing an unfavourable stir.’

There was an edge of restrained confidence in his voice that, to Meg’s amazement, made her want to believe him. It almost managed to ignite the tiniest glimmer of hope, but caution told her to douse it as swiftly as it began.

‘It would fail. Your brother is too vengeful. He would hate me even more if I went along with your plan and would find a way to harm me regardless—’

‘He would not,’ Jacob interjected forcefully. ‘You would be under my protection, with his reputation as a hostage. It wouldn’t make any difference to me whether the world knew the origins of my wife, but such a fact becoming public would be more than he could stand.’

Meg felt her insides churn. It wouldn’t make any difference to him if the world knew he’d married a farmer’s daughter? That was what he’d asserted when he had first proposed, but it had been her doubts as to whether he meant it that had made her late for their ill-fated midnight rendezvous. His view of the world had been so rosy, untroubled by ugliness and unpalatable truths, and it had worried her that reality, when it finally intruded, would be too heavy for him to bear…

That doesn’t appear to be the case now, however.

She looked at him hesitantly. The Jacob she used to know had been more naïve than her in some ways, but this new incarnation gave off a very different impression. This Jacob seemed aware there might be obstacles and was willing to trample over them rather than allow them to stand in his way, a stark contrast to innocently assuming the road would be smooth. As a grown man he was firmer, sterner, perhaps looking to lead more than to be led, and she had to wonder what had happened in the years they’d been apart to make such a marked change.

Her lips parted but she realised she had nothing to say. Confusion ran riot, and Jacob seemed to take advantage of her silence to press his point home.

‘I never expected you to react to this plan with much enthusiasm. But given the choice between death or transportation, and a life in which you could be safe, I’d hoped you might decide on the latter.’

His hand twitched. For a split second she thought he was going to reach for her, her heart leaping into her throat, but to her relief—and undeniable disappointment—he did not.

He lowered his voice, and something in having to lean forward to hear his murmur was more intimate than any brief touch. ‘I know how close you are to your father and brother. If you won’t accept for your own sake, wouldn’t you at least want to spare them the grief of losing you?’