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“I don’t know what else to think. You are betrothed to my cousin. You have no right to make suggestive comments to me.”

Fiennes nodded, his face hard, as if she’d punched him in the gut.

But frankly? It was the truth.

The truth hurt, sometimes. Her uncle preferred to ignore facts when they weren’t convenient, but she’d be damned if she’d allow Fiennes to continue to flirt with her.

Not when he belonged to her cousin.

“I think you should go,” Ella stated.

“May I ask an indelicate question first?”

“I can guess the subject. The only possible father for the baby that I’ve been able to come up with is our vicar,” Ella said, dropping onto the edge of her bed as a wave of pure exhaustion overcame her. “He is handsome, and my aunt is fond of him.”

“Private prayers?” Fiennes mused. “At least a vicar presumably won’t claim his child. If male, the baby will inherit. Unless your father’s will turns up.”

Ella shook her head. “That won’t happen.”

“I’m sorry.” He walked over and sat down beside her, gently placing Josephina on the bed. “I suppose you searched the house?”

“I looked through the documents in the library, as Jarvis thought my father might have stored it there. Most likely, my uncle burned it.”

Josephina scrambled to the floor.

“Where is she going?” Fiennes asked.

Ella nodded. “The kitchen chimney is always warm, so I moved the hatbox there and gave her scraps of cloth to line her nest.” Not looking at him, she added, “You oughtn’t to be in my room, let alone sitting on my bed.”

“Did your uncle take the pearl circlet you wore earlier?”

Ella swallowed hard. “I expect so. He has often told me that everything in the house belongs to him. After the viscount overheard a conversation about the worth of early editions, I have been bringing my father’s books to the attic.”

She waved a hand at the stacks of books on her bedside table. “I shall sell them, I think, and use the money to finance our trip to the country.”

She could feel his eyes on her face.

“Ella. Please let me help.”

“If you would marry my cousin quickly, that would be a great help.”

Fiennes reached out and drew his thumb along the curve of her lower jaw. “I want you to know that—” The words seemed to stick in his throat.

“You would marry me if you could,” Ella said bleakly. His thumb was leaving a trail of fire. “I know that. I’ll … I plan to move to Spain.”

His hand fell away. His eyes lost the slumbrous look that was making her feel warm and muddled. “Like hell you will.”

“I can’t be … here,” Ella said, stumbling into speech.

“You might get ill,” Fiennes said tautly. “Far away.”

She caught up his hand. It was large and warm, the fingers roughened and powerful. “I cannot remain in London when you are married.”

She saw how hard he swallowed.

He really could read her eyes, because he met her halfway to a kiss. Ella’s mouth opened with a gasp before hunger took over. She had never felt more alive, her blood dancing in her veins, her hands instinctively winding into his hair.

Fiennes took her mouth ravenously. The groan in his throat made her shudder. When he put his hands on her waist and paused, she whispered, “Yes,” and he brought her onto his lap.